Agoraphobia

Day 14 (Cat, Rain, Trashy Romance Novel)

We were running low on water. There were several huge fish tanks in the museum, but the water had become stagnant and needed to be cleaned. Fortunately, Mom had printed information off the internet about purifying water. With that as a guide, my resourceful parents were able to jerry-rig a nifty filtration system out of bottles, socks, and nylon stockings. They also built a wood stove out of a sink, PVC pipe, bricks, and other scavenged materials. The stove was not pretty. (It looked like a toilet and Borg drone had a baby.) But it worked.

For the next few days, my sister and I collected water from the fish tank on the second floor and hauled it to the loft where my parents filtered and boiled it.

On day fourteen, I made another run to the convenience store. Again, I took my wagon. For the first time since the peak, the weather fit the mood... gloomy. The sky was overcast and unfriendly.

I tried to be inconspicuous so I wouldn't be noticed by the desperate and dying. I was successful until I attempted to pass Linden View Apartments and was inundated with pleas for help. One of the residents threw a TV out of their window. It hit the ground with a startling crash. I wasn't harmed, but it convinced me to take a detour down a dark alley.

I was at a cross path, moving as quietly as possible, when I heard a melodious voice. I froze and listened. "Here, kitty kitty kitty," coaxed a woman from someplace up ahead. "Here, kitty kitty kitty." I saw a cat turn a corner, coming into view at the alley's far end. The orange and black calico trotted silently towards th—

Suddenly, the cat was impaled by an improvised harpoon thrown from a dark doorway. I stifled a scream. The cat clawed the air, grasping for life, but found no hold. Then it went limp. The harpoon was fastened to a cord which was pulled taut, dragging the dead cat into the dark doorway.

I decided to take an alternate route.

By the time I reached the convenience store, it was drizzling. Clouds had rolled in thick and low, the color and consistency of lard. The sky was dismal and grey. Perfect graveyard weather.

When I'd loaded my wagon and was ready to leave, the rain was pouring. I decided to wait for the weather to improve before heading back.

I snooped around the manager's office and found a novel. The cover art featured a shirtless muscular man embracing a buxom woman wearing a shoulderless dress. I read the entire first half, but the hard rain remained steady. Not wanting to travel at night, I decided to brave the storm. I slid the novel into the wagon and stepped outside.

---------------------------------------------------

My clothes were soaked long before I returned to the museum. I pulled my wagon through the hole at the front entrance and plodded toward the stairwell. My sneakers spurted water with every step.

Suddenly, before my disbelieving gaze, the stairwell door flew open. And out stepped the handsome man.

My jaw went slack at the sight of him and the world lost focus for a moment.

The handsome man was no longer quite so handsome. His dirty face was covered with splotchy stubble. His hair was disheveled and filthy. He wore the same dark blue suit, but it was grimy and blood stained. His right arm was cradled in an improvised sling. His right shoulder, where Abigail's axe had struck, sagged, causing his whole body to lean, rhombus-like, to one side. Every part of the handsome man, from his clothes to his posture, was askew and asymmetrical. In his left arm, he held a long wooden club of some sort; possibly a baluster ripped from a banister.

Upon seeing me, the handsome man's brow furrowed into an angry scowl. "You!" he spat, limping toward me. My brain barely registered the danger before my legs were running on their own.