Moribund

Three

Instant regret vibrated throughout my being once I closed the door behind me. Not for what I heard or saw, but for what I didn't. I just stood over Gramma, waiting for something. I wasn't sure what, I definitely didn't want something to happen, but I guess I had just expected something. A familiar feeling of emptiness, as I had felt when the strange man 'disappeared', created an unsettling premonition. Although the man had never came back, it begged the question why'd he even come, he had never got anything out of it. I took another breath of courage, realizing this would soon become common practice. In through the nose...hold 1. 2. 3...Out through the mouth... Repeat. The crisp, earth-fragranced air filled my nostrils, reminding me of my favorite season, autumn. Suddenly, even the sound of my galloping heart was drowned out by the unannounced embrace of fall's devotion. I started towards the handicap lift at the end of our hallway, entered it, did our usual routine of strapping Gramma in, then going a whole, entire, floor down. As we exited the elevator, my humble F-150 greeted us immediately. My mind gave my past self compliments for being lazy at the time as to park so close. And after looking at the fucked-up 1996 truck, my mind gave myself lashes for not having a better prepared vehicle. I loaded Gramma in the passenger seat, buckled her in, and then, quite literally, threw her wheelchair into the bed. Hell, a wheels already spinning loose, and the 'leather' is practically worn down to nil. My eyes darted around me before I entered the vehicle, assuring the world was as still as it sounded. Gramma, already half-asleep, rested her head against the window as I began the car.

"Are you warm enough, Gramma, or do you want the heat on?" I questioned Gramma, somewhat trying to prolong pulling out after remembering why I was pulling out. Only moving her mouth and keeping her head resting, "I'm alright, honey, my cardigan is doing me just fine," she replied faintly. I prayed to whatever higher entity was listening that Gramma would be asleep if we passed by the savagery the men had created. I creeped down the parking lot, the thought of what view would present itself once I turned the corner stalked me to the point I felt like leaping out of my own skin. Once I approached the intersection, my eyes met with the gruesome scene. Within minutes, they had turned one another into immovable piles of gashed limbs, ripped torsos, and other body matter. Keep your cool. Just turn to the left. My eyes darted to the door locks, ensuring they were down, and I picked up speed as I turned the corner in the opposite direction of the butchery. The empty, straight road in front of me allowed me to watch the men from the rearview mirror. After what felt like forever but in reality was just a couple of minutes, I saw the two men transition from being bodies, to a miniscule speck behind me. Once they had completely disappeared from vision, I took a deep breath, not even realizing I hadn't fed my lungs a smidgen of oxygen since I had looked behind me. Cursing my previous laziness, I noticed the fuel gauge sitting right below a quarter of a tank. Great. And here I was, thanking myself for 'planning ahead' for once when I had been so quick to unite with my truck. But, to no surprise, nothing good lasts for long. I needed to get to the station before I could get gas, we need to prioritize. Worst case scenario, I make it to the station and don't have gas to leave. There should be plenty of officers who would either, A. drive us home, or B. get us other shelter which would most likely include protection.

Fists firmly gripping the wheel, as I did Gramma's wheeler handles, we entered closer to the heart of the city. Oh. My. God. I found myself praying to some secular power once more. Flickering street lights illuminated the shadowed city. Insignificant fires splotched the city, almost every window displayed broken shards of glass, hinting that the product inside stores was most likely no longer the stores'. Loose trash and abandoned cars littered the streets, but not a single person. The hollow feeling ran it's course again, creating a shiver down my spine, making me wriggle in my seat. What the hell did I miss in the three days that caused the total collapse of the city? I was positive we would still have a police force, of all people in all places, Texan police officers would be the ones to fight like hell to keep their civilians alive, right? The lack of people I saw on the street was almost reassuring, as if it let my psyche believe that police had rounded everyone up and taken them to shelter before the sun had set... But had somehow forgotten us. A jerry can tipped over in the road prompted a glimpse towards the fuel gauge which confirmed that we were definitely not leaving the police station in the same vehicle we would arrive in. They have plenty of squad cars and surely they prepare for a situation like this. What even is a situation 'like this'? My subconscious see-sawed between it's expectations and whether the police station would help us, even have the resources to help us, and if there even was a police station. I looked over at Gramma, who I had previously forgotten was even a passenger, to ensure she was still sleeping. The truck definitely didn't ride smooth, per se, but it moved in such a way that could mimic a mother rocking a baby if you were tired enough. How I wished I could be a baby in that moment, coddled by my mother, no worries other than if I was going to get a flavorless, green paste for dinner. But I knew better than to let my daydreams go that far. I couldn't be a baby, I no longer had my mother, and flavorless paste was a standard meal to me now.

To distract myself from yearning for the impossible, I envisioned the welcoming, secure hands of many officers greeting us, asking me how I bared the horror I had witnessed, how I had gained the courage to exit my property and find help for those poor men, how I managed to take care of Gramma for months and be so devoted as to not letting her simply sleep through the chaos. But as I neared the police station, my fantasy was heaved away from me within a blink. The squad cars I had hoped could return us to our abode were completely scavenged, parts missing and shattered glass from the car resembled the vehicles that were scattered all though the city. The lights within the police station were off aside from one or two mimicking the winking street lamps. If the sight in itself didn't relinquish all hope, the truck began an incessant beeping, signaling it had ran dry of the liquid that was basically our lifeline. Unsurprisingly, this beeping startled Gramma awake," Oliver? What's going on?"

"We're at the police station, Gramma. But, I have no clue what's happened, the city is completely off-the-grid,"

"Wha-," Gramma looked around us, "What do you mean?" She questioned, putting her boney, wrinkled fingers to her agape mouth. "I don't know what's going on, but we ran out of gas, too," speaking the words aloud was like hitting myself in the face with a cast iron pan. I felt a singeing in my eyes and a lump form in my throat at the registration of the predicament I had not only put myself into, but also Gramma. "Okay, honey, all will be well. We have been through worse than a few people and cars out of the way," Gramma said, almost as if she didn't hear a single thing I had just said. I looked at her, tears welling up, unsure of how to solve the issue at hand. She gave me her sweet, weak smile, "Oh, Ollie, I'm so tired. I'm sure you are, as well. Maybe we just try to get some sleep in here until someone else shows up, there's no sense in being stuck here and tired," Gramma yawned out the last bit of her sentence, cueing me to release my own. A feeling of drowsiness washed over me as if my grandmother's words were a lullaby, and I allowed my neck to go limp, plopping the back of my head to the rest. How could I be so tired right now? I guess I do need to get energy though... It is quieter here... and less stinky...

"Gramma?" I said lazily.

"Mhmm, dear?" she responded with as much energy as me,

"Do you remember that song that you and Mama used to sing to me?" I questioned sheepishly, ashamed of being well-over grown and requesting such.

"Oh... Why..." Gramma said with a more enthused expression, trying to recall what my ears had longed for, "Why, I believe I do. Could it have possibly gone such as,

À la claire fontaine,"

Gramma's frail, comforting voice began the exact melody I had craved. I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, as if her voice was an angel relieving me of all pressures.

"Yes, Gramma, exactly that," I said with a smile, then returned my head to its resting position,

"M'en allant promener,

J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle,

Que je m'y suis baigné,

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,

Jamais je ne t'oublierai," Gramma's lulling in her native, French language had always been entrancing to me. I had always loved Thursday nights when Mama and Gramma tucked me in and recited the same lullaby to me. Recounting on the fulfilling memory enveloped me in such a warm feeling. Gramma's voice eventually faded to ineligible warbles of melody, impelling my eyelids to cover my eyes and for me to drift to sleep.