Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (47 page)

Even if the arm was just infected, she would still need to find him antibiotics, and find them fast. She had no desire, nor the strength, to amputate Mark’s arm if gangrene set it. “Flies, maybe?” she thought. “Maggots were good for keeping open wounds clear of rotting flesh. But how do I find flies? Do I just leave the wound exposed and just hope for the best?”

Lauren returned to the warehouse, removed the saddle bags from the front and back racks of her mountain bike, and prepared to leave. She didn’t know where to go, or what to do, but she knew she had to do something. Her only hope was to peddle to the nearest neighborhood and search for and find abandoned medicine in someone’s bathroom cabinet.

But she was worried about finding antibiotics because people just didn’t have any extra. From her experience, doctors always advised their patients to finish all their antibiotic medications, so she was doubtful she would find any. Still, she had to look. She could use alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, or even iodine to better clean Mark’s wound. Something, anything, was better than sitting around and watching him slowly die.

Lauren pumped air into the thick, knobby tires, of her bike, and then wheeled it outside. She checked the weather and found, thankfully, that the wind was still blowing to the south. But even if it was blowing their direction, she’d still go out and look for something to help Mark. What was the point of sitting under cover when even that was a guarantee of death? Besides, she’d gladly give her life for Mark. He had already earned her love.

Lauren was about to close the half-open door when Sage nudged it open with his nose. “I thought you’d stay here with Mark?” she said.
Sage whined and padded quickly down the two concrete steps to the road. “Suit yourself,” said Lauren. “I don’t know where I’m going, but you’re welcome to come along.” Sage barked and Lauren said, “You sure? You’re pretty beat up, too.” This time he replied with a whine that led to a bark. “Okay. Let’s go then.”

When she reached the scrapyard’s chain-link gate, Lauren passed through it and pulled it closed. She grabbed a loose piece of chain and wrapped it around the poles to make it look like the gate was locked.

Now, with a lightened load, and peddling with the wind at her back, she zoomed along the quiet road. It was exhilarating to move so fast in the dark, especially after having peddled into the wind since first leaving south Austin. But she couldn’t complain, at least the wind was keeping the fallout away from them,

Having ridden with Mark for two days-that-were-nights, she was also perfectly comfortable riding without lights. She was already feeling stronger and more confident on her big bruiser of a bike. As for the mission, she wanted to travel light. She carried her 9mm in a holster at the small of her back, with two spare magazines. She also had two water bottles, the empty bladder bungie-corded to the back rack, her combat and utility knives, a lighter, and fifty foot of para-cord. She had a few other small odds and ends in her pockets, but for the most part, she was running very light.

Lauren turned left at the first intersection she reached and headed east toward the nearest suburban neighborhood. She remembered passing it when they were out looking for a place to hide. To her, the neighborhood looked like any other typical suburban development, with tiny lots, small yards, and a two-car garage taking up more than half the façade. Definitely a middle-class neighborhood in a middle-class part of town, she decided.

Manor was unfamiliar to her, but neighborhoods, like the one she was heading toward, were common and similar almost everywhere in Texas. Her biggest concern was finding the homes occupied. If the neighborhood was still occupied, then there was a good chance she’d
be stopped by residents, possibly even guards. If it wasn’t, then there was a good chance she’d be harassed by gangs. But if she was extremely lucky, she’d find them empty. She hoped the threat of nuclear fallout was enough to convince the last hold-outs that it was time to leave.

She saw Sage move off into the bushes, but kept peddling anyway. Sage was very much his own man, like Mark. Thinking that the two guys were so much alike actually made her laugh out loud. When she was a block from the neighborhood, Lauren slowed her pace and willed herself to be absolutely quiet. She swore for not thinking to bring Mark’s binoculars, but quickly let it go. When she was fifty yards from the entrance, she stopped and listened.

Lauren learned at West Point that people have a really hard time staying quiet if they’re up and about at night. For most people, noise and light discipline has to be learned. It’s as if people need to reassure themselves in the dark - that they’re still alive when they can’t see very well, so they find excuses to use light whenever they can. And then there’s noise. It carries so much farther at night, especially voices. And finally, there’s sleep. Everyone loved to sleep, and most people were between the hours of zero-two and zero-four.

A good burglar always takes advantage of human habit and conditioning, and anticipate their prey’s every move. Lauren wasn’t a burglar, but she always fancied herself as one. She never burgled a house, but she read lots of stories about burglars. One of her all-time favorite fictional burglars was James Bolivar DiGriz, or “Slippery Jim,” from Harry Harrison’s, The Stainless Steel Rat Series.

As a young girl, Lauren found her dad’s collection of Harrison books, and after reading the first one, she was completely hooked. She read through his entire collection in one summer, and has yet to find a comparable character as Harrison’s, DiGriz. And now that she was approaching the first door, of the first house, in the first neighborhood, she tried to steel her nerves to face the challenge that lay ahead.

Mark, she knew, would have made short work of the business of finding antibiotics. He probably would have just kicked in a few doors,
subdued the gang members, and left with the meds without breaking a sweat. Lauren wasn’t like that. She was careful and meticulous, thoughtful and contemplative, calculating and cautious. For her to be even thinking about breaking into someone’s house ran against everything she imagined in real life. It’s one thing to dream of being a burglar, but another entirely to actually try your hand at it.

But she listened, and moved silently, like a cat. She was also alert like a cat as she slipped into the back yard of the first house to check for signs of activity. With leaves piled against the sliding glass door, dust on the door handles, and most of the curtains left open, Lauren was sure the house was unoccupied.

She tried the back doors and windows, but all were locked. Using her utility tool, she wedged the needle-nose pliers into the sash of the sliding glass door and lifted the handle as high as she could. The lever locking arm came free of the catch plate, and she slid the door quietly open. The air in the house was stale and musty. The smell of rotting food was strong, probably from the refrigerator. She knew better than to open it.

There was no food in the cupboards, or any other salvageable food. What was left was either rotten or rancid. But she wasn’t there for food, only medicine and medical supplies. Lauren made her way to the master bedroom and stepped into the bathroom. After closing the door, and making sure the bathroom window was covered, she removed a small pen-light and examined the contents of the medicine cabinet.

Antacid, fiber capsules, an old toothbrush, and a used woman’s razor: there was nothing of interest in the medicine cabinet. Lauren searched under the vanity and found a half-filled bottle of rubbing alcohol. She tightened the lid and dropped in into her pack.

She vowed not to spend more than fifteen minutes in any one house, and with her time almost spent, she made her way back to the kitchen. As she was about to step out, something urged her to check the living room. It was dark. Heavy curtains covered the front windows, so she turned on her small flashlight and looked around. A stereo system, basic
furniture, and a huge, fifty-gallon, fish tank worked together to lend character to the otherwise dull space.

Lauren shined her light at the fish tank and saw dark green water, and the carcasses of dead fish, floating belly up. Some of the fish were big ones, too, like more than eight inches long. Tanks like that always impressed Lauren. Actually, it wasn’t the tanks that impressed her, but the owners who dedicated so much time, money, and energy to keep them running. She couldn’t keep a goldfish alive even if she had an automatic feeding system.

She scanned the rest of the room, trying to identify why she felt prompted to look around, and after seeing nothing useful, she returned to the kitchen, passed through the sliding glass door, and back to the front yard to find another house.

Lauren searched two more homes using the same entry technique. As she suspected, there was little food or water to be found, but she did manage to find some medical supplies. It was stuff people didn’t bother to take with them because it was too bulky or open, like a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Either that, or they just forgot to take medical stuff with them when they left. Still, there were no antibiotics.

Her best find thus far were batteries. She found an unopened twelve-pack of double A’s, two D-cells, and three small packs of triple-A’s. She also collected two towels and three wash cloths, as well as a white, flat bedsheet for use as bandages.

As she mounted her bike to return to the scrapyard, disappointed over not finding any antibiotics, Lauren once again felt an urge to return to the first house. Unsure as to why the feeling was so strong, but certainly interested in following it, thinking that perhaps she missed something important, she returned.

This time, she checked all the bedrooms and the garage, but nothing popped out at her. She looked in dressers, closets, under beds, and even behind pictures. After twenty minutes of additional searching, she was ready to give up and head back to the scrapyard. But as she walked into
the living room, a feeling of peace and calm washed over her. It was a lovely feeling, and she stood there and soaked it in.

“Is this what I’m supposed to feel?” she whispered aloud. Hoping for an answer, she sat on the carpet and cleared her mind. The voice she heard in her mind was simply, “Fish.”

“Fish?” said Lauren. She turned to look at the fish tank and heard it again, “Fish.”

“Hmm,” said Lauren, and she slid on her butt across the carpeted floor and looked more closely at the solid-oak hutch holding up the fish tank. The cabinet didn’t look like it had doors, but when she looked closely she saw recessed hinges. She pushed on one of the doors and the magnet release popped it out and open.

Lauren pulled the door completely open and shined her light inside. She spotted dozens of plastic bottles, boxes of supplies, chemicals, plastic tubing and other fish related stuff. But something about the white opaque bottles caught her attention.

The first one she saw was labeled, Fish Flex Forte. Curious, she picked up the bottle and read the label. She shrieked with surprise and quickly covered her mouth. Fish Flex Forte was also known as Cephalexin, a familiar antibiotic. And next to it was a bottle of Fish Mox, which was also Amoxicillin. Excited, Lauren grabbed all the bottles and tossed them into her bag. She had accomplished her mission. She was going to save Mark.

The sun was just trying to peek up over the horizon when she mounted up and peddled like a mad woman back to the scrapyard. She didn’t see Sage, but her happiness at finding antibiotics was like nothing she ever felt before. She was almost ready to throw in the towel, and she listened. She actually heard, and listened, and found something they really needed. It changed her perspective on their survival by a hundred-fold.

The ride was quick, the slack wind of early morning enjoyable. But it also concerned her because it meant a possible change in direction. The
sun managed to send an occasional spear of light through the already colorful sunrise, but for the most part, gray clouds stood ready to hide it all. Still, she was so happy, hail wouldn’t have upset her.

Lauren found Sage waiting for her at the scrapyard gate. “The running too much for you with your injury, Sage?”

Sage whined and rubbed against her leg as she worked the chain loose from the gate. As soon as it was open, he dashed off, running straight toward the warehouse. Lauren wasn’t far behind him, and saw him sitting at the warehouse door. “Everything alright?” she asked. When she opened the door, Sage darted past and disappeared into the storehouse. Lauren wheeled her bike in, closed and bolted the door, and went to give Mark the good news.

Mark was standing in a dimly lit pedestrian tunnel. Faint light, far in the distance, represented the only possible exit, or perhaps the only entrance. He didn’t know where he was, or why, but he felt an irresistible need to move toward the light at the end of the tunnel. So he began to walk slowly, studying the environment.

The walls around him were smooth and clean, made of cream-colored tiles. Unlike other pedestrian tunnels he had seen, this one was clean. There was no litter on the floor, no graffiti, fliers or advertisements on the walls. It also had no smell, no stale reek of beer or urine. The tunnel was just that, a tunnel, nothing more, and nothing less.