Chapter 2:
The next couple of days were a numb blur. I could barely muster enough strength to get off the couch to eat or go to the bathroom. Instead, I just stared at the inoperative TV. All my mind could process was the fact that grandpa was dead and I'd killed a man. I tried the words "It was self defense" on for size but they just wouldn't fit no matter how hard I tried to shoehorn them in. After awhile, I just gave up and resigned myself to not feeling anything because I'd started to get accustomed to it.
After day three, the remaining mental block shattered like an earthquake damaged dam and forced me to acknowledge the death of my parents. To be fair, it wasn't all at once; the logical part of my brain was at odds with the fact that I'd already lost more than anybody had a right to. Logic however won out in the end and made me realize that whatever shut down all electronics had to knock planes right out of the sky. There was a small sliver of hope that maybe they'd somehow survived; their plane was maybe able to make an emergency landing or if they did crash, possibly they managed to beat the odds and survive. That sliver wasn't enough to keep me from going into a fresh crying jag. Ironically, it was the only thing that got me off of the couch.
I was ready to die; I wanted to just chuck it all and be done with it. Why shouldn't I? I thought. My family was all dead and I was stuck in a house that was on the outskirts of chaos. It was funny that my comic collection crossed my mind but I figured even the most powerful, bravest of heroes would probably falter if they were in my shoes; I was just a sixteen year old kid, I had no chance. My only problem was, was my Southern Baptist upbringing even though I wasn't exactly practicing in spite of my mom's insistence. I just couldn't quite work up the nerve to off myself. As silly as it sounds, the thought of my immortal soul going to a hell I wasn't quite sure existed scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I wondered if God would grant me a pass just this once if I went through with it.
That very night, my decision was made for me. I'd just recovered from the all day crying fit and was shaking from the effort. I shuffled off to the kitchen for a bite to eat from one of the many cans of tuna grandpa had in his cabinet; he'd always had some sort of tuna fetish that I didn't quite get. It wasn't a t-bone steak but since I couldn't quite comprehend starving myself to death either, I figured it would do.
There was a strange shuffling at the back door. At first I dismissed it because wild animals constantly crossed grandpa's property and I'd learned a long time ago not to be scared of them. When the doorknob started to move, my mind crossed off raccoon from my mental checklist. I didn't think I could deal with another attacker; I didn't want to fight, only run away. I hoped that if I hid, whoever it was would take what they wanted to take and bail.
With a crash, the door exploded inward before I could get to a hiding place. I was faced with a massive, mountain of a man dressed in jeans, work-boots, blue flannel shirt and an orange vest. His entire raiment had obviously seen better days and it was obvious why. The look in his eyes flashed with naked desperation as they leveled themselves on me. In his gnarled, hairy hand was a tire iron that was caked with a dark red, crusty substance and hair I thought. "I-I don't want any trouble. Just get out of here!" I yelled, not trying to disguise the panic in my voice. I very suddenly wished I had my bokken.
He uttered no words but instead lunged at me, swinging the tire iron at me. I guess I wasn't as enamored with dying as I thought because I instinctively ducked under his swing. The tire iron put a hole in the wall where my head would've been. I stumbled back, trying to get distance from him more out of fear than any kind of strategy. The butt of my jeans slid across the Pergo floor and I desperately tried to scramble to my feet but I stumbled a couple of times. It was just enough time for my attacker to tackle me back to the ground.
Survival instinct kicked in evaporating any stray thoughts I might have had of dying. It was weird or maybe it wasn't but all I could think of was Vanessa and how I'd never see her again if this asshole killed me in my grandfather's house. I couldn't even be sure that she was alive but somehow I knew that she was. I had to see her again, I just had to!
The intruder was on top of me and he swung at me again. I managed to catch his wrist but he was much stronger than I was. "No, no!" I screamed out, trying to gain any kind of leverage I could, wriggling like a worm beneath him. His lips dripped with crazed spittle as he stared at me with those insane blue eyes that glittered like chips of ice. The five o'clock shadow framed by his massive dirty blonde mustache reeked of blood from the residue that I was able to see now that I was up close and personal with him. I could also tell that he hadn't bathed in a couple of days, probably since everything went out.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and mustache as he pressed the tire iron closer to my face. If I had to guess why he wouldn't listen to reason, it was probably because he was starving or maybe he'd seen his share of horrors like I had or maybe it was even because he was just mentally imbalanced. Whatever it was, I didn't care. Instead, I bit down on the wrist that held the tire iron with all of my might. I tasted the coppery blood in my mouth as he yelled and dropped the tire iron. This also served to let me slip loose of him.
Again I tried to scramble to my feet and this time I was successful. I managed two steps and got into the kitchen before I was tackled against the sink. I felt the wind get driven out of me as I made contact. Another instinctive move made me lash out with my foot at his balls. He grunted in surprise and stumbled back. My right hand felt something wooden, small and slightly cylindrical and I grasped it. Before I could move again, he turned me around and simultaneously hit me with a hard backhand that sent bluish-white stars shooting across my eyes. It was my turn to bleed as I hit the ground.
The world spun and my vision swam. He lunged for the tire iron still on the ground but somehow through the haze of half-consciousness, I managed to shove it away from his grasp. He growled like a wild animal as he jumped on me and landed yet another iron hard fist across my jaw. Pain shot through my face and I could feel my top lip begin to swell up. The blackness of unconsciousness began to retake me from the blow but I held onto Vanessa's face, her voice and the memory of her sweet scent that I longed to inhale once more. "Fuck you!" I half shouted, half slurred as my left hand grasped for his face. He tried to smack it away but as he was doing that, my right hand that held the object thrust out at him. I heard a sharp scream as the knife pierced his shoulder; I thought I was aiming for his throat but I really wasn't caring about accuracy at that point.
"Die!" I screamed over and over as fear and pain gave way to blind rage and adrenaline took over my body. It didn't give me superhuman strength or anything but the adrenaline was enough to jump on him and gain the advantage. My movements were more like an angry, drunken old man than a sleek killer as I stabbed at him with the knife. I felt the steak knife enter his throat. He gurgled and tried to cry out but it was choked off from the blood streaming from out of him.
Though he was done with the throat shot, I kept stabbing and stabbing until my arms felt like lead weights. When the adrenaline was finally completely spent and I couldn't move anymore, I fell off the prone body that still gurgled and twitched slightly. I kicked myself to a corner of the kitchen adjacent from the body, trying to breathe the fire out of my lungs as I stared at the corpse. This time the words "it was self defense" slipped on quite easily along with the words "fuck you asshole."
It's said that alcoholics had a moment of clarity after they'd hit rock bottom that allows them to change, that's exactly what I had. I knew what I had to do and it was clear as the night sky outside. I wasn't going to just wait to die. I had to see Vanessa once more; I had to know if she somehow weathered this….whatever this was. If anybody was left worth living or dying for, it was her. Absently, I looked at my watch and saw the hands still stuck at 6:15. She wasn't in a car or plane when this, this Change happened so I could discount her dying in some sort of accident. Her father was tough and could protect her so maybe she survived, she had to have.
Shuffling to the bathroom, I absent-mindedly flicked the light switch on and chuckled grimly to myself as I thought about how stupid the gesture was. I went back to the kitchen, retrieved a candle and lit it. The light it cast made the bathroom creepy looking. A sliver of light fell upon the dead intruder making the scene look like some terrible horror movie. I shuddered and ripped my eyes away from the corpse.
My tongue and finger probed the back of my mouth; I winced at the tender spot where the man had punched me. I felt a loose tooth in the very back of my mouth and it came out at the slightest touch. I spat it out along with a thin strand of blood into the sink. The tooth hit the porcelain with a small clatter that sounded loud in the overwhelming darkness.
In the grim candlelight, I looked at myself in the mirror. The right side of my face was giving birth to a huge bruise and my upper lip looked like somebody had injected a balloon into it. Fortunately the tap was still working; I guess whatever happened only happened to electronics and not basic mechanics. I turned on the water and washed the blood, his and mine, and two days of funk off my body. After I was finished, I stared into the mirror for a few minutes more, affirming to myself what I had to do then I stepped out.
First I got dressed in a clean set of underwear, jeans, my old beat-up Nirvana shirt and my hiking boots. Then I gathered the backpack that grandpa had bought me for our hiking and camping trips and loaded it up with what I thought I needed. I grabbed as much of the canned and dried food that I could carry without loading myself down, first aid kit as well as a change of clothes, especially socks; grandpa had forced it into my head that clean socks could mean the difference between amputation because of jungle rot or healthy feet. I also packed a few other odds and ends.
After filling my canteen and grandpa's which I slung onto the backpack, my eyes fell upon the book I was reading while I was on vacation, "The Book of Five Rings" by Miyamoto Musashi, one of my all time favorite heroes. Smiling, I threw that into my backpack too.
Mercifully, the backpack was relatively light considering how much I packed into it. At least it wasn't so heavy that I'd get tired out after thirty steps. I grabbed my bokken and grandpa's hunting knife which I tucked into my belt. I chuckled at the memory of grandpa never letting me playing with it or even holding it. It was his pride and joy. After watching "First Blood," he fell in love with the knife and special ordered it from some catalogue. It had a compass, flint and steel and some nylon cord in the handle. I could see why he loved it so much.
As I began to leave, I turned on my heel and looked at my grandpa's house. There was something, somehow wrong with just leaving it like this. Inspiration hit me as my tongue probed the tender spot in my mouth. I sat my backpack down and went to the garage and retrieved a can of gasoline. Like a madman, I splashed the gas liberally all over the house. When I was finished I reached into my pocket and produced the Zippo, igniting a branch. I hesitated for a moment considering what I was about to do. When I thought of my grandpa and the body, the branch left my hand of its own volition through the window. Blossoms of flames shot through the windows and caused the walls to expand slightly. I would not let anybody else loot the house. Now there was nothing holding me there.
I made my way to Miller's General Store, slightly panting as I neared. Apprehension made me grip my bokken tightly. The store looked even worse now than the night of the mini-riot that took my grandpa's life. It was pitch black and I wished I had a flashlight...if they were working. I could've kicked myself in the butt when I realized that I forgot bring a lantern! It was probably lucky for me though that I didn't bring a light source; if there were ambushers at the store, they would've seen my light from a mile away.
Improvising, I took a branch and wrapped an errant towel around it, dipped the tip into a gas tank of one of the cars left abandoned there and lit it. With my torch, in my left hand and my bokken at the ready in my other, I crept inside the store. It was silent as death inside which I was actually hoping for.
A rancid smell greeted me which I assumed was rotted meat. I convinced myself that's all it was because the freezers were out. I didn't have the guts to check and make sure that's all it was. I hoped that Mr. Miller was safe at home and didn't get killed somewhere in his store. The torchlight made the mess strewn about look almost alive when I saw it out of the corners of my eyes.
Looters had cleaned the place out from top to bottom of anything that would provide some sort of sustenance, even the bubble gum. I honestly didn't expect anything less but I did allow myself some semblance of hope. As silly as it sounds, I would've killed for a Twinkie at that point. In absence of food or drink, I picked up the next best thing. The AAA pocket map lay in the rack next to the cash register. I picked it up and as an afterthought, checked the register. I nodded to myself when I found that it was empty. It didn't hurt to try.
I stepped back out into the dark night, the torch flickering in my hand as I studied the map. It was one-thousand miles and some change from Seattle to Los Angeles so I figured I'd better get cracking. I whispered a reaffirmed promise to myself, almost a plea as I started walking, "I'm coming home Vanessa, please be alive." I was going home.