Love in the Dark

Chapter Five

George had no idea what the hell was going on. It seemed like the whole world was going crazy. Within a few days of the total blackout, the chaos started. Looters made quick work of the Wal-Mart and the grocery stores, running out with flatscreen TVs on their shoulders that were completely worthless without electricity to power them. Smarter people went for the food and the bottled water. The shelves were empty in a matter of hours.

George barricaded himself inside his small third-story apartment. He had a couple of cases of water and a well-stocked pantry. He thought he could wait it out. The toilet wouldn't flush, and water wasn't coming out of the taps anymore. When there was snow, he took it up by the pail-full and kept it in his bathtub. When the snow melted off, he put a plastic tote under the eaves to catch rainwater. He tried to ration himself, but by the third week, he had drunk the last bottle of water. He was down to a few tin cans of vegetables and one dented can of tuna.

He leaned over his kitchen sink and peered out the window. He could see smoke from the fires that were burning downtown. Why did people even do that? Why burn s**t? How was that going to solve the problem?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the eerie silence was broken by a knock at the door. He moved uneasily and pressed his eye against the peephole. It was Janet, his neighbor. She stood there looking gaunt and dirty, her hair matted.

"George? Are you there?" Janet knocked again.

George reluctantly pulled back the deadbolt and undid the chain. He opened the door a crack, checking the hallway to make sure that Janet was really alone. "Hey." He greeted her warily.

"Hey George," she rubbed her arms. "Do you have any food left?"

George shook his head. "Not really."

"Me neither." She licked her cracked lips and slipped past him into the apartment. She sank onto his couch and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I hear people are moving into camps," she said absently.

"Camps?"

"Yeah, they are setting up in schools, churches. Safety in numbers and all that."

"Safety?"

"Yeah... those people... they are roaming the city in gangs now." She rocked back and forth nervously. "They go around robbing houses. Francine told me they raped a girl, and then they killed her."

"Jeezus." George sank down across from her on the loveseat. "What about the police?"

Janet shrugged. "What can they do? There are no radios, no phones, no way to call for help. They aren't even there anymore. You know they raided the station, right? They wanted guns and ammo, but I heard it was all gone when they got inside."

"What about the military?" I gulped.

She shrugged again. "I don't know."

He swallowed. "So, in these camps... do they have food?"

"I don't know. They must, right?" She picked at her arms. "I know this church, The Brick Church, way outside of town. My sister used to go there. That's where I'm going. You could come with me."

He only had to think about it for a minute. A can of peas, a can of corn, and a dented can of tuna in spring water was all that stood between him and starvation. He had thought that this was a thing that would blow over in a few days, but it seemed like the world had no intention of righting itself any time soon. "Yeah," he said after a minute. "Yeah, I'll go with you. Give me an hour to pack up."

"Okay," she pushed herself back to her feet. "Don't take too much, George. If they see you with a big bag, you'll get jumped."

George stood too, rubbing his sweating palms nervously across his thighs. "Yeah, okay."

He let the woman out of his apartment. They'd never been friends, even though they'd lived in the same building for a couple of years. They were the kind of neighbors who nodded at each other, maybe said a "Hi, how are you?" and then minded their own business.

George stuffed the last of his food down into the bottom of his backpack, added a couple of changes of clothes and a few sentimental items. As an afterthought, he opened his kitchen drawer and took out the biggest, baddest chef's knife he owned. He wrapped it in a sweater and stuffed it down in his bag as well. Lastly, he opened the closet and grabbed the sleeping bag from the top shelf. He hadn't used the thing since he moved in, and it was dusty and in need of a wash. He grimaced and tied it to the bottom of his backpack. No time for that now. He eased out of his door and locked it and went to find Janet. She was waiting downstairs, a duffle bag at her feet, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Ready?" George asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Which way are we going?"

She picked up the dufflebag and hoisted it over her shoulder. "I had an idea," she said in a hushed voice. "We could walk up to the old depot, and take the train tracks out of the city." Most of the tracks ran behind the city, out of sight of most of the streets and buildings.

"Good idea," George looked at her with a smidgen of appreciation. He wouldn't have thought of that. He was the most unqualified person ever to survive the zombie apocalypse. He was a bonafide city slicker. He was an accountant, for God's sake! He liked to dabble in a little day trading on the side. He'd never done boy scouts. He didn't know how to start a fire, and the one time his parents tried to send him to summer camp, he had cried inconsolably until they were forced to come pick him up and take him home.

It didn't take long before his feet began to blister, but he kept hobbling along behind Janet, constantly checking behind them, checking the bushes, looking for the bad guys to jump out and mug them. Nothing happened though. Cowbirds flocked in the trees, undisturbed by the two figures walking the tracks. Despite the cold air, he was sweating and uncomfortable. He hadn't had a shower or a real bath in weeks, and he could smell his own body odor.

They passed over the westbound highway and continued south, following the tracks. They passed a big solar farm, the panels glinting uselessly in the sun. Still they walked. In some places, a creek curled close to the tracks. George could see wild ducks in the water, paddling around the melting ice-shores. Nature was so undisturbed by the thing that had happened, while humans were utterly devastated.

At one point, he glanced down in the ditch and saw a jogging stroller tipped over on its side. It seemed like an odd place for a stroller, so far from any road. Who would have dumped that there?

After what seemed like forever, they came to a road that Janet recognized. They stepped off the tracks and onto the pavement. "Look," she pointed a trembling finger. Not too far in the distance he could see a white spire poking up in the sky.

"Finally," he sighed, and started walking with some renewed energy at the prospect of safety and a good meal.

Four men were stationed outside the church, two of them holding baseball bats, while one had a rifle. The one with the gun leveled it at George. "What do you want here?" The man barked.

"Please," Janet held up her hands. "We heard you have a camp here. We are looking for shelter."

"There's no more room here," the man growled.

The unarmed man beside him elbowed him in the ribs. "PB won't turn anybody away."

The man lowered the rifle reluctantly. "Well, he should. We don't have enough food as it is. Last thing we need is more mouths to feed."

The unarmed man, the friendliest of the four, stepped forward. "Come on, I'll take you to Pastor Bill. He's in charge here. He'll show you where you can sleep." Instead of going into the big brick church, he led them around behind it to another large building. He pulled open the doors and they were faced with a listless crowd of dirty, hungry, hallow-eyed people sitting around in clusters.

Janet and George exchanged worried looks, both of them thinking that perhaps it had been a mistake to come here. "I'm Tim, by the way. That's my wife Rose, over there." He gestured to a middle-aged lady with glasses that was hovering near the kitchen. Tim raised his hand and knocked gently on the door marked "office."

"Yeah, come in," a voice called. Tim turned the handle and pushed the door open. "Hey PB, we got two more come in off the street."

Pastor Bill was an unusually tall man, with a boyish face that made him appear younger than he actually was. He offered the two visitors a weak smile. "Welcome," he said tiredly. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances." He lowered his body back into the chair behind his desk. "What are your names?"

"I'm George Kironi." George said, "This is Janet-" he shook his head when he realized he didn't even know her last name.

"Pearlman." Janet finished for him.

"You guys come from the city?"

George nodded. The big man picked up a pen and added their names to a long list. "We don't have much, but we can offer you a roof over your head."

Janet swallowed. "What about food?"

The pastor rubbed the back of his neck. "We share whatever we have, but we've run out. We've got some men trying to fish the creek, and some hunters out looking for game."

Janet sniffled miserably. "But... I'm so hungry."

The pastor looked at her sympathetically, but he had nothing to offer her. "I'm sorry sister."

George huffed a sigh and pulled open his backpack. He took out the three cans of food he had carried and set it on the desk. "Share that too," he said dully. "It isn't like three cans are going to do me any good."