Staying Alive

5

John had been holed up in his Center City apartment for the last two weeks. Currently, he was crouched in a corner, back up against the wall, arms around his knees.

The apartment had been luxurious and inviting when the electricity was running. Now, it felt like a prison cell designed by the demented.

His thoughts were drifting. He was somewhere between being awake and being asleep.

He thought of his family. He wondered what’d happened to his brother, Max.

John and Max hadn’t been close for the last decade. They’d simply drifted apart. Their family hadn’t really been a “talking” family, so John figured that he and Max simply had trouble opening up and communicating with each other.

Max, as far as John knew, had been living out in the suburbs still. He’d been offered higher-paying jobs in the city, but he’d refused them all. At the time, John simply couldn’t fathom why Max would want to stay out in the boring suburbs with his boring job.

Now, Max’s decision made more sense.

Not that John knew Max had gotten out safely. In fact, there was absolutely no way to know. There were no phones, no internet, no means of communication whatsoever.

Max had always been talking about his plans for “when the shit hit the fan.” Well, that was about ten years ago. John, and everyone else, had always scoffed at Max’s prediction of a violent end to modern society. And as far as John had seen, Max hadn’t actually taken any steps to do anything about what he’d feared. Maybe, though, sometime in the last decade, Max had gotten more into it. Who knew. John now wished he’d talked to Max more. He wished he’d done a lot of things differently, and spent his time with different people. John had wasted so many hours of his life hobnobbing in the fancy Center City bars with the other investor types, always hoping for a hot tip or a new business contact.

The entire apartment was dark, except for thin rays of light that broke through the expensive blinds and curtains he’d purchased last year.

He’d heard screams almost every day. He’d heard moaning and crying coming from the other apartments. He’d heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot in the hallway.

Once, someone had banged loudly on his door. He hadn’t answered it, of course, and eventually the person had gone away. But John had spent that entire half hour in complete panic, his fist gripping a large kitchen knife.

John had run out of food four days ago. Up until then, he’d been eating uncooked and partially rotten food from his freezer. A year ago, he’d purchased half of a cow through one of those organic farm share type programs. He’d never gotten around to eating anything but the finest steaks, so what had remained after the EMP were mostly organ meats that had once seemed completely unappetizing. Not that they had suddenly become delicacies, but John had sucked down a half-rotten raw kidney greedily. That was what hunger did to you.

Since the EMP, John had been drinking water out of his tub. He was now approaching the bottom of the tub, and it was difficult to gather the water into the coffee mug he used as a ladle. He didn’t know if he could drink the tap water or not.

John wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t left his apartment since the EMP. He’d known something was up, and as he’d walked home from work that day, he’d recognized the signs of an EMP.

Initially, John hadn’t considered leaving the city. After all, he’d been sure that the government would leap into action. He’d been sure that the power would be back on in a few days. But the days had ticked by, and now two weeks had passed without a single flicker of the lights. John had to admit now that he’d been wrong, and now he no longer held even a shred of hope that things would return to normal.

At least John had had enough sense to stay holed up in his apartment. He’d known there’d be chaos during the power outage, but he’d been sure that law and order would be restored.

He was shaking as he crouched there. His coffee mug was on the floor next to him. There was also the large kitchen knife, and a couple other odds and ends. The apartment was a mess, filled with the smelly plastic the frozen meat had come in. The freezer and fridge themselves stank horribly as well. But John hardly noticed that now.

There was a blood-curdling scream that came from the hallway of the apartment building.

John froze in fear.

Everything was more terrifying in the near-darkness.

He couldn’t imagine what it was like in those hallways, now pitch-black. John was on the fifth level, and he knew the stairways leading down would be nothing but terrifying darkness.

The scream continued for a full minute.

There were other sounds. A strange thumping sound. The sound of something banging into the wall. Then the unmistakable sound of a fist against a skull.

John had to get out of here.

He’d been denying it for as long as he could.

But there was no food left. He’d die soon enough if he stayed there.

The screaming stopped suddenly. It was nothing but piercing silence now.

John’s heart was thumping wildly. He was sure he wasn’t thinking clearly. The only thought that echoed through his rattled mind was: get out.

He didn’t care if he wasn’t making the right decision. As far as he was concerned, it was the only decision.

John’s mind turned again to his estranged brother, Max. If Max had done what he’d been threatening to do and finally gotten prepared, there’d be one place that Max would have fled to. And that was the farmhouse that he’d inherited.

John was still bitter about the farmhouse. It was one of those familial disagreements that outsiders could never understand. John made a hell of a lot of money, and it wasn’t as if the farmhouse had any financial value for him. Instead, it was that he had been passed over, simply because Max had gotten along better with their grandfather.

John got up suddenly. It was time to act.

It was time to leave.

He didn’t think he could really make it to the farmhouse. He didn’t even really think that Max would be there. After all, Max was probably dead. And John probably wouldn’t make it.

Moving frantically in the dim light, John gathered what he could. There was no food to take with him. Really, there was hardly anything that might be useful. His luxurious apartment had been outfitted in the minimalist style of expensive pieces of furniture. The style left no room for odds and ends to lay around. And John wasn’t the type to keep tools or camping gear around.

In the span of five minutes, John gathered his things.

In one hand, he held his kitchen knife. He gripped it so tightly his knuckles were almost white.

In his other hand, he held his expensive leather briefcase. Inside, he had stuffed a flannel-lined raincoat. It was perhaps the most practical piece of clothing that he owned. The briefcase also contained a water bottle John had discovered at the last minute in one of the mostly-unused kitchen cupboards.

There was no flashlight to be found in the apartment. He didn’t have any candles either. He was going to have to do this in the dark.

The light outside was dimming. The sun was going down.

It was now or never.

John knew he’d rather die outside than spend another moment starving to death in his apartment. He had to at least try. He had that much life left in him.

But he wasn’t sure he’d even make it through the hallway alive.

Knife in hand, he swung the front door open.

The hallway was dark. But with the doorway open, some of the sun’s dying light came through the blinds in a line across the hallway.

A woman’s body lay on the floor. Her hair was matted with blood.

John looked away immediately. He didn’t want to see her injuries.

He stepped over her body.

The sunlight got dimmer the farther he walked.

His heart had never beat harder or faster.

He was almost paralyzed with fear.

But he kept going.

He wasn’t going to give up. He’d finally found the strength to leave. He was finally willing to fight. He was finally willing to try to survive.

It was the trying that was important.

After all, he didn’t expect to live.

At the end of the hallway, the light was so dim he almost couldn’t see.

He’d passed by the elevator. Obviously that wasn’t an option.

John stood in front of the heavy metal door that led to the stairwell, normally only used in emergencies. Well, this is an emergency, he thought.

He took a deep breath. Holding his knife in front of him, ready to stab, he pushed the door open.

Not that he’d be able to see a potential attacker.

He stepped across the threshold and the heavy metal door slammed closed behind him.

John couldn’t see his hand in front of him. He had no idea where the stairs began. He’d have to crawl on his hands and knees.

The farmhouse was at least an eight hours’ drive from the city. And John hadn’t even left his building yet. And he was currently crawling.