Tod durch Schokolade

Emma pedaled lazily, only half paying attention to her surroundings. She was no longer expecting to run into another human and had seen few animals. Once she saw a dog at a distance, but when it noticed her, it had skulked away, tail between its legs. She had tried calling it, but it hadn’t turned back.

All the movies depicted gangs of roaming raiders after the apocalypse, people set on living out their most savage desires, raping and pillaging their way across the wasteland. They never showed people completely alone. They never talked about how to survive loneliness. After 6 months of solitude, even a looter would be a welcome sight, but she knew it wouldn’t happen.

A couple of days before, Emma had broken the window of a Goodwill and entered. Stealing—no, scavenging—had been particularly difficult for her at first. In her mind, she was most likely committing a felony. There was no one around to arrest her, no one around to call the police, and no one to hear the windows break, but she had been raised to be honest, and part of her still felt guilty as she rifled through the food and supplies she needed to survive. Physical survival was the easy part. She wondered how others, if there were any others, were faring with the psychological aspect of surviving.

Food had been easy. There was no one else looting or scavenging. There was no competition. She had started her journey carrying cans of food, a can opener, camp stove, and utensils. After a while, she realized she didn’t need to take food with her, save for a can or two for when she was in the boonies. Every single town she went through had some sort of store, and food was never lacking. Neither was fresh water, thanks to plastics. Focusing on stores had a double positive feature. It saved her from having to break into homes. She had done that a few times in the beginning. She didn’t think she would do that again. There were bodies in homes. People didn’t normally die at the supermarket, even from such a virulent disease as the Uber Flu.

Supermarkets were easy for her to justify, too. She still felt hesitant to break into other types of stores. In her mind, hunting for food was understandable, forgivable, but breaking into a Barnes and Nobel wasn’t strictly necessary, and therefore undefendable, no matter how much she loved to read.

Miles from home, after the failed suicide attempt at the barn, Emma came to regret that she had left home without her Kindle. She had thousands of books and audiobooks on her device, and she figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find a solar charger. It would give her something to listen to as she pedaled across the country looking for—well, just looking.

In the beginning, she had been alert, on guard. She wanted to hear if there was a car coming towards her or if a person was calling out, but mile after mile had failed to show evidence of another live person, so she stopped looking. Now she was just going on because that’s what her life had become—perpetual motion.

It was quiet as she pumped the bike pedals down the road—too quiet—and it made her uneasy. She never realized how loud the world was until the world had moved on. With even the birds being much fewer in number, most of the time the only sound she heard was the wind blowing through the now tall grass and the sound of her rubber tires as she made her way down the road.

Anyway, a couple of days earlier she had broken into the Goodwill—more to break the boredom than anything else. She grabbed a cart and strolled up and down the aisles, stopping occasionally to examine one treasure or another, pretending things were normal. In a bargain bin she had found an old Walkman, complete with headphones. She tried to turn it on, but nothing happened. She turned the device over and opened the battery compartment. It was empty. She ran to the counter and found batteries on display by the check stand. She tore open a package and inserted the batteries. The old Walkman had turned on! Thrilled, she went towards the music section and looked for an old cassette tape. Anything would be better than nothing.

Ok, maybe not anything. Bay City Rollers, some people named The Captain and Tennille Song of Joy featuring a song apparently called “Muskrat Love”, Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet (she took that one), and a bunch of tapes that were obviously not in the best of conditions. PE would have to do until she could find more. She needed to hit up a music store. They might still have some cassettes.

Over in the book section, though, Emma had found something interesting. A bundle of cassette tapes held together with a large rubber band caught her eye. German 1, it had said. Impulsively, she took the entire bundle.

Now, pedaling down the middle of the road, Emma recited, “Ich bin eine Frau und du bist ein Mann.”

She stopped.

Down a side road, a barn-red building caught Emma’s attention. Large walnut trees shaded the building, but deep in the shadows, the store name jumped out at her: Euphoria Chocolate Company.

Dropping her bike in the street and shrugging out of her backpack and leaving that behind as well, she rushed to the store. Emma pressed her face to the window and peered inside. It looked like it had been open pre-Uber Flu. Maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth eating in there.

Without a single shred of guilt, Emma grabbed a brick from the flower bed out front and threw it through the window. She used another brick to clear the jagged pieces of glass off the window frame and hoisted herself up and into the cool building.

It had been over 6 months since this nightmare had begun, and in those 6 months, Emma had seen a change in her body. She wasn’t lacking in nourishment, so there was none of the skinniness post-apocalyptic movies liked to portray, like that movie with that cute guy, The Road. He had lost a bunch of weight for that movie, she recalled reading. It bothered her that she couldn’t remember his name. There was no one to ask, no Google. Viggo something. She sighed.

No, Emma had gained weight. She was eating well and often, walking and pedaling cross-country, and her body had gone from pleasantly plump to athletic. Her calves were chiseled and well-defined. Her arms were powerful, and while not overly muscled, still sculpted. Now she used those powerful arms to pop into the window like she had been doing it all her life.

Emma took a headband flashlight out of her pocket and put it on. She sniffed tentatively. Her worst fear at that moment was that someone had died there. But the air was stale and odorless.

Slowly, Emma worked her way around the shop, looking in the displays. All the chocolate left out on display had bloomed. Every piece of candy was dusted with a layer of what looked like white mold, but Emma knew it wasn’t. While it looked bad, it was safe to eat, but why bother? In the cabinet under each display was row after row of packaged greatness.

Emma opened a box of truffles and popped one in her mouth. Heaven. Sheer heaven. Gathering a handful, Emma headed to the front door of the shop, exiting and leaving it unlocked for later.

“Ich liebe Schokolade!”

Emma ran back to her bike and backpack and wheeled them to Euphoria. She decided she’d camp inside and gorge herself. She’d be that lady eating bonbons while some guy fanned her with peacock feathers, only she’d have to imagine the guys.

Where had she read that saying? Someone—Erma Bombeck, Dear Abby or her sister perhaps—once said anyone can have a cake and eat it, too. The trick was to eat the cake and still have it. Today Emma was going to eat the cake, chocolate cake at that, and have it, too.

She unrolled her sleeping bag and spread it out on the floor. She unstrapped her lantern from the backpack and lit it, remembering to crack a window for ventilation. Dinner would start out with an appetizer of chocolate-covered nuts, served alongside wine truffles, with the entrée consisting of chocolate bars and cookies. Dessert would be an assortment of chocolate buttons, followed by chocolate mints. Yes! Death by chocolate.

Emma arranged her plastic plates and cup in front of her. She took a plate, went behind the counter, and grabbed a handful of each type of confection, and took them back to her sleeping bag. She was just spooning a wine truffle into her mug when she heard a scratching at the door. Emma jumped so hard the truffle flew across the room and hit the window.

Calm down, Emma. If it was a person, they would have walked in or knocked. No one scratches. It’s an animal.

Emma turned on her headband flashlight and crept to the door. Quietly she reached for the handle, braced herself, and threw the door open. With a yelp of fear, the little dog she had spotted days earlier turned tail and ran into the bushes. She caught sight of his little black and white rump disappearing into the foliage. He must have been following her this whole time. Shows how observant I am, she rolled her eyes.

“Come back!” Poor thing must be terrified.

Emma went back into the store, leaving the door open enough for the dog to come back in, just in case. She rifled through her backpack and pulled out a can of beef stew. She opened the can, poured it into a bowl, and left it near the door, retreating further inside to give the pup space. She couldn’t do more than that.

Returning to her feast, Emma began.