September 18, 2005
My eyes pop open and I hold my breath. I don't know when I started doing that, just that it was at some point after I started this endless drive home. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night, I hold my breath until I can figure out what made me wake up. Usually, it's the sound of my own breathing that does it, especially the few times I've actually started to snore. Occasionally, I've looked out the car windows and have seen an animal walking through, making twigs snap under its feet. Most of the time, though, there's nothing outside to wake me, it's just my own fears doing it.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I hear voices.
My heart starts to slam against my ribcage.
I try to hold my breath again, hoping to help myself hear what's going on, but my heart's beating too rapidly to hold it in for long.
Even though it's pitch black in the back of the SUV, my vision starts to darken around the edges as I feel myself panicking. I know I have to get myself under control. I'm not sure what I'll do if I have a full-blown panic attack right now; I just know that staying as still and quiet as possible are essential. I can sob later.
I try to even out my breathing as I very slowly pull blankets over my head, trying to myself look as unobtrusive as possible. Sweat breaks out over my entire body, and maybe part of it is because it's sweltering under all those covers, but since my blood has turned to ice water, I don't entirely notice the heat. I make sure to leave enough space at the top of the blanket so that I can see partially out of the windshield and passenger side windows, in case someone passes by and I can see their shadows. I clutch my baseball bat to my side, its presence not as comforting as I would have hoped.
I hear the voices again, though I realize I can't make out the actual words, which is something of a relief. Whoever it is may not be as close as I thought. They could be on a whole different street for all I know, depending on the way sound travels where I am. My heart thumping in my ears makes it hard for me to hear anything. I have no idea if I'm in any danger of being discovered. I have no idea if people scour the countryside and look in every car they find to determine if someone is stashed in it. The chances are probably slim but how can I possibly know? In all likelihood, these are people who are in the same situation as I. Maybe they're traveling somewhere. Maybe they live here. Maybe they feel more comfortable moving around at night. I'm certainly not going to hop out of the car to find out.
The sound of shoes scuffling hits my ears and I almost throw up. That sounded really close. I try to tell myself that sound travels differently depending on where you are, and just because I can hear feet on pavement, that doesn't mean they're headed my way.
Tiny pebbles go skittering across the ground and my eyes slam shut, my brain reverting to my childhood mentality of monsters—if I can't see them, they can't see me. After a few seconds, I force my eyes open. I still can't see much, but I should at least have a few seconds of warning if someone is suddenly outside of my window.
And then what?
That thought paralyzes me because I have no answer for it. What am I supposed to do if there's really someone out there, and if that someone decides they want to take what I have? I have no way of stopping them. Sure, I have a baseball bat that I sleep with and some knives and several mini axes I've picked up since leaving Wisconsin, but I don't know if I can wield them properly, never mind use them against another person.
Essentially, I'd be toast.
I try to get my brain to function rationally. I go over what I know. I know that I'm parked at a strip mall. I know that I chose this mall because a lot of cars were left here, and adding my car to the mix wouldn't stand out much, if at all. I know that the odds of these people, whoever they are, feeling the need to look into every car they pass are fairly slim. I know there's a good possibility that these people aren't from around here and have no idea which cars are here every day. I know that despite hearing their voices, they don't seem to be using any lights, which means they probably won't be shining anything in my eyes. I know that even if they happen to look into the SUV's windows right now, they might be able to make out some old blankets and various pieces of trash because I go to great lengths to make sure everything that can be covered is covered and try to make it look haphazard. I know that in this particular situation, there's a lot working in my favor.
Somehow, none of that helps me feel better right now.
This is the first time in months that I've actually been near other people, so that means this is the first time in months that I've heard someone's voice other than my own. It's disconcerting. It's even more disconcerting because it's the middle of the night and everything is so very dark and without looking, I have no way of gauging how close these people might be.
Part of me is tempted to sit up a little and try to look through the window. The more pragmatic side of me warns against it, though. No matter my curiosity, no matter how slowly I move or how stealthy I try to be, I don't know what the world looks like to these people right now. I know from personal experience that even though the world at night is extremely dark without any office buildings and street lights or even ambient light, eyes can still adjust to it. I have tinted windows now, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't be able to see some sort of shadow as I shift position.
A couple of pebbles hit the car and it takes everything in me to stay still and not make any noise. I bite down hard on my lip. The sound of people walking is even closer now, somewhere in the aisle where I'm parked. I can hear them talking, and if my heart wasn't pounding so hard, I might be able to make out the conversation. Someone bursts out laughing and I almost lose it. Bile rises in my throat.
I stop breathing entirely when I see shadows pass next to my car. I can make out the shape of three…four…no, five people as they inexplicably walk right beside the SUV and, for all intents and purposes, me. Of all the places they could walk, it had to be here.
They don't pause, though. Whoever they are, wherever they're going, they pay no attention to my car or, from the sounds of it, anyone else's. That should make me feel better.
Instead, I'm paralyzed. What if they come back? What if they're just scoping out the area before they decide to break into any car they can and take anything they might think they need? What if they find me?
A wave of dizziness passes over me and it's only then I realize I'm still holding my breath. It escapes my lungs louder than I mean for it to, and I can't help but hold my breath again as I wait to see if I've alerted anyone with the noise.
I can't hear anything.
Not a sound.
Did I imagine the whole thing? Am I so terrified of the possibility of running into someone that my brain is manufacturing people?
Am I going crazy?
I hear a laugh again, this time farther away, and my shoulders actually sag in relief a little. It's still scary as hell, but it seems marginally better than hallucinating.
I shift carefully, trying to keep my motions slow as I search for the little penlight I usually keep in my pocket. Once I work it free, I'm careful to keep myself fully covered as I switch it on and look at the wind-up watch on my wrist. It's just after three in the morning.
Someone shouts suddenly and then I hear feet pounding, someone running past my car. I do my best to stifle a gasp and fumble for a few seconds as I turn off the light. Just a few moments later I hear more shouting and people running, all in the general vicinity of the SUV. I bite down on my hand to stop myself from crying out. Did they see me? Did I move too much? Did I use my light outside of the blankets? Are they screwing with me before attacking the car? Are they bored enough that they feel the need antagonize me before going in for the kill?
…Will they actually kill me? Would someone do that? Or would they just take all my stuff and leave me stranded here?
I hear another commotion from somewhere behind me, then more shouting, then people running again, though this time nowhere near my car.
My breath starts coming in short, sharp gasps and in a very detached part of my brain, I realize I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. I give into the panic for a few moments, though, because it's all I can do. I can still hear them, though they're becoming fainter by the moment.
I force myself to take deeper breaths; the last thing I want to do is pass out right now.
Once I have my breathing under control, I strain my ears as I listen for any sign of life. The silence is so thick that even after all that noise around my car, I'm still not sure if I imagined it or not.
I'm positive that I heard people out there. Positive. But...what if I really imagined it? What if I'm asleep right now? Do I have a fever or some kind of infection that causes hallucinations?
That thought stops me in my tracks. Have I gotten sick? Do I have what my parents had? I don't know what they went through for the last week of their lives. I wasn't allowed to see them and no one afterward could or would give me much information about their condition. In fact, other than the general information that they, and just about everyone else, caught this virus that seemed to have endless mutations and ravaged bodies quickly, I know very little about it. Honestly, I don't think most people knew much about it. It came about so quickly that no one had much of a chance to research it, other than being able to confirm that it wasn't the common cold and definitely not the flu. So, it's entirely feasible that hallucinations are part of the process. Hell, I could be hallucinating all of this right now. I could be stuck in my parents' home in Wisconsin, all of us struggling for life, and my fevered brain is trying to distract me from my impending death.
No. No. I know what I know. This is real. I'm in the middle of nowhere Indiana with a car full of what I've deemed as essentials, and a bunch of people just made a big ruckus outside of my car.
I grab my penlight again and look at the time, surprised to see that it's almost four now. That means it's been the better part of an hour since anyone came by here.
Slowly, I start to ease myself out of my cocoon. My muscles protest after having been so tense for so long, so I stretch out my arms and legs carefully. The air in the rest of the car is almost cool compared to life under the blanket. It takes a few long minutes but I ease myself into a sitting position, though I press myself into the back corner of the car, hoping it'll continue to hide me. I can't see much out the windows, other than the cars in the parking lot. Even though my eyes are quite adjusted to the dark right now, there isn't much moon and the window tint really obscures things. After a few moments, I can see some bottles on the ground—what looks like handles of vodka—that I don't remember seeing before. Most likely, people were just blowing off some steam and got drunk and decided to wander. They could be anywhere by now. They could be passed out by now.
As I stare out into the night, wondering if the coast is clear, I feel tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to fight it back, but as I exhale it gets all choked up in my throat. A couple of hot tears slide down my cheeks and I brush them away impatiently, willing myself not to cry. A sob bubbles out of my chest anyway and I can't contain myself.
I cry.
I weep, really.
I don't know if I've cried since my parents died, or if I even cried then. I've been in survival mode for months, never stopping to dwell on everything that's happened not just in my life but with the rest of the world, and now I understand why.
It's too much. It's too much to try to feel. But I can't stop it. A dam has broken. I'm scared out of my mind and I don't know what to do. I have no one I can turn to. I'm afraid of my own shadow. I can't figure out how to get home. At some point, I'm going to run out of gas. I was supposed to be in DC by now and I've been traveling for two weeks. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not a survivalist. I'm not equipped to protect myself. It won't be long before I run out of food and water, and then what?
I cry for a long time. I can't stop crying. Everything inside of me aches.
Eventually it becomes numb. The tears stop and my eyes are bleary and exhausted. Nothing outside has stirred in a long time.
I finally notice the sun peeking over the horizon and my shoulders sag with relief. I've been sitting here for hours disassociating. But the sun is rising.
I wait for it to come up a bit more, the long shadows on the ground disappearing by increments.
Once it's light enough for me, I crawl into the driver's seat and pull out the keys, feeling even more relieved when the engine starts right up. I waste no time in pulling out of the parking lot, heading back in the direction I came from.
I want to put as much space between me and Warsaw as I can. I'll find another route.
