The Earth Is (Not) a Cold Dead Place

Chapter 3

When morning should have come, John was woken up by his empty stomach—like most days. There was no sunrise to greet him though, or to tell him that the next day had indeed arrived. What was there, however, was Ellie. At the far end of his bed, she sat up straight, staring right at him, waiting for signs of life. When she got that confirmation, John had no time to get up as the German Shepherd jumped on his torso and started licking his face.

"Good morning to you too, Ellie," he said.

As he pushed her face away from his, she tried to maneuver around his hands to finish saying 'good morning' in her own way. John took his glasses from his bedside table, leaving it empty—save for some dust. He skipped breakfast, a shower, and their usual morning walk. Instead, he quickly got dressed. They had to reach the store as early as possible.

Before leaving the house, he hesitated, staring back at the desk in the corner of his living room. Ellie gave him a little push towards the door, clearly more in a hurry to get outside than John.

He had no idea what was out there. I shouldn't take any chances, he thought. He left his companion waiting at the door and opened the top drawer of his desk. Inside was a dark, metal-looking box. A lock which was part of its construction kept it shut. He took the silver chain off his neck, revealing an archaic key of a similar color. There was a loud click as he turned the key and took the lid off. He was never supposed to open it, but given the situation it seemed... appropriate. Necessary maybe even.

Surrounded by the dark material of the container was a revolver along with five bullets. It had a rather short barrel and a wooden grip. The gold-colored coating on the bullets created a glow around them from interacting with the sparse lighting of the room. John filled up the chambers, leaving two spots empty. This is not what they were supposed to be used for, he thought as he put the cylinder in place, hoping for his own sake that he wouldn't have to use it. He was unsure if he would be able to pull the trigger on another human being if whatever was going on outside required him to do so.

Leaving the key in its lock, he joined Ellie at the door. He stuffed the gun into the largest pocket of his jacket, and the two of them left the warmth and safety of their home for the first time.

* * *

It was a good ten to fifteen minute walk towards the nearest store. On their way, they saw people barricading their houses, boarding up windows, and cutting down trees in their backyards. Families were hauling boxes, bags, and children from their front doors to their cars, soon to be joining the thousands of people on the highways. John wondered if they would ever reach their destination, or just join a long queue barely outside of the city, sandwiched between people with the exact same idea. How long would those cars keep running before they just stopped? What would the passengers do once those vehicles were no longer operational? Inside, they might stay warm, thanks to their body heat and the shelter it provided. But at some point that would no longer keep them from freezing either. Would they make a run for it, with no clear goal to run towards? Or just stay put, spending their last moments inside the metal box that was supposed to bring them 'home', wherever that was?

When the supermarket came into view, it had not opened its doors yet. Hordes of people were waiting outside for that exact moment, silently. Once they did, not five minutes after John had arrived, everything was fair game.

Inside, he witnessed a rather civilized form of chaos. Shopping carts were racing through the isles, filled way beyond what they could reasonably carry. Families and couples split up to maximize their chances, only to be running around those same isles moments later, shouting the other's name in an effort to find them again. It somewhat reminded John of what he imagined Black Fridays must look like across the Atlantic. Less attentive hoarders would have items taken from behind their backs, and every now and then he saw two adult human beings play tug-of-war with some box, often to the point of spilling its contents.