3. The Best I Can Do

                I slide under the branches of a Mulberry, and along into the backyard. I hear their shrieks of anger as I negotiate a hole in a wooden fence. Then I move in the back door of a house. It’s actually a back opening, the door is gone. Once inside, I sprint up the stairs. They hunt with smell as well as sight. When I’m escaping, I keep moving. If they discover my scent, I’ve still stretched the distance between us, and I’ve got a chance. It’s all about giving yourself a chance.  

                When I reach the third floor of the house, I duck through a pane-less window onto the back roof. Then I jump and pull myself up and roll onto the roof. I allow myself a peek back. I’m now three stories above them, and one hundred feet away and the Mulberry tree is between us. Eight of them, noses lifted into the air, peering about. They look as harmless as dogs or fat men in mental institutions, as if their gaze and sniffing are only curiosity. They haven’t caught my scent. They’d be moving already.  I know what will happen next. When they are alive, for some reason, they never rage against each other. Jim used to say they had the same goal of destruction, and they knew it. I heard a guy say it was pheromones. I don’t know. Their eyes turn down to the two I destroyed. VBs eat anything. I’ve seen them chew on sneaker leather, sidewalk weeds, anything. So it’s not surprising when they sink teeth into the dead. It’s just something I prefer not to watch. I lower my head, and get to the middle of the roof.

                I walk along the roof tops. One or two roofs are flimsy, but I know the solid beams and carefully walk them. Most of the roofs are still firm. When I get to a house with a roughly built trap door set in its roof, I swing down onto the lower roof and enter through the window. Then I climb down the stairs, which are littered with left overs from the family that once lived here, and the death battles that ended that. I enter the second floor front bedroom.

                I’ve got it very organized. Weapons hang along one wall. Another is a shelf with books, and a few PSP games. There are a few stacks of books on the floor, but they are neat and even. There is a mattress in one corner. Sheets, somewhat clean. In the bureau there are a lot of different items I think I might need if I set out for somewhere. Most of the floor is clear, and swept. I wipe it down once a week. Probably, if you’ve got the picture of me right, you are thinking, this former fat kid who eats Styrofoam Cheetos is organized? That doesn’t fit. You’re right. I was that kind of kid, not just clothes and games on the floor, but food wrappers too (no wonder he struggled with finding a girlfriend). But when you live in one room, and you’ve read all your comics, newspapers, and books four times, you clean your room. Then you figure out, hey, this is kind of nice. And it’s nice to feel like this space is in control. I don’t feel like that anywhere else. I know where everything is, I know where I would put Weapon X: Issue 4, if I had it.

                I hang Ackee by the door, and tip toe down the hall to the bathroom. This room reeks, as I only flush once a day. I piss into the top basin. I can use the collected piss later to flush the bigger stuff. You might say, why not just throw your shit outside? They watch for that, and they’ve got a great sense of smell. I figure, the sewer system is still intact. That way I can live in a house, and there is no sign.  

               Water is easy. It rains often, and I’ve got a real clean trashcan set up so the room drains into it. It’s a bit of a risk drinking rain water off a roof, but not drinking water is a bigger risk.

   I could talk a little about my defense system, but it’s basically more about escape. There are trap doors in the room, going up and down, the one is below a piece of plywood, going down. I pried up some floor boards, and kicked through the plaster. It doesn’t look like an escape way from below, just wear and tear. The one going up is the same thing, but there it’s on hinges, so I can swing it up quickly if I need to. I took the hinges off some kitchen shelves. I always use what’s handy. Foraging is necessary, especially for reading, but it’s also risking your life.  I can exit out the windows and drop about twelve feet to the street, or out the hallway to the third or first floor. I’ve been here for a few months. Eventually, I’ll have to leave. I could defend against a couple, but that isn’t usually how it would work.  

The last time I had to leave a place was terrible. I heard footsteps coming through the house, this was about four months back, and I figured it was them. Not many normals left. They were coming up the stairs. That time I lived on a third floor. I went to go onto the roof, and saw about seven of them along the roofs. I ducked back down. Sounded like about three. Thing was, they see me, they scream, now the team from the roofs is coming for me. So I remembered then that I was going to die, so I thought about what I would do.

I jumped off the half roof. It was about twenty two feet, maybe more. I landed light as I could, but I sprained my ankle. I didn’t even allow myself to whisper, “Fuck.” Sprained ankle meant, they see me, I’m dead. I limped across the hard, through a hole in the fence. Then I saw they were in other houses, and on the roofs on the back of the block. It felt like I was surrounded. I did something I don’t do much. It was there though. The back up plan. I went through the a vacant lot, onto the street, and hopped into a Ford 150 out there. As I moved, I heard their screech, answered by other screeches. Like wolves, you know. One leapt off a roof, and landed a lot better than me, and sprinted toward the car. Oh you fucking starter, sing for me now. Moment of terror, and the thing started. I was pulling away when one of them rammed into the window, cracking it. I swung out. Driving is hard. Lots of random vehicles in the way. I use a bigger vehicle for that reason, banging through them. I ride around the block once, slamming into the pack. After that I realized that they were hunting. They went through a block in large groups, with waiting sentries.

What they do is, get in groups of fifty or so, and they hunt a block. Some stay outside, and others run through the house. When they spot a normal person they scream, and then it’s over. I’ve got guns, you know. But guns are a double-edged sword. You kill that one, fast and from distance, but it’s just like a car. It makes a lot of noise. Each bang calls them to you. People used guns early on, but they all died, eventually. You can only have so many rounds.

Now you’re saying, why don’t you drive everywhere. As I was smashing through them with the steel bumper on that 150, I sure liked it. The problem is, there are so many, and once they hear a car, they all come running. So once you’re in a car, you got a problem. You got to stop sometime. And when you do . . . Well, that time I drove up to the far Northeast, before I ditched the car. Out there, there is a lot of space, so I could have a running start. I made it, but I don’t drive much.

Beside those packs it’s quiet. It’s been six months since I heard VBs chase anything but cats, which means no roommates. So. Take a seat by the window, where I can see the street through the blinds. I got a Franklin busybody so I can watch the block. I have a much better exit if they come again. I pull out an episode of Batman. I read the dialogue blocks, but I look at every little feature. The costumes, the positions. I try to see something I’ve never seen before. It’s good reading. I try to ignore his softness. It always feels like he takes the death of his parents a little hard. I mean, he’s still got Albert. What would he do if everyone died? I sip slowly from a bottle of Coke, enjoying the sweetness and the little bit of bite left. This is home for today. It’s the best I can do.