Alive Read online

  ALIVE

  Andreas Christensen

  ALIVE

  Smashwords edition

  Copyright 2013 Andreas Christensen

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Graphicz X Designs, graphiczxdesigns.zenfolio.com

  Editor: Shelley Holloway, hollowayhouse.me

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  ALIVE

  1.

  More than four months have passed, and for some reason, I'm still alive. There were several impacts, not just the one the experts all predicted, and I guess that means it must have broken up in the atmosphere or something. Perhaps that’s why I’m still alive. Whatever the reason, I know I should count myself extremely lucky. Still, the devastation is unbearable; the whole world seems to have turned into some kind of wasteland. Every day now is a bonus, a gift, and I know my initial survival comes with no guarantees. Most people are dead by now, I suppose, and the likelihood of long-term survival decreases every day.

  It's been getting colder with every passing week. The first day after impact, it might have been two days — I don't remember those first few days too clearly — a warm wind came out of the west. In the days that followed though, I got a taste of what was to come. A dirty, slightly salty slush started raining from the skies, and it kept raining, on and on for days. Now it’s more on and off, but the sky is still dark, as it has been since, keeping the warmth of the sun away from those of us still alive. I know it will stay this way for a long time. The temperatures will continue to drop. Normally, spring would be here by now, and I doubt we'll see another summer for years. I recognize the signs. Winter will cover the Earth for years, decades perhaps. Most people, animals, and plants will surely die.

  Standing on a hilltop, looking out across the gray landscape, I'm searching for signs of other survivors. Up here, there are parts of the ground, usually not covered by moss or grass, where water actually seeps off. You can sit down and not be soaked when you rise. Quite different from the valley, where the ground is all soggy, and every step feels heavy, as my boots sink into the ground and have to be pulled up by force, one step at a time. The dry spots are all covered in white powder. Weird that salt from the oceans can be carried across the skies to rain down this far inland. It has to be from one of the impacts out in the Pacific, far off to the west. Ah well, there are so many things I don’t understand, even though some might consider me an expert, someone who should know what to expect from this situation.

  Just as I'm about to turn back onto the path down toward the valley, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I squint, trying to make out what it is. It's far away, at least four or five kilometers, down on the slopes, and moving slowly. As I focus and follow its movements for a few moments, I start thinking it has to be two or three people with a horse. A horse! I'm amazed they can afford to feed the animal, and I immediately know they have to be well stocked. They are too far away for me to shout or do anything to get their attention. But alone, and still in decent shape, I think I might be able to catch up with them by nightfall. I pick up my backpack and hurry down the path.

  As I follow the old deer track toward the strangers with the horse, I start thinking of all the things that happened in the days prior to impact. I've been pushing these thoughts away since it happened, but now and then, when I feel safe, they tend to creep back on me. My wife left a week before impact, with her lover. She wanted to live those last days to the fullest, she said. Yeah, I retorted, go drink yourselves into a stupor and fuck like rabbits, without a single thought to the chance that we might actually survive. I have no idea what happened to her, and I try not to care. I knew she was cheating on me, and the only reason we had stuck together was habit. We gave up on having children years ago, when we understood what we were facing, and since then, it had only been going downhill.

  But I miss her nevertheless. She always had a sense of priorities, and now that everything has come down to this, I wonder if her choice might have been better all along. Still, there are the strangers with the horse. They have to have come from somewhere. There is nothing edible for the horse around here, the few sparse tufts of grass are all covered in salt, and that's all there is. Maybe there is some hidden sanctuary somewhere, or some kind of community that can support humans and animals alike. They might have room for me as well. To feel safe again, to chase off hunger for a while...

  I lose sight of them once in a while, as the path dips behind outcroppings and buttes. But each time I get a clear line of sight, there they are. And every time, I'm gaining on them. I'm spending a lot of energy, and by the time I reach the valley, I'm soaked in sweat. It makes me laugh. Before, I'd dream of a hot shower, but I guess being dirty for so long numbs all smell and breaks every habit of cleanliness. God, I must stink! I hold my hand up to shield my eyes from a light drizzle that's come without my notice. They seem to have stopped, just a kilometer away. They have crossed the valley floor and look like they might be headed uphill next. By now they look like they've seen me, and one of them seems to be holding something, a gun. Well, that's to be expected. I've seen few people since I escaped the burning suburbs, but I've seen what despair and lawlessness can do. A month ago, there was the elderly couple in the cabin with the broken-down door, shot and killed and robbed of everything. Less than three weeks ago, the open mass grave, the bodies not even buried. God knows why they had to die. Being careful only makes sense. If I had a weapon, I'd keep it ready as well.

  I close the distance between us in minutes, and one of them calls out to me, loudly.

  "No closer," he says. I stop dead in my tracks. The one with the gun has raised it, and it's pointing straight at me. I look a little closer and see it's a woman, about thirty-five, with long blonde hair, and a determined look in her ice-blue eyes. Her partner waits for me to speak, but I can't seem to find the words. It's not fear really, that was used up a long time ago. It's more... fatigue, I guess.

  "I saw you a while back," I stutter. The man nods.

  "Yeah, we noticed you following us. For a while, we thought you might be a thief, but you don't seem the type," he says. I manage a tired smile.

  "It's that obvious, is it? You're right. I'm no thief. In fact, I'm surprised to be alive." The man smiles wryly, as the girl carefully lowers the gun.

  "Still, you've got the horse," I say, aware that I might spook them if I inquire too deeply. The man nods though.

  "Yeah, we've got the horse. I guess you wonder how that's possible. Not much food to be had around here," he says. I nod slowly. You read my mind, I think to myself. He's a smart one, which is fine. Don't want any misunderstandings.

  "So... how is it possible?" I ask. The girl shakes her head when the man looks at her, and he turn back toward me.

  "Look, man. We've got to turn you away. Just doing our job, you see?" I nod. Expected that. Hoping is not the same as believing. Something about his words strikes me as odd though.

  "Who do you work for?" I ask. The girl throws her rifle up again, ready to fire. The man shoots me an angry look, but motions for her to hold on.

  "You ask too many questions," he says, a spark of anger flashing across his face. And something else. Regret. I decide not to push it.

  "I'll go," I say, hoping they'll let me. It's as if I just discovered some big secret, and unless I get away quickly, they'll change their minds about letting me live. I back away, as quickly as I can. Darkness has fallen, and soon I can't see them any more. I continue for about half an hour, until I finally stop and find a spot to rest. Thoughts race through my mind. Just d
oing our job, he said. Our job. What did he mean? Who are they? Who do they work for? And where?

  2.

  I’m having a hard time falling to sleep that night. I fear the man and woman will change their minds and come back to hunt me down. Alone and unarmed, I don't stand a chance against them. Besides, they looked like they knew how to handle themselves. The woman had a way with her rifle that told me she'd pulled the trigger before. The man, although sympathetic and merciful in his own way, still looked like he had it in him to kill as well if he felt threatened. It's starting to become a pattern of sorts. I tend to walk into dangerous situations, and somehow I manage to walk right back out of them. Dumb luck I guess.

  I consider following their tracks, to see if they lead me to wherever they come from, but I decide not to. If they find me following them again, they will surely kill me, and even if I reach that mysterious place, they will know me. And the message was clear; I was to stay away. So I do just that, sleeping through the morning before returning to the hill where I was standing just yesterday. The way back up feels a lot longer than it did coming down, and it takes me the rest of the day and the next morning to climb the hill. I reach the hilltop, and drop my backpack on the ground, and sit down on it, breathing heavily. Then I take out my tarp from the backpack and hold it around me, covering my head. At least I will dry out if I sit here long enough.

  My supplies are getting dangerously low. In the beginning, there were all kinds of stuff to scrounge, from abandoned cars and houses, as well as the bodies of the dead. I lived off the land for a few weeks and managed to keep the worst hunger at bay for the most part. But the suburbs and towns were getting increasingly dangerous as time passed, and as lawless bands took over, supplies started running out. My foraging became increasingly fruitless, and I decided to head out into the mountains. Here there are fewer people, especially the kind that would kill for my meager supply of canned food, and that alone makes it a much better place to be than the anarchy I left behind. Still, I wonder if I did the right thing. If I had lain low, and limited my foraging raids, I might have been able to sustain a living for a while. I might even have picked up a weapon. It would have felt good to know I would be able to defend myself, should the need arise.

  I've got enough food to last me another week, two if I stretch it, but then things will get bad. Fast. All fruit, berries, edible plants of all kinds are long gone, taken or destroyed by the slush. I've got to get moving. My only hope is to find another source of food, whatever that may be. The landscape looks the same in every direction though. I decided long ago not to go back the way I’d come. Back there lies death. My death. Which rules out the south. I'm not going north, where I met the man and woman with the horse. East or west then. I have to think this one through, because if I make the wrong choice, I might end up in an impact zone, where everything's a wasteland of death and destruction. As if this place was unscathed... Still, an impact zone will be far worse. I know there were impacts to the west, but those were thousands of kilometers away, probably in the Pacific. The coastal areas with the mega cities will have been devastated by tsunamis and earthquakes, but those are far away from the areas I’m thinking of. Further inland things will probably be much like this. Bad, but survivable in the short term if I can only find the supplies I need. To the east though, the destruction was likely much worse, considering there must have been land impacts there. Based on the last news I heard before the TV screens and net went black, it sounded like the chances of more impacts on the continent are high. As is the likelihood of a devastating impact further east. A decision then. I'm going west. With no time to spare, I get up, taking care to cover both myself and the backpack with the tarp. Then I start walking along the ridge.

  After a few hours, I spot a dead tree a ways to the north of the ridge. Something seems to be hanging from a thick branch. I decide to check it out. As I come closer, I see it's a body hanging from its neck. Probably a suicide. There have been a lot of those. When there is no more hope, most people figure a quick death is better than facing the slow descent. I almost envy them. I'm too cowardly to even consider that way out, but I've thought about it. How to do it, when to do it, what if it doesn't go as planned, and so on.

  It's a woman. The body has been hanging there for a while, so the decay makes it difficult to make out her features. There are no signs of violence though, so my theory of suicide seems to be right. I walk up to her and reach out to search her pockets. Nothing. It doesn't surprise me. Scavengers like me know that there's seldom anything to be had from the suicides. I look around. She must have come from somewhere close, or she wouldn't have killed herself here. Perhaps there's a cabin nearby, or an abandoned car down on the road. It's all covered and broken up by the water and slush by now, but I've seen the traces of an old dirt road down in the valley to the north. She might have come this way from the cities to the west, or she might even be local. I decide to walk down and see. It's not as if I've got anything better to do.

  It's a steep climb down, not like the last time I entered the valley. This time, there's no path, so I have to watch every step, make sure I don't lose my footing on the treacherous ground. A loose pebble, a slippery patch of moss, anything could send me on a deadly tumble. But I know this, and although I'm no outdoorsman, or rather I wasn't — before — I manage to stay on my feet. And about two hours later, I reach the bottom. There's no sign of the road, but something, a patch of color in the distance catches my attention. I walk over, and there it is. An old Toyota, with a flat tire and a big dent in the front, where it bumped into the dead tree. I walk around it, and see the trunk has been left open, and now it's filled with grey water. I reach inside, and it turns out my suspicions were correct. No spare tire. I guess she abandoned the car when she realized she wouldn't be able to repair the flat tire. No point in trying to see whether the engine still runs. On this surface, the car would be useless anyhow. Still, I poke around to see if I can find anything of value. Not much. A gun, but no shells left. I guess if someone had tried to hurt her, they must have paid dearly for their mistake. I keep it though; you never know when it might come in handy. She must have been a resourceful woman, but desperate by the time she got here. No food, no water, no nothing. I'm surprised she managed the climb up the hill. Just as I'm about to turn away to go back up, I decide to open the hood, just in case. When I do, I find one fuel cell that hasn't been completely spent. Not much, but I'm not planning on trying to make a car run. It'll be good for a few fires though. Actually, I'll probably stay warm for at least a couple of weeks just from this little thing. I grin. No use in letting it go to waste. I unhook it and make sure to pick up one of the spark plugs as well. I put everything into my backpack and close it up.

  I climb back up the hill, and find it's easier getting up than it was going down. It takes me just over an hour before I'm back by the tree where she still hangs. By then, the drizzle has turned into a downpour. I think about taking her down, to give her a proper burial, but decide against it. What's the use? There are dead people everywhere, and it makes no difference to her anymore. She found her way out of it all. It's not my way though. For a second, I envy her, before I shrug it off. No use thinking like that. Not as long as I'm still in decent shape. There must be others, somewhere, and I need to find them while I still have my strength. I grit my teeth thinking how useful I could be to anyone thinking more than a week ahead. Here and now, I'm about as useless as they come. It's a bittersweet thing, knowing what I know. In ten years, I could make the difference between strength and weakness, survival or annihilation. Of course, it's a hell of a long way to go, but if I could only find someone who had the foresight...

  It's already dark, but I continue for a while, just to put some distance between the dead woman and me. It's still uncomfortable, being around dead people. I guess it's a sign I still have some civilization left in me. When I figure I've gone far enough, I set up camp. It's a simple thing, just the tarp to keep the worst of the rain out, and a line b
etween my backpack and a stick I've been carrying along. I hang my up my T- shirt and socks, and put on a new pair. Not clean by any standard, but dry. I don't dare take off my pants, not in the dark. I'll have to let them dry on my body. Not comfortable, but it feels safer. Then I carefully ignite the fuel cell, which gives off a nice warm radiance. Then I lay my head down and fall asleep. My last thought before dozing off is that I forgot to put up the warning snares around my camp.

  3.

  I wake to the sound of wet moss sucking on approaching boots. With the moon covered in heavy clouds, it's too dark to see, and I'm having a hard time measuring the distance. But it's close. Thankfully, the fuel cell gives off very little light, so while my camp is probably visible, I'm not. I carefully get to my knees and reach for my backpack. I can't find it at first, but then I remember the string. I move my hands deliberately through the air and touch the string where something damp hangs. Then I trace the string until I find the backpack. I open it as quietly as I can and reach inside. There it is. I pull my hand out, clutching the empty pistol. I point it in the general direction of the sound.

  "Who's there?" I shout. There's no answer.

  "I've got a gun! Talk to me," I say, and I hear shuffling, no more than a few meters away.

  "Don't shoot. I'm not here to hurt you," a voice says. I sense no nervousness, but who am I to know? I'm on edge myself, and if I had any bullets, I'd probably have fired already.

  "All right. Come closer, slowly," I say, pretending to have the upper hand. He's probably no more than two or three meters in front of me when I'm able to get a look at him. A gaunt face, with a shaggy gray beard. When he pulls back the hood of his dirty, faded, once red jacket, I see thin, wet strands of hair hanging down his face. He looks fit enough though.