Staying Alive

13

“Are you OK?” said Lawrence, helping John sit upright, his back against the building.

“I think so,” said John, wincing in pain. “That was some good work, scaring them off like that with the knife.”

“I don’t think I could have really stabbed anyone,” said Lawrence.

“Well, you’d better change your mind on that,” said John. “These guys were nothing compared to the others.”

“Trust me,” said Lawrence. “I know.”

“Then you’d better get your head on straight. None of this helping people shit anymore. You’ve got to have an iron fist. Do we still have the bag?”

“Yeah,” said Lawrence. “I’ve got it here. All the bar peanuts and limes we can eat.”

John grunted. He held his head, not that it helped the pain.

“So you don’t want me helping anyone, but it’s fine that I’m helping you?” said Lawrence.

“We’re helping each other,” said John. “Remember? You’ve changed your mind and realized you want to get out of the city.”

Lawrence didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” said John, getting slowly and unsteadily to his feet. “We’ve got to keep moving. And keep an eye on the alleys this time.”

They set off.

John’s head was killing him, and he felt nauseous and weak, probably from the lack of proper food.

They walked the city streets for what felt like hours. It was the same almost everywhere. There were abandoned cars, trucks, police cars, and military vehicles. There were countless bodies on the ground.

They peered carefully into every alley as they passed it, not to mention every side street.

John tried to keep his guard up at all times, but it was difficult with his head hurting, battling the fatigue and nausea.

His feet were killing him. He was used to walking only a short distance to the office, or taking a cab when he had a business meeting, or a night out.

Lawrence seemed to be fighting the same fatigue. Occasionally, he held his lower back with both hands, as if it was hurting him.

“Just a little bit farther,” John kept saying, over and over again.

Lawrence didn’t say much. And John was glad that he’d dropped the whole “I only know how to help” attitude.

“I can’t believe we haven’t been attacked yet,” said John, finally.

He’d practically been holding his breath the entire time, fearful that at any moment someone was going to simply shoot him, or jump out from behind an abandoned car and attack him.

John had never killed anyone before, and he didn’t know if he had it in him.

“We’re lucky,” said Lawrence. “But at night, we won’t be.”

“I don’t get it,” said John. “It’s like humanity here has gone nocturnal. It doesn’t make sense. Why would everyone come out at night, if night is the most dangerous time? It’s not like these people have lost all of their thinking and reasoning ability.”

“Sometimes,” said Lawrence. “Sick people on their deathbed become functionally nocturnal. Their circadian rhythm swings around when they’re extremely stressed.”

“You’re saying that’s happened to everyone here?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked in silence for another half hour.

“I know you’re telling yourself,” said John, “that you’re going to try to help everyone out there in the suburbs or wherever. But we both know you’re just trying to save yourself, which is fine with me. In fact, it makes more sense to me. Anyway, my brother Max, he’s bound to be at this farmhouse. I know him. I know his thinking. I’m sure he’s got it all fixed up to withstand the apocalypse. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s set the place up like some impenetrable medieval fortress, booby traps and all. We can head there… Maybe he’ll be glad to see me after all this time. And if not, I’m his brother, and he can’t exactly not let me in.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Lawrence. “First, we’ve got to get out of the city.”

“Sounds like you’re finally thinking sensibly,” said John. “We’re not that far from the boat rental place.”

“Let’s just hope there are still boats.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Who knows.”

When they finally arrived at the river, they were exhausted. Almost by accident, they had arrived at exactly the right cross street, exactly where the boat rental place was located.

But there weren’t any paddle boats, the small boats rented sometimes to tourists.

Instead, there was one large boat, bobbing gently in the water, tied up to a pier.

“Think the motor will work?” said John.

“I doubt it,” said Lawrence. “Nothing works. Remember?”

“I’m going to give it a try, but I’ve got to eat something first. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Well, we’ve got limes and nuts.”

“I’m going to go for the beer,” said John, slumping down against a concrete wall.

“Don’t you think we should get on the boat first?” said Lawrence. “And get under way?”

“What’s the rush?” said John. “We’ll see anyone coming.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’ve really changed your whole attitude,” said John. “Now it’s all about looking out for your own safety. As soon as I gave you the hope of getting out, everything changed.”

Lawrence didn’t respond. He seemed to have been growing more sullen all day.

John doubted that his own jabs at Lawrence’s personality were helping at all, but he was too hungry and tired to care.

Lawrence sat down cross-legged on the ground, across from John.

They both opened up their sacks of hops, and started digging around for limes and nuts. John opened a growler of beer and drank greedily from it, trying to quench his thirst.

“Hey!” yelled someone, from not that far off.

“Shit,” said John, rising rapidly to his feet. “Come on, get on the boat.”

There were footsteps coming, pounding along the pavement.

John barely looked up. He saw two men running towards himself and Lawrence. One had a machete, and the other held a handgun.

John was rushing right towards the boat. Lawrence was only a few feet behind him. John could hear Lawrence’s footsteps.

The boat was one of those clumsy tourist boats made for holding a lot of people, and certainly not made for speed.

John already suspected that the engine wouldn’t start. And that was even if the keys were in there. And John had no idea how to hotwire a boat.

His only option was going to be to cut the boat free, and hope that he didn’t get shot in the process.

John jumped onto the boat. His feet hit the metal deck of the boat hard.

Lawrence jumped, landing partially on John.

John was out from under Lawrence, moving as fast as he could on his hands and knees towards the rope that moored the boat.

John tried to keep his head down. He didn’t want to get shot.

“Keep your head down,” he yelled to Lawrence, but he didn’t turn to look to see what Lawrence was doing.

With his expensive kitchen knife, John started hacking away at the rope. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be. The rope was thick. But he finally cut through it. There wasn’t a satisfactory snap like in the movies, but the boat was free.

He knew the men would be incredibly close.

The boat was already being pulled south by the current.

John poked his head above the crude metal edge of the boat. The two men were just arriving at the edge of the dock. It was too late for them. John and Lawrence were already drifting away. It was too far for the men to jump onto the boat.

But the man with the gun raised it.

There was anger in his eyes and on his face.

A shot rang out.

Lawrence screamed.

“Lawrence!” shouted John, turning around.

Lawrence was on the floor of the boat, bleeding from the torso. His face was pure agony.

John looked up. The man with the gun still held the gun straight and true. There was still anger on his face.

John didn’t know how far a handgun could shoot. He scrambled behind one of the metal seats for tourists, trying to protect his body from subsequent shots.

Another shot rang out. But it didn’t seem to hit anything.

John poked his head partially around the edge of the seat.

Lawrence was screaming in pain. They were floating down the Schuylkill River, heading south, which was the opposite direction John wanted to head. The sacks of food and beer lay on the dock, abandoned.