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My parents spent a lot of time staring out of our loft's window with binoculars, hoping to spot a rescue party. Many people had signs in their windows. "Send Help!!!", "Trapped in Apt 303", "Need Water!", "The End Is Nigh!", "Can't leave building", etc...
On the 10th day after the pandemic's peak, my parents noticed a new sign. It read: "I see activity at the police station". The station the sign referred to was three blocks away and beyond our view. But, apparently, visible from the window of whomever posted the sign.
"Activity" could, of course, mean anything. But it was the first hint of possible rescue, and my family chose to be optimistic. Besides, there was a convenience store a short distance from the police station where I might be able to stop for supplies.
It was up to me, of course, to make the trip. My parents were trapped in our loft. My little sister was trapped in the building. Only I was able to go outside. I hauled my red wagon down the 6 flights of stairs and entered the museum's lobby.
Before the peak, the City Museum in St. Louis was a must-see tourist attraction. The museum was a mammoth ten-story red-brick building filled with repurposed architectural and industrial objects. It was an eclectic mixture of children's playground, funhouse, surrealistic art show, architectural marvel, and hands-on exhibition hall. It contained a circus, art studio, and huge fish tanks. Visitors were encouraged to feel, touch, climb on, and play inside the various exhibits. As strange as it might sound, my family lived in a residential loft INSIDE the City Museum on the 6th floor.
My first stop after entering the lobby was to confirm the "handsome man" was still locked up. (I called him that because I never learned his real name.) I pulled out my hatchet and cautiously approached the closet. I was relieved to find the door still locked with no sign of compromise. I put my ear to it and heard nothing. My parents told me a person can only survive for three days without water. So I was reasonably sure the handsome man was dead after ten. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the thought.
I walked to the locked main entrance where a pane of glass had been shattered, leaving an opening large enough to walk through. I stepped outside into the sunshine. Above, the sky was clear blue, and the soft breeze was pleasantly warm. I pulled my wagon across the parking lot and down the center of Linden St. It was not long before I was spotted by survivors.
After ten days without plumbing, many people had died of thirst. But the threat of death brings out the ingenuity in people, and many found clever ways to scavenge water. The apartment building on Linden Street was still active. The survivors yelled from their windows...
"Hey! The little girl with red hair! Up here on the 4th floor. We need help!"
"Tell your parents to contact the government! Tell them to come to Linden View Apartments."
"We only have two days worth of baby formula!"
"Over here! We are all infected with agoraphobia! Can you help!?"
"My mommy can't leave her bed and I can't leave the building! Please help us!"
My parents prepared me for this. They told me many thousands needed help, but warned it would be neither practical, nor safe, for an eleven-year-old to try to save any of them. They concluded I'd have my hands full just keeping my own family alive, and I simply couldn't afford to help anyone else. As my father put it, "In extenuating circumstances such as these, it's permissible to be selfish." His voice was cold when he spoke. But his eyes failed to hide the emotion he kept from his voice. "You must let all pleas for help go unanswered."
I scurried away from the apartment dwellers as quickly as I could. And a little part of me died inside.
"Where are you going? We have kids up here!"
"Why are you leaving?! We need help!!"
"Get back here, you little fucker!"
"We are dying! We need water!"
"Please come back! Don't leave us!"
I rounded the corner onto 18th Street. Half a block down was the police station. As I drew closer, I could see the double doors were wide open and ran up to them. That's when the overwhelming stench of death hit me. The smell forced me to take a step back, and my hand fluttered to my nose involuntarily.
A decomposing body's smell is quite distinctive. It can't be adequately compared to other smells. It's a horrible rank tinged with a hint of nauseating sweetness. It's not a smell you can ever forget.
The corpse was handcuffed to a bench near the entrance.
Before the outbreak, the only dead people I'd seen had been embalmed and dressed for funerals. I'd never seen true death in real life. It was not pretty. Part of the corpse's head had been blown away. The body was bloated and multiple generations of maggots were feasting on it. I felt bile rise to my throat. I tried to force it down, but it came up anyway, spilling onto the stoop.
I looked past the dead body, into the police station, and saw a man slumped over his desk. He moved slightly, so I knew he was alive.
"Hello!" I shouted, holding my nose.
The man was startled and sat up straight. He wore civilian attire, but I could see a badge dangling around his neck on a chain. His eyes met mine. He cleared his throat. "Who are you?"
"My name is Samber."
"Samber?" he echoed dumbly. "...I don't suppose you're the vanguard of a rescue mission?"
"No." I answered apologetically. "Are you agoraphobic?"
He nodded. "I've been trapped at my desk since May 30th."
"Anyone else in there who's NOT agoraphobic?"
"No."
"Is there a rescue center someplace?"
"Last I heard, there was one at the Pentagon in Washington D.C."
"Anyplace closer?"
He started rubbing his head. "Not that I know of."
"Can you contact the Pentagon or anyone else?"
"No."
Clearly, I was not going to find help there. And I suspected the police officer would start asking ME for help soon. So I turned and left.
"Don't go!" he pleaded. "Please! Can you bring me some food!? Come back!... That's an order!! Come back now!!! Freeze!!!!"
A short distance from the police station was the convenience store. In front was a police car with a dead uniformed officer behind the wheel. Crammed in the backseat were five dead men in handcuffs. Millions of flies were buzzing around inside.
The convenience store's door had already been breached, but nothing had been touched and no one was inside.
A short time later, I was back home with a wagon full of food.
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