City of the dead
An old man apocalypse story.
The old man crouched next to a dented and dust covered car. He braced one hand on the top of the flattened tire and peered cautiously over the hood.
The long street was crowded with trash. A few recognizable pieces here and there but mostly just a churn of waste packaging. The final legacy of the consumer-packaged goods industry. He knew that within a couple years everything would be under a layer of dust and dirt and within a couple decades there would be nothing visible except lumps in the underbrush of a new forest tangle.
Maybe in a couple thousand years some archeologist would peer down at this sidewalk with the enthusiasm of a Lincolnshire farmer uncovering a Roman mosaic in his potato field.
The earth abides.
There was a slight ruffle in the dry grass as a breeze passed. It was an overcast day, with low grey clouds and the breeze brought with it the burnt industrial smell of charred plastic. That smell. The mix of rot and decay and burnt petrochemicals. It left an acidic tang in the back of his throat.
Here and there were lumps of clothing or bone that might mark the final resting place of some unlucky homo sapiens. Maybe the virus, maybe starvation or maybe just the bad luck of this dead world with its dead cities had caught up to them in that particular spot. Greasy stains spread out from the bundles on the asphalt as the forces of decomposition and vermin rendered them down into their composite compounds.
I life well lived? Who knows? Ashes to ashes and a stain on the pavement.
He hated these cities of the dead.
On the trails and back roads he could pretend the apocalypse never happened, that he was just vagabonding like he always had. But here the apocalypse was up front and personal and left that awful taste in your mouth and dripped down from your sinuses into the back of your throat and permeated your clothes.
But today they chose to come here. They needed supplies that only the old world could provide. They had made the journey through the burnt-out suburbs into the industrial port to see what they could find.
…
There was the loud crinkling of plastic close by that made him flinch. He turned to see Brad sitting on the pavement, resting with his back against the car, fishing into a plastic dog treat bag and popping a handful of jerky-like treats into his mouth. Bill the dog watched him in an intensely insulted fashion.
“What are you doing?” the old man hissed.
“Having a snack” Bradley shrugged around a mouthful of jerky treats.
“Keep it quiet! That smoke smells fresh. There may be someone here. We’re trying to get in and out without any trouble, and we can’t do that with you making noise! And you’re making the dog crazy. We need him to focus. Put that crap away.”
“It’s not crap.” Brad stated in a hurt way. “It’s salmon flavored smoked jerky. Keeps my energy up” He resealed the bag and stuffed it into his pack.
Bill the dog looked disappointed.
“It’s dog food.”
The old man gave him a hard look. He was probably that kid who would eat anything on a dare. He was a big kid, probably 6’-5, bushy reddish beard surrounded an off-center smile. He seemed to somehow still be pudgy in this apocalypse and carried himself in a good-natured slouch through life.
Brad countered. “If I gave you a Slim Jim you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Probably came out of the same machine and just went into different bags.”
“Whatever,” the old man waved him silent and gestured nodded down the road. “The distribution center you used to work at should be in this industrial park off to the right?”
“Yeah, last building, these are all DC’s through here.”
They slouched low along a chain link fence around to the loading dock. Trucks and vans were still parked where they had been left at the end of the day, when this was just a bad flu and nobody knew it was the apocalypse.
Joe the van driver put the van in park, took the keys back to the office, went home with the sniffles and was now another grease stain on the sidewalk.
Yet somehow this bouncy man-child of a fork-truck driver managed to ride out the storm.
They paused at the corner of a van and surveyed the loading docks.
“How did you get into the building when you worked here? Did you go through the front or the back?”
“That door there next to the dock.” Brad pointed. “We swiped in there. I still have my key-card.” He reached for his wallet.
The old man shook his head. “God protects idiots and drunkards…”
“We going to find some beer?” Brad brightened.
“No, I’m saying I don’t think the key card system is going to be functional with the power being off for almost 2 years.”
“Oh, yeah”
…
Eventually they were able to jimmy a door open. The good news was that no alarm systems worked anymore either.
Brad went into his routine from when he used to guide facility tours. Clearing his throat officiously and straightening up a bit he peered into the gloom of the interior.
“So, this is packaging and distribution center number 2 for Vita-Fine Pharmaceuticals. Out this side we see the final product being palletized and loaded onto trucks.” He waved a gesturing hand towards the inside of the loading docks in the dim light.
“Back there are the packaging lines that put the product into bottles, boxes and blister packs. And on the other side the raw materials come in through receiving and run through the mixing and pelletization lines to make the tablets.” He paused, breaking character. “Strange to be in here when it’s so quiet and dark.”
“Ok Brad, nice work. Let’s leave the door open to let some light in and go see what we can find. First priority is anything that looks like an antibiotics, although from what you’re saying I don’t think they had those here… Second is anything that looks nutritionally valuable, like vitamins or protein powder, finally whatever else vaguely medicinal we can find. Let’s load up and get out of here.”
They clicked on their flashlights and went to work. The old man had his rechargeable headlamp from his trail running days that really helped in these situations. They left Bill to watch the door.
“Keep an eye out for any batteries too. You remember a supply cabinet?”
“I’ll take a run through the offices.” Brad said. “I didn’t spend much time over there, but I’ll see what I can find.”
…
“Hey, how do we figure out what these are?” The old man gestured to a large bin full of tablets.
“Look for a piece of paper or a label on the bin. The work order should have the item identifier on it.”
The old man fished a printed form out of the bin and illuminated it with his headlamp. “Can you read this? What’s it say?”
Brad slouched over and leaned in and sounded out the lettering. “Sildenafil. Not sure what it’s good for.”
The old man guffawed.
“What?” Brad asked.
“Dick pills.” The old man laughed. “Not sure what these are good for in the apocalypse.” He stuffed a handful into a plastic baggie and slid them into a side pocket in his shorts.
…
They filled their packs with enough random vitamins and protein bars to kill an Olympic weightlifter. Nothing out of the ordinary, but potentially useful back at the camp. This stuff wasn’t being made anymore and they figured that they should get it while they could.
The distribution center had survived fairly well in the long months. There were signs of a leaking roof and evidence of some animals starting to move in. It wouldn’t take too many more months for the cracks to turn into holes and the drips to turn into streams. In a couple decades it would all be just another lump in the forest. Until then they would find a way to take what they could form the old world to build the new.
Brad emerged smiling with a bottle of something from the manager’s office and a handful of batteries.
Then they heard two growls. The first was Bill sounding a warning from the docks and the second was the approach of motors.
“Shit.” The old man was in motion towards the dock door.
It was too late. The motor sounds grew louder and it sounded like a pack of motorcycles making a circuit of the park.
The old man and Brad pulled Bill back from the door and into the shadows of the dock. Waiting for the danger to arrive.
“We should be ok. They can’t know we’re in here. We’ll wait for them to pass and make a break for it.” The old man hissed. His confidence being given away by the tension in huis bony body.
Brad nodded.
The motorcycles rounded the facility and progressed through the parking lot. At first they seemed to be going right on through but then there was the sound of a horn and they slowed and circled.
“They’ve seen the jimmied door.” The old man warned.
“We can go out the front or hide?” Brad offered.
“No, I think we have to face the music.” The old man looked around, assessing the situation and playing out probabilities. “Quick, Stash the packs in these totes and let’s get Bill hidden.”
“What are we going to do?” Brad asked.
“Fortune favors the bold.” The old man winked. “Follow my lead.”