Capítulo 23: Grocery store looting

The weight of the backpack was a constant presence, each step a reminder of the supplies he carried—supplies that could mean the difference between life and death in the days to come. The medical gear he had scavenged from the hospital added a significant burden, but its value was immeasurable. Antibiotics, painkillers, bandages, and more—all would be crucial for treating injuries that in this world could prove fatal without proper care.

As he navigated the familiar path to his base, James moved with caution, his senses alert for any sign of the creatures—or worse, other survivors who might not take kindly to his presence. The city was a treacherous maze, and even a man as well-prepared as James knew that overconfidence could lead to a swift and unceremonious end.

The fortress, a multi-storied building that had once been an apartment complex, came into view, its reinforced doors and boarded windows a welcome sight. He approached the entrance, his eyes scanning for any disturbances that might suggest an unwanted visitor had discovered his haven.

Finding none, James entered, closing the heavy door behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through the empty hallways. He made his way to the storage room where he kept his supplies, the familiar creaks and groans of the building a chorus that spoke of safety and solitude.

Unloading the pack, James carefully inventoried and stored each item, placing the medical supplies in a cabinet Walter had set aside for just such resources. The antibiotics were placed at the front, ready for use at a moment's notice. The painkillers, he knew, could be a form of currency in this new world if he ever encountered others with whom he could trade.

After stowing the gear, James took a moment to rest. The search for Daisy and the constant fight for survival had taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally. The solitude of the fortress offered a rare opportunity to let down his guard and reflect on his next moves.

He considered the ham radio that Walter had shown him, the plans they had made to reach out and find others. The idea of connecting with more survivors was daunting, though the world might have ended.

James knew he couldn't stay at the base for long. The journey had to continue—there were still places to search, supplies to gather, and the ever-present hope of finding Daisy alive. But for now, in the quiet of the fortress, with the morning sun streaming through cracks in the boarded windows, he allowed himself a moment of stillness.

The world outside was harsh and unforgiving, ruled by Salor's indifferent light and the creatures that lurked in the darkness. But inside the fortress, for just a little while, James could remember what it was to feel safe, to feel human. He would rest, plan, and then, with the coming of the next night, he would venture out again into the city that had once been his home, carrying the memory of a blue flower as a talisman against the despair.

James spread the map across the sturdy surface of an old wooden table, its edges worn from use. The map was a patchwork of the city he once knew, now annotated with his own observations and the trails of his solitary expeditions. His finger traced the streets, pausing at intersections marked with his own coded symbols—places he'd been, places to avoid, and places that still held promise.

His attention settled on a particular spot, one that he had circled before but had yet to investigate—a grocery store a few blocks from his current location. "If it was the zombie apocalypse," he mused aloud, his voice resonant in the stillness of the room, "it would have been raided in the initial panic. But this happened so fast, everyone... changed. There was no time for looting." The thought brought a mixture of hope and apprehension. Supplies could be waiting there, untouched, but so could danger.

Standing up, James took a deep breath and readied himself for the journey. He checked his rifle, ensuring it was loaded and ready, and secured his backpack, now lighter without the medical supplies. "Daisy," he whispered, as if saying her name could somehow bridge the distance between them, "if you're out there, I'll find you."

James exited the fortress with a resolve that seemed to cut through the morning's silence. Each step reverberated against the desolate concrete, a metronome keeping time in a world that had lost all rhythm. He was a solitary figure moving with intent, his shadow stretching long and thin in the pale light of dawn.

The air outside was still, holding the breath of a city too scarred to speak. James set his sights on the grocery store, a beacon in the distance that promised both the possibility of provisions and the chance—however slim—that others had sought refuge there. The thought of finding fellow survivors, of rekindling the ember of community, propelled him forward.

His mind, however, was a battleground of conflicting emotions. There was the woman, the thief who had once caught him off guard, stripping him of his belongings and leaving him vulnerable. The sting of that encounter was a thorn in his side, a constant reminder that trust was a currency in short supply. He'd learned his lesson well, and if fate saw fit to cross their paths again, James was determined that the outcome would be different.

But anger was a heavy load to carry, and beneath it lay the deeper, more profound concern for Daisy. She was more than a friend; she was a touchstone to a life before chaos, a life filled with laughter and shared dreams. It was the thought of her—lost, alone, or in danger—that drove him to push harder, to search longer, to refuse the mantle of defeat.

The journey to the grocery store was a familiar one, a path he had tread countless times in the old world. Now, each landmark was a ghost, each crosswalk and corner store a whisper of days gone by. The city may have been silent, but James's mind was alive with the echoes of a thousand footsteps, a thousand voices, a thousand lives that once filled these streets.

As he approached the grocery store, his eyes scanned the exterior. No signs of forced entry, no broken windows, no telltale marks of looting. It was an oddity, a place seemingly untouched by the desperation that had followed the catastrophe. His heart quickened at the prospect of what he might find within.

James approached the sliding doors, now frozen open and covered in the grime of neglect. He paused, listening for any sound that might suggest he wasn't alone. Nothing but the faint rustling of leaves in the distance reached his ears. With a cautious step, he entered the store, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior.

The grocery store's interior was bathed in a surreal half-light, the early morning sun filtering through dirty, dust-caked windows, casting long, forlorn shadows across the aisles. Here, amidst the silent shelves, James found himself surrounded by relics of normalcy—packets of food neatly aligned, prices still boldly tagged, a tableau of daily life frozen in time. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, selecting items with a shelf life that defied the decay around him.

Each can of beans, each packet of jerky, each sealed bottle of water was more than sustenance; they were lifelines, each one capable of pushing back the ever-present threat of starvation. The backpack, lying open like a cavernous maw at his feet, gradually filled with the spoils of his foraging. The weight of it grew with each addition, a comforting heaviness that spoke of meals secured and days extended.

While he moved through the store, James's thoughts drifted to Daisy. In his mind's eye, he saw her in a similar place, her arms filled with her own vital finds, her spirit undimmed by the darkness of their new world. The vision of her, strong and unbroken, was a beacon that cut through the isolation, a fire that kept the chill of loneliness at bay.

As he made his final sweep through the checkout lanes, he allowed himself a faint smile at the absurdity of the deserted cash registers, imagining a world where the mundane act of grocery shopping was once the most tiresome of chores. Now, it was a mission, each successful run a triumph against the odds.

With his pack secured and his rifle at the ready, James stepped out from the shadow of the grocery store, the weight on his back a tangible reminder of the task at hand. The return journey was a silent march through streets that felt more like corridors of a mausoleum than the thoroughfares of a city. Buildings towered over him, their facades scarred by the cataclysm, their windows staring blankly, the eyes of a civilization that had witnessed its own demise.

The city offered no response, no whisper of fellow survivors, no scuffle of feet save for his own. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sensation that eyes might be peering out from behind the tattered curtains or from the depths of darkened alleyways. But whenever he paused, turning swiftly to catch a glimpse of his follower, there was only the emptiness, the silence, and the ever-present light of Salor overhead.

Despite the emptiness, James held onto the possibility that Daisy, with her indomitable spirit, had somehow found refuge. Perhaps she, like him, was gazing out at the same shattered skyline, wondering if she was the last person left. The thought of her—strong, clever, resourceful—fueled his determination. Others, too, might have dug in, might be out there waiting for a sign, a signal, any indication that they were not alone.

Yet, as days turned into weeks, the silence bore heavily upon him. It had been almost three weeks since he had awoken from his coma, a slumber that had been both a reprieve and a curse, sparing him the initial horror but waking him to a nightmare. The city had not uttered a single whisper of human existence since, challenging the hope that kept him tethered to his quest.

In the back of his mind, doubt began to creep in, an insidious vine wrapping around his thoughts. Had he truly expected to find others in this vast urban tomb? The enormity of the quiet, the absence of life where it once teemed in abundance, gnawed at him. It was a silent scream in a place too large for an individual, too empty for a single soul to fill.