The City (The Search – Part 2)

That’s the thing about this city. He scans for movement. It wants to kill me. He takes another look at the crumbling building. He cannot see anyone, or anything, but that is no guarantee. He waits behind the dune, just to be certain. He knows he should not be here. No choice. The sun crawls higher. He unzips his pack, checking his inventory for the third time – dried lizard, flashlight, knife, net, four water jugs. He is more prepared this time – better at finding lizards and water. I need to find some meds, and some batteries would be nice. He looks at the sky. It’s not getting any cooler. I need to move. He closes the pack, stands with a groan, and slowly walks toward the city.

He stops near the building and listens. He hears nothing. Unusual, even for this place. He takes a few cautious steps onto cracked concrete and waits. The stillness is unbroken. He steps to the entry. The inside is dark, but he can tell the room is large. Shafts of sunlight stream in through holes in the roof. Like spotlights on a dance floor, or maybe a prison yard. He moves a few steps inside. He turns slowly, surveying the room. There is nothing valuable here. At least it’s out of the sun. He sits on the floor, back to the wall, facing the door – like a cowboy in an old western. He smiles. Can’t remember the last movie I saw. He leans his head against the wall and takes a bite of lizard, forcing it down with a gulp of water. Definitely not like chicken! He closes his eyes, thinks back, and drifts off.

*****

The cat found him six days after she tried to drown him in the sand. She probably smelled the lizards on the drying rack. She came at night and exploded into the shelter with a howl. For a few seconds the world was all teeth, claws, and pain. Then she was gone.

He woke not knowing how much time had passed. He tried to move, but his body punished every effort. After an agonizingly long time, he was able to roll over on his back. He was staring into a brutal sun. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but fell back. Pain shot through his left arm. He held it up and saw the sleeve, and a good deal of the arm, in shreds. It was caked with dried, bloody sand. Probably kept me from bleeding out. He used his right arm to finally sit up. He checked the scene. The shelter was in tatters. All the lizards were gone. At least she didn’t find the ones buried in the container. But she’ll be back – she will keep coming back. He had to leave, and there was only one place left to go.

*****

The voices pull him from his sleep. He frantically grabs the pack. He jumps to his feet, and spins in a circle searching for an exit. He rushes to a window at the back of the room. He pulls at it, trying to coax the long-stuck frame open. His left arm is weak, and the window is not willing. He raises his pack to break the glass, then hesitates. The noise will give me away. He moves further into the shadows, hoping to find a way out. The voices are getting closer. He cannot make out the language.

He hears boots on concrete. He pushes even deeper into the darkness, feeling his way. A flashlight shines. They are searching. I don’t want to know what they’re looking for. He stays low and silent. His hand slides along the wall and then he feels – nothing. He has no time to think. He slides through the opening and swings the door closed with a loud slam. His hands find a lock. He turns it and lets out a sigh. The room is pitch black. He slowly shuffles forward with his arms out in front. After about a dozen steps, his hands find the wall. He reaches out to the left until he touches another wall. He repeats the process to the right. The room is long and not very wide. A closet, maybe a pantry?

The voices are back. He can hear them coming closer. He pushes himself into the corner, trying to disappear. The doorknob rattles with a sound that almost shatters his eardrums. He can see light stab under the door. The doorknob shakes again. He unzips his pack, feeling for the knife. His hands shake as he finds the hilt. He keeps his eyes on the sliver of light. The knob rattles harder this time. He holds his breath, ready. The voices are shouting, almost in a panic. He grips the knife tighter and leans in, ready to fight. The door crashes open. The flashlight blinds him. He yells, lunges forward with the knife held high, then drops straight down.

 He lands hard, left arm and shoulder taking the brunt of the blow. The knife skitters into darkness. He can hear the voices shouting. Light showers him from above. Two men are pointing through a hole above him. He rolls along the floor, trying to escape their view. The floor is damp concrete. Must be some kind of basement. The light swings all around the room in crazy circles as they search. He moves to the farthest corner from them, staying still as possible. I need my knife! He scans the room for it, but the strobe effect of the flashlight is disorienting. The men are yelling. He looks up. They dangle his pack through the hole and shout more words he doesn’t understand. They still cannot see him in the corner. The pack disappears.

The men suddenly stop. He can hear them running on the floorboards above him, and then they are gone. Relief washes over him. He slides down to the floor, bracing his shoulder with his other arm. He is bleeding again and his ankle feels like it is on fire. Maybe they decided I am not worth the trouble. He lets out a long sigh. Now, where am I and how do I get out?

He hears a slight sound like metal on stone. He freezes, listening, not even breathing. He hears it again, this time slightly louder – and closer. He turns in the direction of the sound. There is a flash of light as someone strikes a match. The light eats at the darkness and comes to life inside a lantern, illuminating the face of a woman. She stares at him and holds something to the light. “Nice knife. What else ya got?”