Chapter 2: Jonathon
I shut the door and lock it with my sister around my left arm. Dad had passed away in the night and we just finished our goodbyes. We didn't know where to take him. 911 was busy every time we had tried to call in his last few hours. I never imagined feeling so alone in the middle of a city. Outside, the world seems to be getting louder and louder; it is the deafening sound of death striking home after home. When I look down from the sixteenth story of our apartment complex, I see crowds swarming the streets. Our neighbors on either side have remained silent. Either they are dead or have already left the city. I guide my sister to the dining room table, her unfinished cake still before her. As dad became worse and worse, she never left his side and her project remained unfinished. Inhaling, I barely make out the smell of the frosting, still waiting to be decorated.
I walk to the window and press my forehead against the glass. The orange glow of morning lights up the streets and the masses of people below. Cars honk, people yell, and there seem to be a few dead bodies just lying alongside some buildings. No, they must be just resting. How could people just leave someone dead alongside a building? They can’t be dead and just lying there. My eyes twitch back and forth. My hand, unbidden, rises to my face to wipe away the tears that I anticipate. But none surface. As I force my hand slowly to my side, I consider why. Maybe I am in shock.
I take my head off the window and turn to see my sister whose head has sagged, supported by her arm stretched across the table. Tears have not abandoned her. We knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. Before my father died, he reached with a finger and beckoned for me to come nearer. I sat on the wooden stool next to his bed and Jocelyn stood at the foot of his bed. It took all his strength as he took a deep breath and began.
“Both of you...” coughs rattled his sentences, “get out of the city. Things are going to get bad out there. Man vs. Man. Get into the country. Take care of each other. It will get better. Until...” he worked his jaw, trying to manage his breath. Dad had given a lot of thought into his final words. “Take the gun, all the essentials here, and the car. Don't stop anywhere. People will get desperate. They won't act like they normally will, even children will change. Humanity will disappear.” He seemed to have no life left. He was completely drained and sweat soaked his hair and pillow. Without warning, he reached up grabbed my shirt and pulled me inches from his mouth.
“Don't let me down again.”
That last exertion rendered him unconscious. That would be the last thing he ever said to me. For a few moments I hated him for leaving me with that. I have tried so hard to make up for my sins. It never was enough for him. By the time he took in his final breath, that hate turned into understanding. I promised him and myself at that moment, when I pulled the sheet over his face, that I would not mess up again. Not like last time...
“We need to get started,” I say to Jo after a long silence, still leaning with my fist against the window. I quickly explain what dad suggested to me in the end. It sounded good enough for me. Better than our idea to try and run for the border. She looks up at me, nodding through the tears.
Before I know it, Jo and I are running about the apartment packing book-bags and the single suitcase we owned. We load the black suitcase with all of the food from the kitchen that would last: canned soup, peanut butter, crackers, a few bottles of water, rice, and some other random assortments we could manage from the already meager cabinets. Our last shopping trip was a week ago and the grocery store was already bare. People were stocking up.
We each gather some clothes. Fall had just begun so we also want to prepare for the winter ahead. We pack everything as tightly as we can and place it by the door. The piece of luggage is heavy but luckily it has some wheels and our backpacks pull tightly against our shoulders. As we stand there, we both glance back at the apartment. I think we both feel the same eerie feeling: we will never see our home again. This was not our first home, in fact we had moved around a lot, but it was our longest home in the past few years since mom died. Beside the television set was a photograph from three years ago, the last one with mom. It was at some picnic. We all look so happy. Dad smiles ear to ear with mom around his left arm and Jo and me under his right. Jo was starting to look a lot like mom. They had the same strawberry blonde hair and wore it nearly the same way. Dad and I didn't look too much alike, but we shared the same eyes. That was one of the last times we would be together as a family. We lost mom a few weeks later. Now, we just lost dad. I feel the tears from earlier creep up on me. I shake my head. Jo seems to have read my mind as she goes to the photograph, takes it out of the frame, and tucks it into her bag.
I almost forgot. There is only one more thing to get.
I finally step over to the closet and bring down my dad's safe box, or whatever you call it. The combination is simple: 888. I look in at its contents, and a small revolver with a half empty box of bullets peers back up. I don't really like guns. I stuff it in my jacket pocket and put the rest of the bullets in my book bag. My sister gives me a weary look.
“You could never use that.” she says, worried. And she is right.
“I know,” as I fumble with it in my pocket, trying to make it look less noticeable. “It may help with a bluff though. Hey, maybe I could shoot a deer with it when we get settled.” Jocelyn’s eyebrow rises. I don't know the first thing about deer hunting. I exhale with a mild grin. It was a poor joke.
“We'll figure it out,” she returns with a half smile. A smile of uncertainty. “Let's get going. Dad would have wanted us to leave as soon as we could.”
“What should we do with dad?” I ask. Leaving him there didn't seem like the best option. He should be buried. Jo looks at me and her eyes show a struggle with what to do.
“If things get under control we will come back and take care of him. There's no time.” She responds. It’s not what she wants to do, but it's what we have to do.
I pull the door to the hallway open and slowly step outside as a very reasonable fear settles in. I don't know what to expect out here, and I don’t know if I’ll be capable of making all the right decisions. This apartment was the last place we had control. Outside-things were completely out of our hands. Jo begins slowly down the hall toward the staircase that leads to the parking garage. There’s no time to obsess about the future now; we need to move. Instinctively, I turn and lock the door behind me. Habit, I guess.
We begin our walk slowly down the hall. The hall feels like a passageway to hell. It’s quiet except for the muffled noises in the streets echoing through the wall. After going down one flight of stairs, it gets dark.
The power goes out.
It is pitch black aside from the emergency exit sign that leads to the parking garage. We fumble through the dark as I drag the luggage down the steps. I open the door to the garage and my eyes adjust to the light. My nose fills with an awful stench and I try to grab Jo's head to cover her eyes, but I am too late.