“What is it?” Victor asked as Kyle pulled up and parked next to a sign that read, United States Postal Service.
“It’s a post office,” Kyle answered.
“Why are we holding up here?”
“Think about it, no one in their right mind would go to a post office when a disaster happens. When shit starts going down people don’t say, ‘Oh, I need to go get the mail from my PO Box. It’s the perfect spot to be. Look at it. It’s isolated from the town and it’s fairly big. Come on. Get your stuff and we’re going to run for the door. I’ll break the glass and we’ll get in. Go!”
Victor opened the door and ran up the steps. He carried the basket of food and his newly acquired iPod. It wasn’t fully charged, but he’d use it until it died. Kyle ran right behind Victor carrying the Winchester and the robot backpack, which he’d flung over his shoulder.
Kyle tried pushing the door open, and to his surprise it was unlocked. When he took a step inside and saw the PO boxes he realized that the front door would never be locked. How else would people be able to get their mail? he thought.
Victor took a few steps inside; he was soaking wet. The rain was really coming down hard. Kyle saw this as an opportunity to do something.
“Victor,” Kyle said. “Take off your clothes.”
Victor looked at him. “Hell no, what are you, a fucking kiddy lover?”
Kyle realized how that sounded and quickly said, “Fuck no. Just take off your clothes, take this bottle of shampoo and run your ass outside and shower. It’s really coming down, I’ll be right behind you. Leave your undies on if you’re uncomfortable.”
When the opportunity of a shower came into the conversation, Victor was more than eager to comply. He practically ripped the shampoo out of Kyle’s hands and stripped down to his underwear. He ran outside and drenched his head with shampoo. Kyle was right behind in his boxers. They quickly washed themselves the best they could and rinsed with the rain water.
Victor came back in looking refreshed, but shivering. Kyle came in soon after, feeling the same. Clean and freezing.
“Maybe … that wasn’t such a … good idea …,” Kyle chattered as he dripped water onto the ground.
“I hope … I … don’t get … sick,” Victor replied.
“We should have found you a change of clothes. You have nothing dry to put on,” Kyle said as he looked into the robot backpack. He grabbed the fresh pair of clothes then looked at Victor. He was standing there shivering and dripping water all over the tiled floor. For the time being, Victor was Kyle’s responsibility. He would look after him like he was his own. Kyle tossed the clothes over to Victor, who didn’t think twice about accepting the garments and put them on. Kyle laid out his clothes so they could semi-dry before he put them back on.
“Thanks,” Victor said.
“They’re a little big, but it’s better than them being wet,” Kyle assured. “Fuck, it’s cold in here.”
“What are we going to do here?” Victor asked as he climbed into Kyle’s clothes.
“I don’t know,” Kyle said looking around the area. There were two long halls that connected to a smaller hall that led toward the exit. A glass door was to their right, which led into the shopping area of the post office. In a corner next to a counter was a medium- size steel trash can. It was chained to the wall. “We could make a fire in here to keep warm.”
Victor looked at him surprised. “A fire? Indoors?”
“Yeah, it’ll be easy. I can cut the chain on that trash can and we can use all the priority boxes they have behind the counter. I’m sure they have wooden chairs to burn too.” Kyle searched his jean pockets and pulled out the lighter fluid bottle that Victor had given him. “There’s not a lot left, but we can get something going with this.” Kyle tossed the bottle to Victor. “I’m going to go back outside to get my bolt cutters and a welding torch striker. Unless you have a lighter or matches?”
Victor shook his head: No.
“All right then, I’m going to go grab that, you empty the trash can and only leave paper or anything that will burn.”
Victor nodded and walked toward the trash can. He began looking through it, taking out everything that would smell if burned. Kyle walked to the gun holster he’d left on the counter and grabbed his Glock. The handgun was more reliable wet than the shotgun. He checked the magazine. Ten rounds left. He put the magazine back in and was ready to go.
Kyle pushed the door open and stepped onto the wet concrete floor. The roof extended out, still above his head. There was a fifty-foot gap between him and the truck. Kyle ran as fast as his bare feet could take him, stepping on sharp loose gravel that was scattered on the ground. His feet were numb, so he didn’t feel the pain. The rain continued to pour down even harder than before. It was hard for him to see ten feet in front of him.
Kyle reached the truck and began looking in the toolbox for the bolt cutters. He found them in the mess of tools and took them out. The welding torch igniter was inside his glove box. He opened the door to the truck when an arm came out of nowhere and grabbed his shoulder. He instinctively shoved his shoulder toward the arm. When he did, he was face to face with a human.
The person maneuvered back to avoid getting hit by Kyle’s massive shoulder.
“Wow,” the person said.
Kyle snapped back and pointed the gun at the figure.
“Don’t shoot,” the person said, raising his arms up to cover his face.
He’s alive, was Kyle’s first thought. “Don’t move,” he said.
The two looked at each other for a second through the rain. The man looked down at Kyle’s body. Fuck, I’m in my boxers, Kyle thought as he turned back to the truck door and grabbed the welding torch starter.
“I … I … I’m not infected, I’m just lost,” the man pleaded.
“Come on,” Kyle said as he began to run back to the front door, one hand pointing his gun toward the man the other clutching the cutters and starter. Kyle pushed the door open and stepped inside, instantly turning to point the gun at the stranger.
“Who are you?” Kyle asked as the man stood at the doorway awaiting entrance.
He was wearing a long dark trench coat that was tied at the waist. The man was soaking wet, as if he’d been outside since the rain started and hadn’t been able to find cover. He wiped water off his bald head, then worked his way down to rinse his bushy goatee.
“I’m only asking this one more time. Who the hell are you?” Kyle asked as Victor hurried toward them. Victor grabbed his gun and pointed at the man as well. It seemed he didn’t know what else to do but to follow Kyle’s lead.
“Name’s Chet, Chet Wallace. Please put the weapons down. I’m unarmed and won’t try anything, I swear,” he said in an English accent.
Kyle took a few steps back to let the man through the door. “You got him?” Kyle asked Victor.
“If he makes any sudden movements, I’ll fire. You can count on that,” Victor answered.
Kyle lowered the Glock and walked to the metal trash can. He couldn’t bear the cold any longer. He needed to get the fire going soon. He honestly thought that he was already running a fever. Using the bolt cutters, he cut the chain and dragged the steel can to the middle of the room. There were a lot of discarded envelopes and cardboard left in the trash can. That should get the fire started. He drenched a wad of paper with the lighter fluid and put it into the striker. It took only two strikes for it to catch fire. He let the paper fall out of the striker’s cup and land in the trash can. The paper instantly caught, sending flames and black smoke high into the air. Luckily, the post office ceiling was nearly two stories high. The warmth of the fire was instantly felt by everyone in the room.