Chaos

Daylight came streaming in through the cheap metal blinds that were hanging in the narrow window. Chris laid still, watching the sunlit lines slowly climb across the quilt that covered his stomach and legs. Sleep had not easily come the night before. He knew the apartment was as safe as a place could be these days, but it was not soundproof. The screeching and banging had carried on until just before dawn, and even in his exhaustion, he had not been able to close his eyes for more than ten minutes at a time. “I should be used to this by now,” he moaned dryly. His back ached from the lumpy mattress he had carried over from the destroyed apartment across the hall. The small room he had chosen to shelter in was the cleanest he could find, but it was still garbage-strewn and the air was rancid. Sitting up, his muscles ached from the tense night. He had known better than to travel alone this far south, the woods farther north were almost untouched by the terror in the city. As Samantha had died slowly from cancer that came before the chaos, he had promised her he would find other survivors, that he would not be alone. “Bullshit,” he said gruffly, shaking his head, tears stinging his eyes.

His search had been less than fruitful. He had no idea how long he had been traveling and looking for others. There was no point in tracking time, that was for a civilized world. The only thing he knew was day and night. Safety and terror. Samantha had been the keeper of time, in that small cabin in the peaceful forest. She had ticked off days on a hand-drawn calendar, celebrated holidays and birthdays, even as cancer ravaged her body. As the months passed, she became quieter, in constant pain, but still, she would triumphantly mark each day with a flourished X as they climbed into bed at night. “Someone has to keep track. Otherwise, we are no better than the monsters,” she would object as he questioned her need to log everything. As death came closer, they both refused to acknowledge the end aloud.

He sat now on the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath, the air that had been stolen since the day she took her last breath, just wouldn’t come back to him. Closing his eyes, he remembered how fragile she had looked when he buried her in the clearing just outside the cabin. She had been wearing his favorite t-shirt as her nightgown, the heart-shaped locket he had gotten her before the world fell apart, before her cancer, when life still had promise, hung heavily around her swanlike neck. Her nickname, Sam, was engraved on the back. He had wanted to keep the locket, to remember her. It belonged with her though, it was the perfect symbol for his heart, which he buried the day he had buried her.

Shaking the memories from his head, Chris stood slowly and began to fill his backpack with his essentials. “One more day,” he said to himself, “one more day and then I can go back and be with her.”Samantha hadn’t said how long he should search, and he longed to be back with her, in the still of the trees. Even before people went nuts and started killing each other, he had not been a fan of them. Introverted was the word his few friends had used to describe him. Being a hermit had most likely saved his life, and he couldn’t see how changing that now could be positive. He had promised to look for others, he had looked and found only destruction and shells of what humans used to be, a world of rage and no semblance of humanity. As he zipped his bag, a loud crashing noise reverberated down the hall. Chris quickly walked to the door and looked out the peephole. The daytime was usually left for survivors as the chaos slept, but survivors weren’t always better than the ones that came out at night. He could see a figure at the end of the hall, head sweeping side to side as it let out a monstrous screech.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself. He had not seen one this close in the daytime since before they had run to the woods. Slowly he turned and made his way back into the room. He tried not to step on anything that would attract attention, but the crinkling of food bags and plastic underfoot was deafening to him. He pulled the cord of the metal blinds, inch by inch, until he could slide the glass open to the side. He had chosen this room because of the possibility to escape if he needed to, even being on the second floor. In the dark, he had not realized the bush below was nothing but rotted twigs. He deftly pulled the quilt off the bed and threw it down, where it landed haphazardly on the dead topiary. Another screech echoed in the hallway, closer now than before, sounding even angrier, if that was possible. It had heard him or smelled him, and he had to jump before it saw him. Once you were seen, it was kill or be killed. They were relentless and would not stop tracking until they found you. Chris was not afraid to kill if he had to, but with his hunger and exhaustion, he doubted he would be strong enough to defend himself. The door to the apartment shuddered as it threw itself against the cheap pressed wood. He looked out and checked that the street was empty of any other living thing, tossed his bag down, and pulled himself through the narrow frame. He rested his butt on the metal track and swung his feet out in front of him. The door shook once more, and the hideous screech came again. It was enough to push him forward and he closed his eyes as he dropped down.

Rolling forward as the branches crashed underneath him, the sound of splintering wood poured through the open window above and he reached out to grab the straps of his bag. He looked to his left and saw a dusty white pickup, its hood popped open, all tires flattened, sitting at an angle on the curb. Pain radiated up his back and down his leg, he crawled the ten feet, coming to rest underneath the truck. He didn’t dare look out at the window he had jumped from. He sat still as another roar angrily broke the silence of the street. If he had been seen, it would only be moments before it was on top of him. They had no sense of self-preservation and would throw themselves from building tops in the heat of a hunt. Minutes passed quietly and he inched himself towards the bed of the truck, pulling his bag over his shoulder. Shakily, he leaned against the chrome bumper, assessing his legs and arms, to make sure he was not bleeding badly. A small scrape on his knee was dotted with tiny droplets, which he quickly wiped away. It had been a close call, and he decided, it was time to go home.

Across the road movement caught his eye, a shadow moving in a whirlwind around a corner. It wasn’t one of them, if it had been he would be dead. It was either a person or a figment of his imagination. He heard the pounding footsteps from inside the apartment building, a frantic angry sound coming towards him. Chris spun and ran in the direction of the blur he had seen. As he turned down the alley, he could see a group of people huddled at the end of the narrow road. It was a dead-end, lined with heavy metal doors protecting abandoned buildings. The smallest of the group turned to face him, raised his hand, and waved Chris forward enthusiastically. He walked cautiously to the group and took in the first faces he had seen in ages.

There were three of them standing together, the young boy who had caught his attention, an older man, and an older woman. “We need to get out of here. Now,” Chris said in a hushed whisper. As the words came out a warm bony hand covered his mouth. The old man solemnly shook his head. He pointed at the young boy, then at Chris. He nodded towards one of the doors which sat slightly ajar and pushed Chris towards it. The woman took the young boy in her arms, tears staining her dirty creased face. She held him close and kissed him softly on the forehead. The boy clung to her tightly, his mouth open in silent shock. Chris pulled the boy and hurried him into the doorway. As he looked back, the man and woman stood holding hands, facing the end of the road. A howl came from beyond where Chris could see as he gingerly pulled the door closed. Once it was latched the man yelled, “Johnny, it’s okay. We saved him. We love you son.” Amid the banging and nightmarish screaming, the woman begged the monster to spare them. Then it was silent.

Chris turned and saw the young boy huddled in the corner crying quietly. They stood in the back of what looked like an old fast-food restaurant. The tile floor was slick with old grease and the freezer door stood open, lit inside by a small lantern atop three mattresses lining the floor. A small shelf of food and books sat towards the back. “Hey, kid. I am sorry about what happened. Really. But we need to get in here and close the door for a while. Just to be safe.” Chris pointed into the freezer as the boy stood and walked slowly towards him. “I’m not a kid,” he replied hoarsely. “I’m ten now, and papa said that makes me a man.” His chest puffed out slightly as he looked defiantly at Chris. “Well, your papa was right, in this world that does make you a man,” Chris shot back. He pulled the heavy door closed behind them and slowly sat down. Opening his bag, he pulled out the rest of his venison jerky and offered a bit to his new companion. The kid grabbed it hungrily and began chewing roughly. “Dad went to find you yesterday afternoon, we saw you walking around, and he thought you looked safe. He didn’t get back before dark, and nana had to lock the door,” he said morosely between bites.

Chris felt guilt bubbling inside him as he realized it was his fault that the kids’ family were now dead. “We saw him go into the apartments, then you jumped out the window, we thought for sure you were a goner. Papa said you were strong and fast, that I should trust you because you don’t kill the angry people, that you are like us.” He looked sideways through a shock of black hair blocking his face. Chris nodded. “I don’t kill them I just want to get home. Where it’s safe.” Chris went silent for a moment then looked at the boy across from him. “You can come with me if you want. It’s better than this,” he said gesturing around the dark freezer. The boy was lost in thought, then stood and began to push things into his bag. “Papa was never wrong. Neither was my dad. I’ll go.” Chris felt relieved that he didn’t have to bring him along unwillingly since he would not have left a kid alone in the city. “Sure kid, I’m glad you want to go. We will head out in the morning when it’s safe again.”

He chewed the jerky slowly and sipped his water. “My name is Chris, what’s yours?” The boy smiled weakly for the first time “Sam. They call me Sam.”