Milk Run

It’s Garrison’s turn, but Harvey snatches a matchstick while she dithers. The woman—some sort of former athlete, either softball or cow-tipping, whatever the hell sports they used to play here—glowers at him and his New York manners.  

She’s too polite to call him out though, too tense. The drawing continues in the foggy November dawn, all the able-bodied adults gathered in front of the school. Wind creaks through red cardboard whirligigs. The others fidget with their makeshift weapons, stamp their feet against the chill. They haven’t seen or heard birds in weeks. 

At the end, per Danny’s rules, everyone reveals their draw. 

Harvey waits long enough for the others see his and wince accordingly before he shoves the broken stick into his pocket.

"Oh no," Laura looks as distraught as he should feel. "That's not fair, you've gone twice now. Let's try again—"

Harvey snorts and shoulders the empty luggage, loping past the kids’ educational garden. Behind his back, Laura’s trying to get the group to draw again. She won’t have any luck; Hank’s failure is too fresh, and Hank had been a competitive hunter. Harvey’s a big bulky guy; he doesn’t bother with weapons.

Still, stick-thin Danny dogs his long steps, murmuring to turn back, to have a buddy join, let him tag along. Brave of him, because Danny’s voice wavers at the offer. Harvey ignores that too, because Danny still unlocks the gate.

***

The others seem to think Harvey’s some sort of secret agent, ninja, mercenary.  Gossip is great entertainment, even for people not facing death.

He's never a held a weapon in his life. He’s done his best to keep them guessing, mostly by being a grouchy uncommunative bastard. Not bathing and shaving helped. Additionally, the unfriendlier he is, the less likely he’ll get pulled for daycare duties, or invited to Bible group again. He’d rather sit naked in a rat pit than explain to the kids where their parents are.

No, he’d leave that to Danny and Laura, that was more their wheelhouse. They might have the personality of stale crackers, but they used to be school counselors, they volunteered for that.

Originally, he was only supposed to be in Twin Falls, Idaho, for three days for a cheese convention. It’d been a rational excuse to leave his empty sour apartment, greased by cheap hotels and airfare. He’d quit his job weeks ago and had money to burn. 

The dinky convention had been a waste of time, along with the others—September was convention season—but the outdoors was…nice. 

The Shoshone Falls, Niagara of the West, only taller and minus Canadians. In the right spot, teal horizon touched the ground in all directions, unbroken by buildings or trees. Waterfalls, crows, and rivers replace the New York symphony of shouting, car horns, ambulances, radios. He avoids the overly religious, conservative, bigoted hicks without trying. 

Twin Falls is the kind of hidden gem Mike’s friends—Harvey’s former friends—were wild about. None of them would think of Idaho, because they were all vapid, stylish pricks who never dreamed of going anywhere without a thriving nightlife and C-list celebrity sightings.   

Harvey spent two weeks camping and getting very drunk while surrounded by wilderness, in near total silence. He didn’t think the world could go to hell in only two weeks, but then he was often a bad judge of character.

Once he crosses one of the Shoshone’s roaring gray tributary rivers, he drops the matchstick in. One corner of the cardboard stick is cut, just enough to distinguish the stick to sharp-eyed examiner. He’d worried Danny would notice.

The empty streets are just as quiet as when he first arrived. Instead of franchised coffee shops, there’s bland churches, mom and pops, and gun stores on every corner. No trendy Thai or Mexican joints—nothing trendy at all—trash free, and nearly graffiti free. 

Initials—Danny’s, Garrison’s, Hank’s—are spraypainted on previously looted stores, along with the date and school address. 

Danny’s optimistic, obstinately blind to the fact that most of the town died within the first four days. Harvey can’t imagine how quickly dense cities fell. 

Two hours later, Harvey steps into a heavily-looted department store. The others don’t come out this far. Broken glass crunches under his boots. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and takes off his gloves, unwinds his scarf. 

He creeps through the wrecked shadowy aisles. The big-ticket items—TVs, electronics, jewelry—were the first to go, and the most worthless. Boxes of dried noodles, crackers, and cans of food go into the communal bags; he keeps the aspirin, jerky, and multivitamins for himself. 

Diapers, alcohol, bedsheets, electrical tape; he grabs as much as he can carry, and then some. When Harvey staggers back into the gray sunlight, his spine is bent over like a paper straw. 

A bipedal silhouette stands in front of the exit. The left appendage shakes, squirms; he can see the bulging from here.

Harvey slows, then edges around it, keeping his ears pricked. They traveled in groups. They were attracted to motion, sound, light.

The figure turns to watch him, swaying, sidling closer. Still has clothes on, this one. Must have been recent. Purple feelers glisten and wave from an empty arm socket.

A sixth sense freezes Harvey in place. There’s humid heat at the base of his neck, a hint of air circulation. His sweat frosts over.

He lifts a hand to his shoulder, lets the thing behind him sniff—or sense, or taste, or whatever it was—his knuckles, his sweat. Just like the first time, the third time, Harvey’s heart is in his mouth, thudding against his molars and shortening his breath. 

How transmissible is it? Can—can just contact be enough, or does it have to be saliva, or blood? They’d been sure it was airborne those first weeks, but no one knew. He’s never actually gotten touched—

He’d be gone before afternoon tea. 

Something sways behind him, oozes past, naked skin glistening with slimes. Undulating violet cilia taste the air. He can’t make out individual legs. 

The one in front of him staggers after the second creature; probably the one that infected her.

As the first one leaves, the pulsing left appendage plops to the floor, spasms in a growing puddle of clear gelatin. He stares at it, longer than he should. The appendage slurps after the two creatures. He remembers to lower his hand.

Harvey does a quick six-point check—could always be a third, or fourth—then bolts.

***

Two hours and a snack break later, Harvey unloads half his haul into his personal cache in the local library’s romance section. The library’s one of the few unblemished buildings, unbroken windows and doors; nothing worth stealing. The hicks probably hadn’t visited even before the world ended. 

He hadn’t realized how much food it took to stay alive—never mind full, much less content. His stash is as big as the commune’s, but it still might not last the winter. He’s been working on it for over a month, rigging the lottery as possible, keeping the protein bars, supplements, and Godiva chocolates for himself. 

Of course, the commune’s stash didn’t have Truvada or Trizivir either, but they wouldn’t know what to do with anti-HIV drugs anyway. Except maybe baptize them, then burn them. Maybe. He couldn’t imagine Danny being violent; the youth counselor would probably sing songs and assign homework. Actually, none of the survivors were particularly violent…yet. But they did make unnecessary assumptions. 

He hadn’t contacted HIV from unsafe sex, gay or otherwise. He’d been unlucky with a blood transfusion after a skiing accident, had settled a for big malpractice payout. 

Money changed the way people treated you though. It had certainly changed his relationship with Mike, who started maxing out credit cards, burning cash, convinced Harvey wouldn’t drop his baby over something as trivial as money. They were talking about getting married, what was a little money compared to love.

That’d been an ugly lesson for them both.

It'd be an ugly lesson for the commune, the day Harvey didn’t return. Either they survive the winter, or they don’t. Sucks for the kids. Danny and Laura too, but mostly the kids. Shame their caretakers were a bunch of right-wing nutjobs.

Something skitters near the children’s section. Harvey swears. He’ll be screwed if mice get into his stash. The pulsating, alien-like zombies are a problem, but starvation is a killer. 

Armed with a bucket and gardening trowel, Harvey hunts the corners, behind shelving, to no avail. He’ll have to scavenge poison, traps, the next time he wins the lottery. Assuming he returns to the commune at all…the only things they had that he didn’t was clean well-water, solar-powered heating, and society. He’s never been comfortable in society.

He'd miss the heating once the blizzards came, but—

Color grabs his eye. He’s never looked through the kids’ section before. Aside from checking the dim spiderwebbed windows for gaps, monsters, he hadn’t looked at much of anything.

Harvey blinks a few times, pokes around. This can’t be right, not here.   

There’s an LGBT section in the children’s area. Of course, they call it the rainbow area, not LGBTQ, but that’s just words. He never expected to find books on two mommys, pride, or Stonewall here. They really must’ve never come to the library…

He flips to the front of the Stonewall picture book. It’d been one raid of many, but it was the night history remembered. One of the few times so many different groups of people who couldn’t stand each other stood together as one, and made a difference.   

There’s three ink-stamped check out dates, all in the last year. They still use ink stamps out here. He flips through all the books, looking for ripped out pages, graffiti, slurs. Then through the other books, the posters, any evidence to support his judgment. 

Harvey finally looks around, at the tiny colorful alcove, carefully curated. Whoever put this together was probably dead, as well as whoever checked out these books. Most of the residents probably didn’t know this place existed—didn’t they still go for conversion therapy out here? 

He's usually a horrible judge of character. 

Wasn’t that why he’d come here? That, and to ignore his empty apartment?

He slips a bottle of medicine in his pack, makes a second shopping trip to fill his pack up, before heading back to the commune.