dukeenchiladas

 Inside the library the air was musky and dank. Garth suspected that few people realized the value of a library in an apocalypse. Not a single sound came from anywhere in the stacks. Not even wild animals or recently strayed pets made their way inside. Except for the lack of working lights, one could have mistaken the apocalypse going on outside as a bad dream.

Garth navigated his way around the shelves of dusty volumes. One zombified librarian stood behind the service counter, their glasses pristine on a decayed face, what had likely been curly brown hair was matted and slick with dried blood. Garth was tempted to feign discussion with the zombie, though he felt that it would’ve been in poor taste- almost as poor in taste as the vibrant crocs the librarian rocked, still in leisure mode.

Garth proceeded to the back of the library, where he remembered they shelved the nonfiction collection. Scouring the Dewey Decimal Numbers, and aided by the posters on the walls, he made his way to 369.4. There he found a copy of the Boy Scouts Handbook, just like the one from his youth. He thumbed through the pages: fire safety, tying knots, first aid, camp-friendly recipes. Gripping the book, he resumed browsing the shelves.

Next Garth made it to 641. Some easy campfire cooking recipes would be beneficial. Garth’s mouth watered looking at the cover and the glossy pages within. Kabobs, baked potatoes, marshmallows, hot dogs- it all looked tantalizing. He shut the book and grabbed another volume. Realizing the burden of carrying books with his free hand, Garth made his way back to the counter where he grabbed an unused tote bag intended for the summer reading program that year. He threw his books inside and returned to his search.

Back in the 640s, Garth also selected a handful of homesteading books, carefully flipping through pages to examine the projects offered inside. After ensuring his new book collection would be sufficient, he walked over to the kids’ section. Brightly colored chairs littered the area, minimal blood spilled across the carpeting. Garth sat down on an emerald green chair and cracked open the Boy Scouts Handbook. After several hours of reading and rereading the various volumes, Garth put all his new books into his bag and walked out of the library.

Under the bright midday sun, Garth felt his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the previous night and he’d basically been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now. Garth dipped into a nearby alley, void of anything living. He grabbed some discarded wood pieces and a couple of rocks and began building a small teepee for a fire. After he placed the final wood piece into the cone of wood, he struck the rocks together.

Not a single spark was made, though after a few aggressive attempts Garth cut himself on the edge of one of the rocks. He kicked the pile of wood and laid back against the brick wall of the alley. Before long, his exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a deep slumber. In his dream, he was being chased by the army of zombies that he let run through the camp. In the front lines were Scout and Arthur. Just as Garth turned a corner and evaded the oncoming horde, he ran into a familiar scent and sight. The sweet smell of freshly-baked cookies and the starched floral blouses of Margaret. He embraced her until he felt a painful nibbling at his ear. Pulling away, Garth realized that this was decaying Margaret, and in her mouth was his own pink flesh, red with fresh blood and she chewed without her false teeth.

Garth woke up under the pale moonlight, starving and wired. He creeped out onto the empty street and looked around. To the south was a large organic grocery store. While the produce was undoubtedly more rotten than any of the zombies he’d encountered, Garth figured that he could scrounge up something shelf-stable, like peanut butter and crackers. Plus the smell might disguise him from any passing undead.

He entered the store, having to pry open the once-automated doors and slide it shut behind him. The sound of groans only made him more alert. He poked his head into the store and took a cursory glance, as suspected the shelves of produce were long-emptied and the scraps that remained were rotted black. The flowers by the door were totally wilted and withered. From his vantage point, Garth counted eight zombies- six of which wore ear pieces and aprons that signaled to customers that they were a store employee.

While they all were looking away from the entrance, Garth crawled down the produce section until he gagged at the smell of what remained of seafood and the deli. Without preservatives, everything that hadn’t been raided by looters smelled horrid as bacteria ate at the leftover meat and fish. He managed to hold back his vomit, and crawled away. The dairy and eggs were a bit more manageable, considering that they were all behind closed doors and wrapped in various air-tight packaging. Looking up at the aisle signs, he finally saw the crackers and spreads.

Thankfully they were right next to each other and as Garth shimmied down the aisle on his belly, he felt his foot dislodge something from a shelf behind him. A small jar of specialty marmalade hit the floor with a gentle thud before rolling out into the dairy section he’d just abandoned. Immediately, feet shuffled rapidly towards the sound.

Garth stood and grabbed a box of crackers and a jar of almond butter before booking it to the entrance. As he turned out of the aisle, he froze at the sight of two zombie employees, one short, the other tall. The taller of the duo had the remains of a dark beard peaking out from behind a mask, a chef’s apron splattered in dried blood covers their clothes, torn latex gloves almost shone blue against the stark white and rusty red. The shorter one wore a striped shirt, also stained with blood. The glasses on their faces were shattered to pieces, wires barely hanging onto decaying ears.

The employees appeared as apathetic towards Garth as they probably would have before the apocalypse had started, and he managed to sweep around their figures and out the door. Looking around, he noticed the building that the store had been built into, a tall apartment complex. Garth ran around the block, searching for the entrance.

On the other side of the building sat a single glass door nestled into the wall. On the inside of the building was a modern lobby: a single angular couch a hideous shade of green, an elevator bay, and a stairwell door. Garth ducked inside and walked to the elevator doors. He pressed a button but to no avail. He sighed and looked at the stairwell to his right. He began the climb to the second floor.

The floor was quiet, and every door was shut. He discovered several that were locked before finally finding one that wasn’t. He pressed his ear to the smooth wooden surface and heard nothing. Slowly, Garth opened the door and entered the apartment. It was very clean, even for pre-apocalypse standards, and the appliances looked top of the line. He opened the fridge and found nothing there. The cupboards would also yield the same results. He had found his way into the staged apartment. He checked the door to find no functional lock mechanism on the door whatsoever.

He shut the door anyway and sat down on a couch that matched the ugly modern piece in the lobby. He opened his almond butter and crackers and began eating in silence, save for the crunch of each bite. He finished his lackluster meal and realized that he couldn’t stay in this unit without food- or a way to secure himself from potential threats- like survivors that wouldn’t show an ounce of mercy to him. He looked around the room and noticed a city map decorating the corkboard on the wall, labelling all the similar apartment buildings that were much less affordable than the listing prices here.

He took the map down and laid it out on the counter. Doing the math, he figured that he could traverse several blocks at a stealthy pace before wearing himself out. He found a rogue pen on the granite surface and began mapping out routes that would allow him to never have to spend a night on the streets or without a bed. He put the map in his pocket for easy access.

An inspiration of energy overcame Garth and he made a mad dash down the hallway and back into the stairwell. Floor by floor, Garth inspected each of the fifteen dwelling doors on every floor of the thirteen-story structure. Out of nearly two-hundred units, Garth found his way into about half of them. Of those, only a third actually held anything of value, like food and clothes. Apparently nobody with an unlocked door had been home when the world went to hell, or if they had been the residents had left everything they wouldn’t carry behind.

Garth sat on the roof in the cool night air and sorted through his newfound supplies. He took in the sights of the city below, and realized that the roof held a large garden bed. Several small trees were scattered around the area, not just in the bed but a handful of ceramic pots as well. Garth had an idea.

He ran back downstairs into the last apartment he ransacked for loot. In the kitchen, he rummaged through the drawers before he finally found what he was looking for: a lighter. He ran back up to the roof and began stripping one of the trees of their twigs and leaves, considerably dry from the lack of care and rainfall. He carefully arranged the sticks into a teepee and built a small nest out of leaves. He took the lighter and set fire to one leaf.

It caught. The flame began to eat away at the green leaf, a small trail of dark smoke rising from the rudimentary campfire. Another leaf is consumed by the flame and then several more afterward. Eventually, the leaves had been burning for so long that the smallest of the twigs began to burn as well. Garth had made fire! At least, that’s what Garth would tell himself as he basked in the warm glow that illuminated his surroundings. After all, as long as he had the lighter he could put off learning to use a proper striker until later.

The following day, Garth left the building behind. He carried his supplies on his back, and stalked down each side street and around all the stray corpses that dotted the cityscape. The bodies that hadn’t turned into zombies were truly decaying, and the rot was starting to get to Garth. After several blocks of navigation, Garth found himself at the entrance to a high rise that the map advertised as “cheap” as three grand per month for a one bed, one bath. Garth was ready to revisit his solitary nomadic lifestyle.

Garth and Scout reached the camp, nestled among the forested area of one of the larger city parks. Dozens of tents had been erected by the inhabitants, many of them young adults who looked like they spent forty hours a week at a climbing gym. Scout brought Garth to a man of tall stature. He had a muscular build and a very overgrown beard, much like the overgrowth of brush at the park’s edge.

“Arthur, good evening,” Scout said, setting her bags at the man’s feet. Arthur bent down to open one and examined its contents. Satisfied, he returned Scout’s greeting.

“Scout, good evening,” Arthur said with a hearty laugh. Scout joined in with the laughing, as did a couple of other people nearby. “Don’t mind us, man, we’re just fooling with you. Welcome to the camp, my name is Arthur, I run our supplies depot.”

He gestured to the tent behind him; it was very large compared to most of the surrounding tents. Garth realized that near the supply tent were several other large tents set up in a ring around a large fire pit. Tendrils of smoke curled up from the charred remains of a fire that had been extinguished recently. Beyond the large tents were smaller tents, and Garth observed several people running around the tents looking busy.

“I’m Garth, I met Scout in the city earlier,” Garth said, offering the supplies manager a handshake. Arthur grabbed Garth’s hand with a firm, solid grasp and shook his hand exactly three times before letting go.

“It was truly lucky I met him, Arthur,” Scout said. “We managed to bring back more supplies than anticipated.”

“That’s wonderful, Scout,” Arthur said, holding out his arms towards Garth. Garth gave him one of the bags he had been carrying and took off the other one. He unloaded the few supplies he had stuffed into the bag for Scout before donning it again.

“Feel free to pick a tent from the depot, we’ve got plenty,” Arthur told Garth. “Most of the prime real estate is already staked, but there are still pretty sights everywhere you look.”

Scout laughed while Garth simply nodded. They head into the supplies depot and select a fine orange tent for Garth. It fit one person and was best for sleeping in rather than lounging, but Garth didn’t mind. After the tent is staked next to Scout’s own beige four-person tent, Scout takes Garth to the mess tent for dinner.

“Garth, I recommend that you go straight to bed after you finish eating,” Scout said over a rehydrated spaghetti MRE. Garth slurped one of his longer noodles down quickly, shivering at the taste of the overall disgusting- but warm- meal.

“Why? Early rise for another looting mission?” he asked. Scout shook her head.

“You have Dawn Duty. As one of the newest members of the camp, you’re expected to take the least-favored watch shift, which is about three hours before dawn to three hours after dawn.”

“That sounds horrible,” Garth said, eating another forkful of spaghetti.

“Don’t worry, we get new people all the time, so you’ll eventually move to a more favorable shift,” Scout said.

“But what about the looting? I liked that- we kicked serious zombie ass earlier,” Garth said through a devious smile.

“You’ll have to spend some time on watch first; that’s just the rules. Now come on, you have about six hours until you’re woken for your watch, so I’d get some shut eye now.”

Garth returned to his tent; it stuck out like fruit on a tree with green and brown leaves. Once settled into his sleeping bag, Garth pulled out his newly liberated gaming console. He powered it on and put it on mute before selecting one of the several games pre-loaded onto it. He had resolved to play just a couple of rounds before going to bed, like the good old days. Then he heard a knock on his tent flap.

“Time for your watch, New Guy,” said a gruff voice. Garth swore to himself and threw his console into the sleeping bag. Once Garth was out of the tent, the guard on duty led him to his post.

“Stand watch here, take this crowbar and whack anything that gets too close for comfort,” the guard said. “Shout if any make it past your defenses or if you need backup. Your relief is that brown tent over there, it has a small yellow flag with a snake staked in front, you won’t miss it.”

The guard left Garth alone in the dark. Initially Garth scoured the landscape for any stray zombies or hordes, but after several minutes of fruitless searching he gave up for the time being. He practiced a few moves with the crowbar, testing out his skills on an undeserving sapling that hardly reached Garth’s neck. Once he grew bored, however, Garth started to doze off.

Garth awoke at the first scream. He became fully alert at the next one. A handful of zombies had encroached on the camp, and some were already tearing through tent fabric like children unwrapping chocolate bars. Frightened, Garth ran back to his tent- without a living human inside it the zombies hadn’t paid it any attention. He quickly grabbed his backpack and bolted from the camp. In a few minutes he made it to the cracked pavement, but he could still hear the screams of agony as zombies shredded everything and everyone back at the camp.

Garth was useless, he knew that. He could hardly hold his own in a fight and when the fight had gotten too tough, he ran. Garth kept running though, his feet carrying him anywhere as long as it was away from that camp. Garth didn’t stop running until daylight broke the horizon and illuminated the buildings around him. As Garth came to a stop, he looked up at the stone stairs and marble columns of the city’s library.