To Survive and Thrive Ch. 01

«Forewarning»

After failing to find an editor for an earlier version of this text, I went back and tried to proof read it and edit it a bit and ended up rewriting large portions of it.

I am fully aware of the possibility of the existence of grammatical and spelling errors in it, along with confusing, malformed or misused sentences, words and expressions.

If you want to lend me a hand in making this work a better and easier to read story, feel free to contact me. You will be, most certainly, making a friend and a very grateful one at that.

Q

«/Forewarning»

Chapter 1 -- Alone

A lonely droplet of water hit a panel of a dirty window and draw a streak across the dust covered glass. Another followed it, quickly followed by yet another, and soon a steady pour had set in. When the first thunder cracked, the man jumped in his bed. Through the now clean window to his left and above his head, he saw a lightning cut through the sky, before another thunder rolled over the low clouds. He had fallen asleep. Carelessly, he had fallen asleep.

He knelled on his cot and stared outside, to the display of raw power nature was putting out. There was no wind, just the rain. A heavy rain that fell straight from the sky and hammered furiously the ground below, with bolts of lightning streaking across the sky and thunders cracking almost immediately after, which meant the eye of the storm was directly above.

Feeling cold, he rolled back into his bed and pulled the covers over himself, up to his nose, with his back to the wall. Outside, the rain grew in intensity and, through the room's windows, he could see what seemed like walls of water glimmering eerily in strange hues of blue and gray as it waved under the flash of the lightning bolts. His breath misting in the air alerted him to the fact the temperature in the room was dropping quickly and everything indicated it would only become colder as the night progressed so he curled into a ball, pulling his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, to trap as much of his body heat under the covers as possible. A sudden splash of water against the glass made the old windows rattle in its frames, as the wind picked up, and soon the storm was wailing as it punished the land.

The next morning, the wind had stopped, yet the rain remained. The same heavy rain. Dark clouds kept low and still on the sky and with no wind to carry it away, it would keep like so for some time.

He stretched under the covers, feeling his body stiff. His hands ached has he let go of the fabric covering him, feeling his fingers unresponsive and his knuckles sore. He had slept with his fists clenched again. The air in the room felt chilly and damp when he pushed the covers back and sat on the makeshift low bed. His mouth felt dry. He rubbed his face in his hands to shake the last remnants of sleep away and got up, grunting as his knees complained, then walked slowly to one of the windows to take a better look outside, dragging his naked feet on the cold cement floor. The little light filtering through the clouds made up for a hazy day, with the eye not reaching very far into the distance.

He cursed under his breath and started to get dressed. He could not afford just to sleep the day away. A little chuckle came to him as he looked at the neatly folded three piece suit and the designer shoes and shirt atop an empty cardboard box leaning against one of the walls. A memento of a lost life. He had quickly grown accustomed to the daily use of the work wear he had found in abundance in the building he was occupying; it had shown to be surprisingly comfortable to wear and much more durable than the fine clothes he had been used to wear. Safety footwear, on the other hand, still proved to be more challenging. Small sacrifices that had to be made.

His hands were shaking when he done lacing up the boots, again sitting on the bed. He clenched his fists, tight enough for his fingers to hurt and his knuckles turn white, before rubbing his hands together. His eyes drifted towards the door and his mind to what was beyond it. Standing up to put on the heavy jacket that completed the outfit and walk to the door was an exercise of sheer willpower

.

He took a deep breath and went for the blade hanging from a nail on a loop attached to its handle next to the locked and barred door. As always, it felt heavy in his hand. It also acted as a grim reminder of what reality had become over the last few weeks. Of what he had to endure every waking hour of his life. With shaky fingers, he pulled the loop around his wrist and allowed the blade to hang from there. It would keep it at hand at any moment. After pushing the sleeper securing the door shut to the side, he walked out of his room, leaving the door open behind him.

The small, two story building he was living in was of old construction, with thick walls, twice longer than it was wide. On the ground floor, well above head height, cut into the side walls, some windows through which anything bigger than a cat couldn't crawl in, provided natural light, while the back wall was devoid of openings, formed by a solid rock face that had been cut away and smoothed to open the area. The only entrance was on the front wall, in the form of a large, two section metal door. The upper floor was composed of five rooms on a platform that covered the span of the with of the building but only covered half of the length. Built on a metal framework, it had a gangway overlooking the ground floor, that ran from side to side and down the left wall when entering, with a flight of stairs there. It was his keep and, if it fell, all was lost. He was lost.

Leaning over the guard-rail he stared down into the area below. Being silent meant all was well inside the building. With his limited knowledge and capabilities, he had done all in his power to make the building as safe and secure as possible by moving crates, boxes, machines and other items around to make the task of breaking in and moving inside extremely complicated without making a mess and denouncing it. He was painfully aware it was far from perfect but it was as good as it could be.

Turning on the ball of his feet, he walked to the end of the walkway, where it met the right side wall of the building. There, at arms length, a series of iron rods had been stuck into the stone to create a vertical ladder that led to the roof. There was no stepping plate nor a security cage. Pulling his leg over the rail, he stretched for a grab around one of the higher steps and hopped over to the first, starting immediately to climb. A few moments later and ten meters above the floor, he pushed up a small rectangular door that led to a low attic.

The room was as full as the ground area but there the smell of old paper overpowered the more metallic and greasy aromas that lingered on he lower part of the building. The rain was clearly audible, falling on the roof just above his head. A low door across the space led to the exterior and onto a terrace that circled around the structure.

The door opened outwards and he stepped out under the rain, instantly feeling the cold water running down his neck and starting to seep into the thick fabric of his coat as he stepped closer to the ledge that rose just below the middle of his shins, to look down on the patio that surrounded the building from three sides. The back of the building extended out, forming a wall that connected to the fence that encircled the area.

«What a lovely day...»

The words formed in his mind has he looked over the ledge. Water ran down his face and plastered his hair to his skull. After checking the water catching system and clearing one of the pipes of a small pile of debris probably brought in by the wind or some bird trying to nest, he returned inside. The jacket weighed on his shoulders when he pulled the door behind him and ran the latches closed into the grooves on the doorjamb that secured it but although completely soaked through the garment still was able to retain some degree of warmth. He was starting to feel uncomfortable but nothing he couldn't handle for a few more minutes. Backing on his own steps, he moved down again to the lower levels of the building and further down into the ground floor level, making his way towards the door, being careful not to stumble on one of his own tripwires.

Blocking the entrance was a sturdy double door, tall and wide. It had been constructed from thick sheets of metal, welded and riveted onto a frame, to give it rigidity, and pivoted inwards on large hinges that were set deeply into the rock wall of the building's facade. Although it was kept shut with a series of latches that went deep into the concrete floor and the stone door frame, one of the first things he had done was to block it from the inside, leaving only the necessary space for one of the panel's to open just enough to allow for a person to slip in.

Opening the door only took disengaging a pair of hasps, being each one secured with a pin, and although being heavy, the door was well balanced and swung freely on its hinges as he pulled, albeit screeching from lack of lubrication.

When he stepped outside the door, the ever present crowd was present. Tattered figures that roved around between the abandoned cars and other vehicles on the side of the road now moved towards the fence, making it chime as the mass of bodies pressed against the chain link. Rows of ruined faces where the flesh was slowly decaying and revealing the greyish bone underneath, with blackened yellow teeth sprouting from putrid jaws showing where the tissue had already fallen or had been torn off by other, more hungry and aggressive walking horror. Noses were to most reduced to empty black holes amidst the face or were showing the delicate bone structure underneath the thin layer of skin as it rotted away. Many sported bite marks or gaping wounds on the neck, shoulders and arms. All were covered with blood stains that had turned black over time. It was a scene of horror, a vision of nightmare.

There had been a time when he spent hours putting down creatures like those, spearing the mob through the fence. The majority of which still even more recognizable as human beings than those he had in front of him at the moment, apparently sniffing the air to take his scent in. Remnants of men and women. He had killed the creatures until he could barely breathe from exhaustion and his arms hurt. To the point the ground under his feet had turned red with the spilled blood. The blood the rain was now washing away. Perhaps it would wash away some of the stench as well.

Ignoring the figures on the other side of the fence, he quickly checked its integrity. The structure was sturdy, obviously put in place to keep potential trespassers out of the area, and tall enough to deter most of the idea of climbing it. When he was satisfied with the state of things, he went back inside.

The cold was starting to affect him and shivers were running down his spine, forcing his muscles to contract against his will in sudden and painful spasms. Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, he went to start a small fire in the fireplace in the main room, where signs of what had once served as a regal private office and a meeting room still showed, with a large imperial style desk pushed against a wall and a long oval shaped table toppled on its side against another, around which probably a dozen people could sit. Now it was mostly cluttered with a miscellaneous of things: from old flattened cardboard boxes, some piled up to the height of a fully grown man, to empty beer cases and bottles and old and broken furniture, in several degrees of complete disrepair, along with all sorts of bits and pieces of scrap wood, the later of which he was doing short work of in order to keep himself moderately warm and cooking his meager meals.

Kneeling by the stone slab that served as the base of the fireplace, he piled small pieces of cardboard and wood against a lukewarm ember and blew gently over it to entice the fire back to life and take the fresh kindling. When the fire was burning strong enough, he fed it a large piece of wood and stepped back to strip out of his wet clothes down to his underwear. After hanging the outfit, he sat on the ground soaking up the warmth himself, preparing a cup of watery tea at the same time. He had been rationing the drink. It was a small pleasure he could still afford to have. The only one left. One cup every morning, along with a dry biscuit, almost as hard as the wood he fed the fire with, but somewhat palatable and nutritious after left soaking in the beverage, lined his stomach with a warm plaster that comforted and sustained him for long hours.

Staring at the flames his mind wandered, watching as the fire danced and licked the stones of the fireplace. The sound of the rain falling outside was almost, almost, soothing. He only noticed he was falling asleep when his head tilted forward and the cup he was holding almost slipped between his fingers. His eyes flew open and he almost jumped to his feet. When his heart rate settled down, he finished his cup and set it aside. After feeding a few more pieces of wood to the fire, enough to last for the remainder of the day, he walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

In the adjacent room, a narrow division with no windows, he searched the boxes stacked there for a new set of clothes to replace the wet ones drying by the fire. Why so much clothing was stored there still evaded him but he was more than thankful for having it.

With dry clothes on his back he stopped to ponder on his options for a moment, leaning over the gangway guardrail. Any other day and he would go back to the roof and keep an eye on the horizon for any unusual movement but with the weather being as it was he would only be breaking ground to catch a pneumonia. Thus, it wasn't a viable option. With the only true windows of the building being those used to allow sunlight into the main rooms of the upper floor, at the center and corners of the platform, he had to choose which one offered the better view to keep an eye on whatever might be going outside his little fort and occasionally walk from one side to the other of the building to check on things.

The corner areas of the upper floor were an office with wall to wall bookcases and file cabinets, still full of documents, and the room he used to spend the night, which appeared to have been some sort of design room, judging by the large articulated work tables still there, to the left and right corners of the building, respectively. Each had four windows: two facing north, looking over the back of the building, and two others, looking over the sides of the building. The office's faced west and the others east.

After comparing, he opted to stay in his sleeping area, as it had a better view over the cul-de-sac the business park formed, with the entry road coming from the west and encircling the lot his position was on. It wasn't the best solution but it was his best option at the moment. After pushing one of the tables to the far most corner of the room, where the side wall met the back wall, he sat on it facing the door, with his feet tucked underneath him. From that position he could keep all windows in his angle of view, more or less at the same time, an watch over the surrounding area.

Long and tedious hours went by. The rain kept falling. Neither more nor less, always at the same rate. Slowly drowning the world outside those windows and numbing his mind and senses. He would from time to time jump down from his improvised seat and pace a bit around the room to shake the numbness from his legs. From time to time he would walk over to the other side of the building to take a look from there. After a few trips, he took one of the volumes from the bookcases to try to learn from it what kind of a place he was in and what purposes it had served before being turned into some sort of catch-all warehouse. But always keeping an eye over the windows, looking outside, watching the figures that either stood still under the rain, leaning against the fences or the cars left behind on the street, or roamed around aimlessly.

It was early afternoon when he started to notice something odd but disregarded it as just his mind playing tricks on him. But it became more and more obvious as the day went by. Less and less of those horrors were walking around. Much less than usual. And the few milling about somehow seemed more sluggish than usual. Clumsier too. Some would stumble and fall with no apparent reason and lay still on the ground. Others would keep crawling on hands and knees or dragged itself using only its arms. Those who stood still would collapse without the least of hints. One in particular gored its face, pulling the skin off its face as it slid down against the chain link fence and left a couple of fingers entwined in the mesh.

Watching from above, the man stifled a laugh in his chest at the idea of weather affecting those monstrosities.

Nearing sun down. it was also clear that those who were still capable of doing so were moving towards an office building near the business park entrance and disappearing into the underground garage through a gap that had been forced open on the gate. But many still remained behind, lurking. Some even displaying an unusually vicious demeanor, banding up and attacking and devouring its kin. Those laying on the ground defenseless were savagely torn apart and consumed in a grisly feeding frenzy, with the cannibals ripping out the innards of the fallen and biting large morsels of flesh from arms and legs, howling and lashing at each other while fighting over the spoils. It was a behavior he had never witnessed before and that shook him to the core and made his stomach turn. If it wasn't for the complete lack of content in it, he would have found himself pushing up more than just a mouthful of bile.

After a while he finally admitted he had had enough of that gruesome display and walked away from the window. The thought that he should actually be happy that the creatures were starting to turn against each other came to his mind but he pushed it away. He felt his spirit sink a little more. Taking the journal he always kept under his makeshift pillow and the small pencil inside it, he sat down on his cot to put down another entry.

»»»

Day 23

Why I haven't cracked yet is beyond my grasp. There are plenty of reasons outside these walls for me to lose my mind. And still I wake up every morning, almost eager to get into the routine I created for myself over these days: get out of bed, take a piss, get dressed and eat something, then go outside and check the fences for damage and repair it to make sure I live to see another night and wake up the next morning to do it all over again.

I keep saying to myself someone will eventually come. If not for me, then simply by chance. Or pure bad luck. At the moment I can't decide which is worst.

»»»

He allowed the pencil to roll from between his fingers into the small notebook and closed it, after which he tucked it back to its place, before getting up and walking to the window on the other side of the room. The day was fading quickly. It was still raining and it seemed it would keep like that for quite some time. The same, unchanging, heavy pour. His grumbling stomach made him aware of his immediate needs and forced him out of the cold room to prepare something resembling of a meal. What could or would he concoct that night with the provisions he had left in the pantry?