Page 4 of Purgatory
I decide to leave the master bedroom and head to the third door down the hallway. A bathroom. I happily take the time to relieve myself before continuing my search. If you’ve never had to shit in the woods, you’ll never appreciate the simple wonders like indoor plumbing, even if you only have one flush left.
Opening the cupboards, I see a few bottles of aspirin, tampons and Band-Aids. I take the lot of it as well as the toilet paper that was left under the sink and shove the haul into my backpack. Turning, I exit the bathroom and continue my tour.
“Last door.”
I shouldn’t have even opened that door. The hairs standing on the back of my neck should have been enough to stop me from going any further, but do I listen to my intuition? Fuck no, that would make sense. And making sense, is just not me, apparently.
Bright colors and action figures line the walls. A twin-size bunk bed is pushed up against the far wall, also not made. Discarded clothes and toys lay scattered on the floor where I sink down when my knees give out.
No. No. No. Please God no.
Suddenly, the room surrounding me vanishes as my mind flashes a few months back.
The road was empty, save for some cars parked carelessly on the pavement, some crashed into each other, some in ditches. It’s become the predictable scenery, nowadays. Discarded vehicles, possessions, evidence of lives once lived, scattered amongst the urban tundra. The sounds that would normally accompany a bustling city are noticeably absent, creating a void sucking at my eardrums. My own fucking purgatory.
“It’s too fucking quiet...”
I’ve just started talking to myself to combat the silence. It's not natural. Neither my psychosis nor the quiet. You would think the sound of birds or other wildlife would filter in since mankind seemed to be eradicated from this place, delivering this land back to the Earth. You would think that, but it’s not the case. The silence is deafening and all consuming. It makes you hear things that aren’t really there. See things you wish you would see. But it’s your mind playing tricks on you.
My eyes bounce back and forth, searching for something,anything.I can’t be the only one left, I just can’t be. It’s not probable. Look at me! I’m average at best. I exercise but not extensively. I eat healthy... ok, not as healthy as I should but it’s not like I'm hitting up fast food every day. Survivalists plan for this stuff. Prepare their homes and themselves for months if not years to combat dangers like this so they have to be out there, hiding somewhere.... Right?
Me? I didn’t prepare at all. I read the news articles. Drew conclusions from them. But in the end, when I had to run, it was just me, the clothes on my back, a backpack, my bat, a water bottleand whatever food and necessities I could fit in my pack. That’s it. No water purifier, no matches or flint, not even a real plan. The plan came later after I got away.FARaway. So how in the hell does it seem like I'm the only one left?
A sound comes from my right causing me to come to a screeching halt on the road. I take my time. Looking around. Straining my ears to take in any sounds. Piercing my eyes in the general direction. I hear it again and start running towards it. I know that sound. How could anyone not? It sounds like a baby crying.
“Who the fuck would leave a baby?” I ask myself.
I race around, searching. I hear it but I can’t find the source.
“Where? Where?!”
The sound seems to be coming from all around me. Surrounding me. Consuming me. The screams get louder and louder until my eardrums feel like they are going to explode inside my head. I keep on spinning around, looking everywhere but can’t pinpoint where I need to go. I’m hyperventilating at this point. Sweat dripping down my face from exertion. The world seems to be spinning out of control.
“I can’t fucking see, you. DAMMIT, WHERE?!” I scream, with every ounce of energy I have, into the air, as if it would listen to me and send a beacon of light to where I need to be. Tears overflowing with my frustration leak out of me.
My heavy breathing is becoming too much, lightheadedness taking over. Black spots prick the edges of my vision and if I don’t calm down soon, I'm not going to be standing much longer. But I can’t seem to calm down. My heart is racing, pushing my body to move. But I can’t. I’m frozen, my body shutting down. My legs give out and gravity takes me right there, in the middle of high-rise buildings and corporate America.
I wake sometime later. I’m not sure how long has passed butit’s dark now. I shouldn’t be outside after the sun sets. Too risky. Too easy to be caught by anything that creeps in the dark. Laws don’t matter anymore to the living. And the dead? Forget the judge and jury, they’re simply the executioners. Swift and effective.
I stumble to my feet, swaying a little as I stand. The silence is back. The previous cries long gone. I try to listen but it’s futile. I don’t even know if there was a baby, or if it was just my brain playing tricks on me again. It wouldn’t be the first time. Whatever the case, it doesn’t stop the tears from forming on my lids.
“I need to get back to the house.” Pulling myself together, I sniff and wipe my eyes on my sleeve and turn to leave this nightmare behind.
Coming back to the present, I notice my hands shaking, reliving that day those many months ago. I rub them up and down my legs to try and regain control but it’s no use. The walls start to close in as my breaths get heavier and faster.
I gotta get out of here.
I run out of the room, slamming the door behind me and race down the stairs. Tears pricking my eyes as I try to contain them.
“They’re still alive. Happy. Somewhere else. Away from here.” I repeat to myself over and over, as I race back through the living room and out the French doors to the backyard where I stop and stand in the tall grass.
“It wasn’t real. It’s ok. It’ll be ok. They’re ok.”
I pull at my hair, walking in a circle, willing myself to calm down.
“It’s ok. They’re all ok.”
We’ll be ok.
