August 16, 2005

I'm surprised to find Walmart fairly well-stocked, all things considered, though being in that huge store all by myself with nothing but a flashlight feels like something from a horror movie. It'd been shut down for some time—at least if the signs on the door are to be believed—and when I finally managed to get inside, the stench of rotting meat and produce made me vomit. That wasn't something I'd ever thought about. The scarf I had wrapped about my mouth and nose only helps so much.

I have no desire to linger in the store, but I also know I have to be calm and methodical about it. I have a list I made some time ago and start in the grocery section, hoping to get that part over with. It's disappointing but not shocking to find a lot of the canned goods section cleaned out. I suppose people were stocking up before there was no point in it anymore, but it doesn't look like anyone restocked the shelves before the place shut down. Maybe I can check in the backroom and see if there's anything there. The upside is that my parents have a lot of this sort of thing already—even stuff they've canned on their own—but I was hoping to supplement it. I find some jerky a few aisles away and grab all I can find, then grab peanut butter. Neither is much of a meal but they'll at least last me more than a day or two. I make sure to grab plastic bags of various sizes so I can keep things as dry and safe as possible. I also manage to find a few Cup O' Noodles, though unless I can boil water somewhere, they probably won't be much good. I hold onto them anyway.

I go through the clothing section, grabbing new underwear and lots of socks, looking specifically for any socks made for cold weather. It's August now but I don't know what I'm in for, and it feels safe to assume that regardless of where I am, there's not going to be much in the way of heat this winter. I'd rather not lose any toes to frostbite, plus socks like that are thicker and more durable than the average ones, so I'm hoping I can get some long term use out of them. I find new jeans and shirts, because I've been wearing on the same five or so outfits for months now and everything is getting pretty worn down. I go over to the shoe department and find a couple pairs of heavy duty boots, grateful at that moment because even though Walmart can be fairly generic, they seem to at least cater to their audience to a degree because the ones in this area are always stocked with the cold weather supplies one might be hard-pressed to find in a more southern area. I figure no matter what happens, I'm going to need decent shoes to get me through it.

After that, I go over to the camping supplies and pick up a couple of sleeping bags. Even though I already have a few that belonged to my father, I grab some utility knives because I figure those won't hurt, either. I grab canteens and rope and lanterns and tarps, everything I hope I won't need. I briefly consider the guns still locked safely in the glass cabinets, but I have no idea how to shoot one. I learned how to fish when I was a kid—and I grab a collapsible fishing rod and some hooks and tackle and fishing line while I'm thinking about it—but hunting wasn't something that ever interested me. After the President and Josh got shot, guns interested me even less. I bypass those and grab a big hiking backpack, already trying to mentally sort what I'm going to put in there in case that's all I can carry. I grab some baseball bats, too. Baseball has never been my game, but I figure even I could hit a large target if I needed to.

I really put forth a lot of effort to not think about the sort of things I could encounter to make packing like this necessary.

I make my way over to the health and beauty aids area, grabbing toothbrushes and paste—it seems ridiculous, but the last thing I want to have to deal with right now is a toothache. I take as many different vitamins as I can find, figuring it'll just be easier to sort them out later at my parents' house to figure out what I do and don't need. I'm assuming that my diet won't be the best, as it hasn't been for months now, and I'll need supplements to keep myself moderately healthy. Next I take rubbing alcohol and gauze and medical tape and a few Ace bandages just in case. I want to grab shampoo, but it doesn't seem likely that I'll be near running water long enough to wash my hair. Granted, the water systems in Madison have been mostly operational this whole time—how, I'm not sure, but I haven't wanted to question it—but I can't guarantee that I'll find running water anywhere else. I do grab bars of soap, though, just in case. I make way over to the feminine hygiene products, knowing this is going to be an added challenge to all this. The fact that the world has fallen apart around me and I still have to deal with my period is just insult to injury. I suppose there's a possibility that, with the stress of everything, it could become sporadic or stop all together. That gives me an idea, though, and I wind up hopping the pharmacy counter when I can't get in through the door. It takes a few minutes of searching, and I stumble across a lot of different types of medication that I'm probably going to regret leaving behind, but I find a large supply of birth control pills. I grab all that I can find, and once I get back to my parents' place I can take out the placebos. If I'm lucky, these will slow or stop my period entirely, and it looks like I have enough for several years.

With that done, I push my heavily laden cart outside, my corneas protesting violently at the onslaught of sunlight. It takes a while but I manage to get everything loaded before I head back in. I go to the back of the store and find the toughest, sturdiest looking bike possible along with tire patch kits and a pump, grabbing a helmet at the last minute. I hurry into automotives and find the battery used in my parents' SUV, figuring it can't hurt to have an extra, and get some repair kits for the car tires, too. I make another stop and take as many flashlights as I can find and all the batteries I can manage. I do another sweep of the store, moving up and down aisles with less urgency all of a sudden, my heart racing. This excursion is making things all too real.

I suppose I've been holding out hope in the back of my mind that Madison—or even all of Wisconsin—has been an isolated incident and that some form of help would show up. I work for the White House. I thought that would mean something. I thought that the Red Cross or National Guard would go rumbling down the street, letting me know that help was on the way. I guess I've been making myself believe just a little that I'll make my way to another state and see that it's still bustling with people. It's been months, though. Months without hearing from anyone else. Before communications were lost, nothing on the news looked at all good, not for anyone anywhere in the world.

I guess I've just had to hope. Maybe it made things manageable. Walking through an abandoned Walmart in an abandoned city, stocking up for supplies as I prepare to leave Wisconsin—probably forever—and head into what is now the unknown is enough to damn near paralyze me.

This isn't how I imagined my life.

I would guess this isn't how most people imagine their lives, but I've run into a few militant survivalists over the years that are probably getting their rocks off over this. That is, of course, if they've made it this long.

I find a couple cases of bottled water by accident in the baby section, and I get lost for a few moments in my head as I think about all kids that died because of this, or had parents that died and then starved to death because there was no one there to take care of them. Tears well in my eyes and I shake my head, trying to compose myself. I absolutely cannot think about that right now. It's a slippery slope. Thinking about all the kids and babies that died will get me thinking about the regular people going about their lives who suddenly found themselves holding onto life by a thread, then I'll think about all the people stuck in hospitals, scared and alone as their health rapidly declined, and then I'll think about my parents…and I can't do that in the middle of Walmart.

I force myself out of the baby section and remember to check the backroom, not terribly surprised when I can't find much of anything. My guess would be that the store hadn't gotten a delivery in some time, leaving little to be restocked. I decide not to go too far into the stock area because it looks darker and more cavernous than the rest of the store and I think I've now been in here too long. I hurry back to the front entrance, encouraged by what daylight I can see through the doors. I pause at the registers, considering for a few moments if I should check for money in them, then wondering if money matters at all anymore. I decide against it, figuring even if I could get one open, the money was probably moved from these back when the store shut down. I grab candy bars instead—there's not much real in any of them so I'm sure they've managed to survive quite nicely and I feel like I deserve a reward of some kind.

Before I can convince myself to make another trip around the store, I push my way back through the front doors, managing to glance over my shoulder just once or twice at what feels like the relative safety of the store before going back to the SUV to pack up the rest of the stuff. After this, my next goal is to check a couple of gas stations to see if any of the pumps are working; if so, I have a few gas cans that I can fill. If not…well, I really can't think about "if not" right now.