But she quickly realized she wouldn’t have believed him, would have assumed it was a trick. Even now, it seemed incredible, and a tiny vestige of doubt remained.
But, in tending to him, she felt she’d gotten to know him, understood him a little. He might have snowed her big-time, in which case, she’d have to applaud and say, “Bravo, superb performance,” because he’d succeeded in undermining her hatred.He got me to see him as a person, to like him.
I have to let him go. If he’s not a threat to me, I have to release him.
She’d cut him loose, send him on his way with some food. Then she’d pack up the SUV and go find other people.
With a pang, she realized she would miss him when they parted.
I hope nothing bad happens to him.
* * * *
Tramping through the wet woods had soaked her pants up to the knees and dampened her upper half. She decided to delay showering but don dry clothes before going to town.
At her parents’ house, she left her mud-caked boots in the garage before going inside. She tested the kitchen faucet. As expected, the water in the hot water tank had gone cold since she’d showered several days ago.
After refueling the generator, she rolled it outside to ventilate and then plugged the cord into the circuit breaker panel and powered up the house. Electricity from the generator could heat the water while she went to town. Then she’d enjoy another hot shower.
In the meantime, she could do a load of laundry. She always washed clothes in cold water anyway. She hung her wet jacket to dry and then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt of her mom’s, before dumping her wet things and the dirty clothes she’d brought with her into the washer. The machine filled and began chugging away, normalcy in action.
Could there be a happier, more hopeful sound?
Her heart ached with grief as she emptied her parents’ suitcases onto their bed. She’d deal with their clothes later but needed the bags. She donned a jacket of her mom’s, grabbed the empty suitcases, put on her shoes, and drove away.
The creek had risen but was still passable, and the SUV splashed through the low-water crossings with no trouble.Everything is going my way. Lady Luck is with me.
Driving along, she jotted mental notes of what to collect. More clothes, winter and summer, sentimental personal items, drugs, and medical supplies. She’d go to her apartment first then the hospital.
Feeling much more confident and unafraid, she cruised every street of Big Creek, honking the car horn. But either no one lived there anymore, or they feared showing themselves. Her happy mood dipped a little.Not every town will be like this.She gave herself a pep talk.
There were close to 20,000 cities, towns, and villages in the country, many of them tiny little burgs of a few thousand or a few hundred that would have been low priority on the hit list. There had to be other survivors—especially since she now knew the invasion had been called off before it had been completed. Besides, whoever had shot Grav had come from somewhere.
She wiped her feet on the mat in the foyer of her apartment building then went up to her unit where she filled one suitcase with clothing, reserving the other for medical supplies. She also dug up a tote bag to bring to the hospital.
Through the wide public entrance, she entered a desolate lobby. A wave of homesickness and loss swept over her. Her nursing career had been such a major part of her life and identity; her coworkers had been her friends. Her squeaking shoes sounded loud in the silence as she walked the familiar path to the nurses’ station.
She could picture the people she’d worked with and the memorable patients who’d passed through. She grieved for two nurses in particular, both former high school classmates. She remembered with fondness the capable but ditzy Nurse Ding-a-ling, whose not-so-nice nickname had been bestowed upon her by Dr. Pompous Ass. He was an excellent physician but a jerk of a human being. She thought of the housekeeping staff and janitors, the aides, the dietician, and the medical social worker. The hospital had been an employment mainstay for the entire area.
Trying to envision what she might need, she filled the suitcase with boxes of rubber gloves, a couple of blood pressure monitors, several thermometers, syringes, gauze, tape, a stethoscope, shears and scissors, alcohol wipes, and splints. With the bag nearly full, she zipped it up and wheeled it down the hall toward the drug supply closet.I hope I can open it.
The cabinet opened with an electronic lock that recorded who accessed it. As a control, every nurse had a unique passcode. It had a backup battery, but a year had passed. How long would the battery last?
Upon reaching the drug supply closet, she saw accessing the cabinet wasn’t going to be a problem.
The door had been pried open. Boxes and vials lay scattered across the floor. Somebody had gotten here first. “Well, shit!”
She sorted through the detritus and quickly identified what was missing—narcotic painkillers. “Addiction lives on in the apocalypse.” Most likely, the little pharmacy in town had been hit, too. How long ago had this happened? If it had been raided months ago, that was one thing. But if the theft hadjustoccurred, the person could still be in town or even in the hospital.
Just my luck, the first person I meet is a strung-out junkie.
She listened for footsteps as she hurriedly scooped up antibiotics, antivirals, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories—the thief hadn’t been interested in ibuprofen-type pain relievers—antinausea medications, decongestants, cough suppressants, and antihistamines and shoved them into the tote. She could only guess at what kind of help the survivors might need.
For the first time since the invasion, she’d found a sense of purpose. She could resume nursing and help the survivors. Some of them would need medical care.
If she was really lucky, she’d encounter a physician. They could team up. She could learn a lot. In the new normal, she’d be able to do more than just nursing, advance to an unofficial physician’s assistant.
She hooked the tote over the handle of the suitcase and unholstered her gun.
