“Look, I can defend myself. You won’t have to-“
“Those guys would have acted tough, maybe made us leave the mall. They would have had no fight if they didn’t see you. You too rare. We can’t do this. I’m sorry. You gotta go. We gotta go. This ain’t gonna work.”
Only just met them so how can they break my heart? How does this ache like an abandoned child?
“Chicken, I probably saved your life. If that cut had gotten infected—“
“And we probably saved yours. We’re even.” He was already turning away.
Joe shrugged in that way that meant it wasn’t up to him. He turned with Chicken’s arm around his neck and they walked away.
Alone, she looked around in every direction and there was no reason to go in any of them. No one waited at the end of any road, no purpose or burden came with any choice. It was like falling through something with no bottom.
In the end, she picked a street and started to walk. She strained her ringing ears to hear anyone coming behind her, but she looked over her shoulder every few paces. She thought about how Joe and Chicken had looked in their clothes, and how she looked different. Simple differences, small changes. It was the beginning of a plan.
Chapter Two
1 May
Have no idea of the date. Just sat here with this thing trying to guess for a couple minutes before I decided to say fuck it. Pretty sure it’s May. It’s been cold but the flowers are out. It isn’t hot yet. More fog than before. Declaring it May.
Living in the basement of a rickety house on Capp St. Been here since the fires spread across the Mission. Have my kit, my knife, and a good stockpile of canned food. Raiding is pure hell and I’m sure I’ll die doing it. Most of what I have I found in other houses. Found a revolver in a closet two days ago. At least it’s a gun I know how to use. Took it apart, cleaned it up, spent some time getting used to the feel of it. Familiar. Friendly. Can stand searching houses and offices. After the mall, stores are too much, too open, with too many places to hide.
Made it back to the hospital, tried to find Jack or some sign of him. Been a year and everything = dry = crypt = fuck that. Nothing. Went back to the apartment, couldn’t go in. Must have thought I was dying. Can’t blame him. Left a note anyway. Time stopped a long time ago. Time was never time at all. Digital clocks gone blank.
No one to talk to now, long time. Last woman on earth. Going to go crazy if I don’t talk to somebody besides myself. This = that. Substitution. Sham.
So, the bag. Journal, all the way in the bottom and flat. Food and bottled water. Inside my kit: army medic set for wounds, all the disinfectants and antibiotics I have left. Two topicals. Replace those pretty easy. 86 vials of Depo-Provera and a box of hypos. Two stashes of the patch. Three large boxes of the ring. All that = main pocket. Outside pockets: all the OB tampons I have left, two flashlights, twelve batteries, four lighters, and the map= enough to make camp in the East Bay and keep moving.
Don’t know if it’s any better on that side. Saw the fires in the Oakland hills, raging with nothing to stop them until the rains came. Up towards Berkeley things seemed a little better. Maybe head toward the university and raid there. Then move on. North. All the talk overheard sounds like heading south = go north.
Small group yesterday, close enough for me to wake up and hear them. Panicked at first, thinking they were in the house. Passing between houses, and they eventually stopped in one across the street. Got a hold of myself, heard them talking outside.
“…down toward San Diego. I heard it wasn’t as bad in Mexico. Maybe we could live on the beach in Baja and go fishing.”
“Man I guess. We need to find a car though. I’m fucking sick of walking. Maybe on the 101 we can find something that still runs.”
A third voice laughed. “Even if it runs, there’s nowhere to go with it. Everything is blocked. We could grab some motorcycles, maybe. But we’d need five.”
“Four. She can ride bitch.”
Small laughter. Listened to their steps leading away, my heart still pounding. Four men, then. One woman. Stayed in the locker with the garden tools until heard nothing at all for a long time. Neighborhood = nothing but ghosts for weeks, but time to move on. People moving down the peninsula, and there’s no way no how no reason to get caught on a bridge. Heading down to the marina, steal a boat. Still sailboats, made sure. Everything that ran on gas is gone = not raiding for gas even if they aren’t. Never sailed before, but it isn’t far. Go tomorrow or the next day. Go tomorrow. Go during the night. Must gtfo. Go.
Bitch, call everyone bitch. Ride bitch, feed me bitch. Pussy=pussy. Choose the rougher word. Posturing. Easy laugh. Take it easy. Only joking. Bitch.
June
Getting out of the city took longer than I thought. Couple of weeks in indecision, not wanting to leave the basement. Ate everything I could, slept forever always in daylight. Hearing =mostly back, don’t know if my right ear will ever be as good as it was. Packed and unpacked. Hated every day and chickened out every night. Pussy = pussy. Finally ran for it the night I heard the motorcycle. New one, rice-rocket. Ripped up and down the streets in the predawn hours. Felt like dragging my nerves out with it. Got too far away to hear anymore, figured that was it. Strapped on the knife and the gun, put on my pack. Walk.
Did an okay job of changing my look. I’m tall. Apartment in the Mission, found a compression vest to hide my tits. Thanks transman of yesteryear. Little too small, real tight. Shaved my head. Wasn’t easy. Got men’s cargo pants and combat boots, with a couple of loose shirts and my hoodie on top. Can’t do anything about a beard. Couldn’t find one in a costume shop or anywhere. Settled for rubbing dirt into my jaw every morning. Candlelit mirror tricky tricky. Look like a young effeminate man. A guy like Joe. Need to do more pushups.
Walk tall, keep hips straight. Don’t sway. Feet flat. Hunch a little, arms straight down. Don’t gesture. Stare down. Make fists while talking. Sit with knees apart. Adjust. Don’t tilt your head. Don’t bite your lip. Interrupt. Laugh low.
* * * * *
She found a sailboat that wasn’t wrecked or hopelessly entangled after walking the marina until well after dawn. She felt horribly exposed, being out in the wide open. She thought it would be better than on a bridge, because she wouldn’t have to choose to jump. The boat’s name was Circe and that sounded like something bad but she couldn’t place it. She looked all over at it to make sure there was only rope holding it down. She loosed the mooring and climbed aboard to push off the dock with a long pole. The tide started to drag her out. It was really working.
Hot damn. This might work. Maybe I’ll get the hang of this and sail up the coast.
The feeling lasted a few minutes before it became clear that she didn’t know how to sail. She turned a crank experimentally and was excited to see that it raised a sail. It caught the wind and dragged the ship backwards. Cursing, she raised another by pulley and it flapped uselessly, not made fast. She was almost chopped in half by one swinging arm and she worked, straining, to tie it down to something. She forgot that boats had rudders until she was out in the middle of the Bay, drifting without aim. When she found the tiller, she tried to turn it toward the east. That worked until the wind died. She began to seriously consider whether she could swim the rest of the way. The boat passed under the Richmond Bridge, following some current and running parallel to the shoreline. Lost at sea.
She heard the high choppy whine of a motor.
She whipped around to see a little boat coming toward her, running fast with a small outboard motor. There was only one man in it. She tensed all over.