THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)

41 - THIRST

It took about a year and a half, and when it was clear the end of the water was upon me, in a way I could no longer deny, I got as anxious as I'd ever been on Skid Row. Feeling helpless and desperate, which made me feel like I was about to die. The other supplies, especially the booze, were starting to look thin too, but I was too stressed about the water to give any more thought to anything else.

There was a number on a piece of lamented paper, glued to the wall of the food corridor, instructing the occupant to call for more water and groceries. How this was supposed to work post apocalypse wasn't clear, and I agonized over whether calling this number was a worseidea than trying to scam water from somewhere else. Finally, my stomach tied in knots and my mind screaming, I decided to try the number. If it blew me out, at least it wouldn't be prolonged.

There was a Ralphs that was about a forty minute walk down the hill. Istole out one night. I'd found fifty dollars in a plastic sleeve with a sticker on it that advertised edible panties, under the mattress,and I used it to buy some water, then used the change on a payphone. After three rings a man who sounded large and middle-aged and white said, "Hello, what would you like?" He wasn't pushy, or tired, or sullen. He sounded professional, sounded like who wanted to help.

I tried to explain where I was, without explaining why I was there, andhe politely interrupted me with a, "Yes," letting me know he had all of this information. "What would you like." He said again.

His tone was so solid and no nonsense I suddenly felt I could have it all. I had an urge to say I wanted caviar and champagne, but I don't like either of those things, so instead I told him I was generally down on supplies and needed a re-up.

"Okay. Very good."

"Oh, and the wine. Forget about the wine. I've decided on beer instead."

"Very good. What kind would you like?"

I had no idea. I told him that Heineken sounded nice.

He told me all my items would arrive tomorrow between four and four-fifteen.

I told him I wasn't going to be around, and I wasn't sure how that would affect whatever paperwork might be attached.

"Nothing to worry about. If you're not around we'll leave everything by the door."

Never once did he ask me my address.

After I hung up the phone I became convinced I'd fucked everything up. I told myself this was potentially very good, since the truth wasI didn't want to live there anymore. Then I reminded myself I was too stressed and helpless to do anything else, so I hiked back to the bunker, and worried about everything.

The next day I hid out in the scrubby woods and watched as a big unmarked truck backed into the clearing at four-oh-nine. Two very thick and capable looking blonde dudes hopped out and unloaded another couple of years worth of food supplies, everything wrapped up in plastic and organized into large cubes.

No paperwork, no inquiries, no nonsense.

My feeling of wanting to leave, and feeling that there was nowhere to go, was even stronger after they left. I set about to getting all the food inside. Like with the garbage, there wasn't a good way to do this. I ended up hacking open the parcels with steak knife and making trips, filling up a pillow case.

Looking back, I think it took at least several days to get everything in. Having this sort of intense task did wonders for settling my nerves,and it gave me space enough to contemplate. Only a crazy, fucked up twit would freak out in a piece paradise such at this. The reason I couldn't leave was because if I was freaking out here it meant I'd freak out anywhere, possibly worse. Also, as bad as it was here, there was no chance I'd become Johnny Bobo.