Anthrax in the Pantry: Part 1 (2nd Draft)

His feet ached more and more each time the worn sole of his tattered leather work boots so much as touched the cracked pavement of that country road. The sun warmed his oily brown hair, which bounced slightly with each of his weary steps. 1

“I shouldn’t have come this way.” He found himself grumbling to himself.2

The decision to move further into this unfamiliar rural landscape had been hastily made, although Jonathan Forester felt it had been absolutely necessary given the circumstances.3

For the previous week until just after noon yesterday, Forester had found himself resting peacefully in the company of 12 fellow survivors in the ruins of the small town Vicksburg, in southern Michigan. Most of its buildings still standing, and enough supplies gathered up to last them the summer. It would have been the most comfortable Forester would have been since society had degraded into the lawless hellhole it is today.4

Yes, Mr. Forester would have been very comfortable; unfortunately the events of the previous day had dashed all hopes of that now.5

“I think we should hole up in the sewers until they pass.” Jonathan grumbled, readjusting the hunting rifle resting on his shoulder.6

The old gray haired man, Lucas Flynn, shook his head from side to side, “What would have happened to you Mr. Forester if we had just hid when you passed through town?”7

Jonathan smirked pulling a cigarette out his pack while he sat down on the ledge inside the church’s bell tower, which had been turned into the town lookout.8

“Well Luke I would have stole all your stuff, probably slept in the basement at the school, then moved on.” 9

Lucas held out the binoculars to Jonathan, and smirked, “ And I would have gone down to that basement and beat the piss out of you in your sleep.”10

Jonathan rested his gun in the corner and picked up the binoculars, the unlit stale cigarette hanging from his lips, “I would have heard your creaking joints a mile away old man.” He put the binoculars up to his eyes and examined the black clad figures in the distance, “They’re just milling around, why the hell are they just stopped in the middle of the road?”11

Lucas tapped his finger on his bottom lip, “I don’t know, that’s what I wanted you to see.” The old man sighed, “What do you think?”12

Jonathan stared at the figures in the distance, “I’m telling you Luke, I got a real bad feeling about this, these guys don’t look like traders, they don’t look like refuges, and they look organized.” Waves of paranoia were beginning to sweep over him, nervously he set down the binoculars and struck a match, and brought it to the cigarette. 13

Jonathan nervously felt his pockets for that pack of cigarettes now that he thought of them. Sentiment and regret would have to wait now, for now Forester needed 3 things desperately; first being food, he hadn’t eaten since early in the morning the previous day and now hunger was gnawing away at his stomach and his nerves. Next on Forester’s list of priorities was rest, early in the morning he had managed to sleep for about two hours in a drainage ditch, but this nagging fear of pursuers had refused to let him linger in his sleep.14

Lastly it was of extreme importance that Mr. Forester re-equip himself, in his quick retreat from the village he was forced to leave behind the majority his supplies. All he had left was a half bottle of dirty water, a pack of cigarettes, half a small box of stick matches, and a worn hunting rifle and about 11 bullets. The rest of his supplies were no doubt at this very moment being divided up by the godless bastards that forced him from the quaint village.15

He grimaced at the thought of their dirty blood stained hands rifling through his possessions and doling his most prized possessions out amongst each other, probably fighting amongst themselves over his possessions, this disgusted Jonathan Forester right down to the pit of his stomach and, in his head he envisioned some sort of glorious last stand. Marching right back into that town with his 11 rifle rounds, and sending the murderous raiders right back to the dark corners of hell that spawned them. However if there was something to be said about Jonathan Forester it was that he was a not a man to make rash poorly thought out decisions. His last stand in reality would likely consist of getting gunned down before even setting foot in town, or some fate even worse than that. With bitterness and some regret his dream of revenge would more than likely never come, survival would without question trump any dreams of a foolish suicide.16

Jonathan Forester came to a crossroad, to the north the cracked pavement stretched off into the horizon, there were trees in the distance, but he was in farm country the majority of the northern path, at least as far as he could see on either side of the road were overgrown pastures. He squinted his eyes for a moment and surveyed the north for a house or some sort of building but could make nothing out from his position. He rummaged in the pocket of his light camouflage army surplus jacket for his cigarettes and matches, quite sure his pursuers were not a immediate threat anymore he felt he could allow himself this one luxury. He placed the cigarette in his mouth and glanced now to the eastern path as he fumbled with the matches. Down a dirt road leading into an overgrowth of trees, however it was yet another path without a house visible from his position. 17

Jonathan struck the match and held the flame to the cigarette and inhaled deeply the stale smoke from the long expired tobacco. He now looked to the western path, off the road on the right side, almost shrouded by tree cover he made out a half collapsed roof. Quickly making up his mind Jonathan quickened his pace. The drive way that led to the old decaying two floor house was thick with a overgrowth of tall grass, about waist high, led first to the house then around to the back to large overgrown opening between the house’s backyard and two old large barns in a state of decay. The red paint was chipped and peeling, the boards had gaps and in some places were missing all together, and vines crept up the sides of the buildings climbing up to their roofs.18

Jonathan sighed heavily with relief and moved up to the house, the majority of the roof was still intact, and the two barns which would hopefully hold tools and perhaps other useful treasures. Jonathan really couldn’t have hoped to find a better a shelter given his situation. He moved quickly up to the back door, which barely still clung to its hinges, he climbed up the three uneven cracked cement steps and carefully opened the door. The inside was illuminated by the caved in roof, which had collapsed part of the upper floor with it, giving the house a large skylight. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, disturbed only by faint animal foot prints. Seeing this he was sure there would be no other inhabitants to the house. He stood in a kitchen, under the dust a black and white checker board linoleum floor led in to carpeted opening where a sturdy oak table stood which was still the home to a small pile of dirty dishes, just past that was an uncomfortable looking brown and green couch, if Jonathan had been more awake and energetic he would have thought to himself it was the sorriest piece of furniture he’d likely had ever seen, however in his current state Jonathan Forester saw in the couch his salvation. Carefully putting out the last half of his cigarette then setting the butt carefully on a plate as to save it for later he tossed himself on the couch, and blissfully immediately allowed sleep to fall over him. 19