Survival

Chapter 4 Alone

Gunnar had an okay time sleeping until the only standing bed in the rundown house turned into a brothel. 

"For Christ's sake!" he cried out as the bed continued to rock. 

"Go in my jeans pocket bro," Rob said.

Gunnar grimaced. "Ya can wrap your own shit. I ain't getting ya a rubber." He stood up and got out of the bed in a hurry.

"I scored a-" Rob's voice broke off with a moan, "good dime bag from Xavier."

"Oh yeah?" He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, feeling the reassuring cool metal of his pocket knife. "Is that why you came back empty handed for food again?"

"Relax bro, I'll find us some food in the morning. You're so wound up. Just smoke a little to bring you back down."

Gunnar stormed off to the balcony and slammed the door behind him. He had to get out of here fast; he wasn't stupid enough to get weighed down by a couple of deadbeats. His whole life up to now had been making up for other people's problems that they were too blind to see. Drugs and alcohol dug graves as fast as the infection did nowadays. 

Rob helped through a rough patch or two back in the day, but friendship didn't mean anything when he needed to survive. Soon enough his pothead roommate would figure that out, or he'd drink himself dry.

Gunnar went down to the main floor, ignoring the end of their bang session. He snagged a couple bottles of water, cans of vegetables and the stale rolls to shove in his bag. It was his food after all. Rob had done nothing to help. 

Leaving the living room, he spotted the two corpses half obscured by a grand piano. He imagined the winds had thrown the giant instrument through the air. They would have been crushed against the wall by their own wealth. It was a good thing Rob's family was too musically challenged to own a hunk of wood like that. Or else, Gunnar just might have had the same fate. He swung the door open and took to the streets, only lit up by trashcan fires and the stars. 

Running through the streets, his feet kicked up flakes of mud, caked on during the rainstorm. He wasn't sure if he could call it rain anymore; it felt like someone had emptied a whole damn swimming pool on his body. But water wouldn't stop him, nor would wind or sinkholes. He needed escape and he would run the streets until the result was his again.

He couldn't  look back now. Rob and Vita were just a part of the beginning of this new life. He didn't need them, their company or their pity. Strong men walked alone; they stood tall when life got real hard. He wasn't going let those two nut jobs bring him down. Progress meant avoiding mistakes he had already made.

Cheers from a small group echoed through the light patter of the rain. Loads of drunks roamed the street at this hour and Gunnar shoved past them all. The feat only required the threat of a blade a few times. He rounded the corner and darted into a dingy minimart. The fully stocked water section caught his eyes. He stepped past the busted up glass where the liquor used to be. Lot of good that'll do you out in the world. His mother had thought it would be a good solution, boozing away her years left with him and his sister Aida. Only the weak used liquid or powdered escapes; he was better than that.

His dead cell phone weighed heavy in his pocket as he thought of Aida. Weeks ago, her call was a complete mess of crying and screaming as she had to watch their mom bleed out. He tried to fight the memory, but it washed over him again like the dollar machines in the basement of his old apartment building.

"Gunnar," she cried into the phone.

"Aida, where are you? Are you safe?" His eyes shot around Rob's porch. as he watched the winds tear at the limbs of the trees.