Chapter II

I woke up in the middle of the night again. I heard screaming. It took me a fraction of a second to realize I was screaming. I shut my mouth instantly, hoping I haven’t woken anybody up. Everything was normal. There was this sinister mix of snoring and moaning that gave me goose bumps. And no one came to comfort me, tell me it was just a dream and tuck me in my bed, like at home. At home…

***

I managed to sneak out of the room without waking anybody up. All these years of playing hide and seek seemed to have been worth it. Stealthy like a rogue I sneaked through the hospital. I had to wait once for a doctor to go back in the OP room from the corridor. His coat was sprinkled with blood and he was holding a cigarette in his trembling fingers. He looked like he was about to cry. I couldn’t blame him. Finally he went back in the room with a determined look on his face and I was able to continue my stealthy journey through the hospital. I avoided using the elevators. I never knew what to expect when the doors opened again. What if I’ve ran into a doctor or a nurse? What would I tell them? No, taking the stairs was safer. Going down the stairs from the third floor had very little effect on me. I wasn’t tired at all. I could feel the adrenaline pumping in my blood when I passed the porter of the hospital. I could hear scraps of the radio he was listening to. “…authorities have contained the searching for other survivors…heroic death of the volunteer firefighters who have died in the gas explosion on the Derpington str. 21 during their mission…too dangerous…”

So I was on my own. The authorities have given up, I was the only chance for my family. If they’re still alive, said a voice in my head. NO! SHUT UP! They have to be alive.

I finally managed to get to my street. At first I was completely disoriented. I could barely recognize streets, everything seemed so altered even though most buildings were still there. Not standing, but lying in ruins, around me. Luckily for me, I knew where the hospital was, I remembered being there with my mother and my little brother, who got an infection a few years ago. When I finally reached my street, I wasn’t sure it really was it. A deafening silenced embraced me. This street used to be full of life, even at night. The lights of the stores and the street lanterns were illuminating the street. Especially at weekends, there was always a party somewhere, drunk people were screaming and the music was keeping the whole neighborhood awake. Even if most old folks were bitching about not being able to sleep, I can’t recon a single time when they called the police because of the noise.

Then I saw a pole lying in the dust. I hoped there was a street sign on it. There was. And as the moon rose, I was able to see the name on it. John Living street. My street. I started laughing hysterically. I couldn’t help it, I just stood there, tears streaming down my cheek and laughing like I’ll never laugh again. John Living. Living. In the city of the dead. Soon, my laughing diminished and the crying stopped. I felt an unbreakable will to find out what happened to my family. The determination must have been written all over my face.

I located the house where I used to live. I crawled through the ruins and started moving scraps of wood and concrete out of the way. It was a tiring job for a twelve year old girl.

A few hours later, I managed to free a small spot where I suspected the cellar door was. I saw it and proceeded to remove the last bits of concrete which were blocking it. I tried opening it, but couldn’t. Something was blocking it. I double checked, but it was nothing on the outside blocking it. It must have been locked from the inside. That meant they have managed to get to the cellar! With renewed hope, I started hitting the door with stones and concrete, hoping it will eventually break, or that my parents will hear the noise and come to unlock it. I stood there, hitting the door for almost half an hour, although it could have been more or less, I had no way of knowing. It was futile, I barely scratched the door, continuing like this was pointless. Then I remembered a movie I saw on TV, it was about some criminals who got cornered in a chalet by the police and locked themselves in. I remembered the policemen using their handguns to blow the lock, easily opening the door after that. Not knowing if it was fake or not, I picked up the larges stone I could find with my hands, hit the knob and hoped for the best. It moved, I could see it. It was only a bit, but it encouraged me, it has shown me that this method would eventually work. So I picked the stone again and hit again the knob as hard as I could. Again. And again. And again. The sun started to rise, ignorant to the sorrow it was shining its light upon. The lock eventually gave in, but the door still was closed. I backed up a few feet, ran towards the door and threw myself against it. It opened a little. I backed up again and threw myself against it one more time. This time it cracked open wide enough to force myself between the door and it’s frame. I opened it wide. The morning sun ambushed me unexpectedly, blinding me for a few moments.

It only took me a few seconds to get down in the cellar. I could barely see something in the darkness. I stopped dead, eyes closed, listening to the silence, hoping I will hear something. Finally, I could. My heart started beating frantically and I opened my eyes bit by bit, allowing them to get used to the darkness. Finally, I could see a little in the darkness, then more and more, as my eyes were more and more familiar with the almost imperceptible lightening there. The sun rising was helping too. I started looking around, trying to find the source of the noise I’ve heard earlier. I tried to be as silent as possible, in case I will hear the sound again and be able to detect where it came from. The sun kept on rising while I was struggling through the darkness. It eventually rose enough to penetrate the door to the cellar, and the sunlight reflecting on the walls revealed the source of the sound. It also revealed the location and fate of my parents. It made me sick and I could not help but turn around and puke on the floor. I almost fainted but forced my nails through my palms, hoping the pain would keep me conscious. I turned around again and watched them, crying. They were just lying on the floor, embraced, an almost serene expression on their faces, as if they have accepted their fate. But the source of the noise made me sick. There were rats all over their bodies, ripping their flesh apart, feeding on their corpses, stilling their thirst on their blood. I screamed as loud as I could, hoping against hope that they would wake up and shoo the rats away from them, hoping they weren’t dead.

Dead by dehydration and starvation. They waited for days, hoping someone would come and rescue them, bring them water and food, get them out of the cellar which has become their tomb.

I could not see my little brother anywhere. I assume he did not make it to the cellar, his cadaver must be decaying somewhere between the ruins.

I ran out of the cellar, screaming, crying, hoping I would forget everything I’ve seen. On the streets I kept on running and screaming hysterically, until a young man dressed in green caught me. He held me tightly in his arms, not letting me go, allowing me to hit him, listening to me telling him to kill me, to put me out of my misery. Instead he just stood there, holding me in his arms and telling me that there is hope and that everything will be all right. I fainted.