Winston took the stroller back to the building, extended its somewhat challenging folding mechanism, and locked it into place while Muffin looked on. It was perfect — over-sized smooth-rolling wheels and several nooks to stuff with provisions. He rolled the stroller into the pantry and loaded it up, careful to read labels and take only canned goods that contained the highest calories. It didn’t look like much when he was done, but it would have to be enough — for now, anyway. He thought about hiding the rest of the provisions nearby or using the Claymore mine he still had stuffed into his pocket to save the food from looters, but the weapon might unintentionally hurt hungry Americans. He decided to leave the remaining provisions unprotected and unhidden, and he gazed down at Muffin, who looked pitiful with her overgrown fur and orange face.
“Let’s see if we can do something ‘bout that,” he said, remembering seeing a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. When he walked into the bathroom, he saw his face in the mirror — his cheeks were sunken and the wrinkles around his eyes were darkened by the soot that made his skin appear as if he was wearing blackface makeup. The sparse stubble that poked from his neck and chin and cheeks reminded him why he never grew a beard. He opened the medicine cabinet to find it empty, though a shriveled bar of soap was at the sink’s edge. On a lark, he twisted both water faucets on. To his surprise, a slow stream of water trickled out of the spout. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to wash the soot off his hands and face, and though the water stank like iron ore, it made him feel a little more human.
Winston felt the urge to use the toilet, especially since there was now something in his stomach. He opened the toilet lid. It was dry and empty, except for a couple of cockroaches that scampered out when their refuge was discovered. He pulled the top off the toilet. The tank was half-filled. Muffin stood in the doorway and watched Winston sit on the toilet seat. “I’d like some privacy, please,” he said and closed the door partially. He discovered a folding door (hidden behind the bathroom’s open door) within reach, so he pushed it open and ran his eyes around its contents. The closet was stuffed with towels, toilet paper, and the paraphernalia that one keeps in a bathroom. And when Winston eyed a package of four pristine rolls of toilet paper, he just about wept. He finished, cleaned up, and flushed, not surprised that the toilet tank didn’t refill, and rifled through the closet searching for anything usable. An old package of adhesive bandages proved to be empty, but he did find a package of four AA batteries, the type he needed for his small flashlight. He set them aside.
“This place a gift from God,” he remarked to Muffin.
He found a bin on the bottom shelf, hidden behind a box of rags. He pulled it out and found combs, a hairbrush, electric razor kit, tweezers, bottles of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, those fingernail files he couldn’t quite name but saw that May used, plus several used disposable razors. He opened the electric razor kit to find scissors and several length attachments. More importantly, he discovered that the razor was not electric but battery operated. He turned the razor on, excited about the possibilities. The razor sprang to life, but quickly whirred dead.
“Damn it.”
He found the battery compartment and opened it. Four rusted AA batteries stared back at him. He looked down to Muffin and said, “I know what’s you’re thinkin’,” as he replaced the old batteries with the new ones. This time, the razor sprang to life and stayed whirring. Winston removed his cap and gazed at his disheveled appearance in the mirror. The man that looked back at him was only a fraction of the man that he once was, and not all that long ago. He ran stiff fingers through his hair, which had never grown to this length, and ran the razor over his neck and face, reducing the long hair to stubble. He let his eyes fill momentarily with tears, grieving for his country and loved ones, before swiping the razor across his head and creating a clear swath of skin from temple to crown. He didn’t stop until his entire head was as bare as it was on the day he left for Vietnam.
The faucet continued to provide enough water for him to wet his face and froth the soap. He lathered up and chose what appeared to be the least-used disposable razor from the bin and shaved his face clean. When he was done, he appeared ten years younger, and somehow felt it, too. Muffin, who watched him the entire time, looked up at him with human eyes. Her appearance spoke volumes to him.
“Come on,” Winston said, grabbed the bin and a rag, walked outside, and sat on the step. Muffin gleefully followed.
“This will make you feel better.”
He brought the scissors out carefully, and watched for Muffin’s reaction as he held them close to her face. She didn’t flinch. He cut a large chunk of matted fur away from her eyes, and then another and another until her entire body resembled a hipster Guinea pig. Muffin remained still and compliant, eyes calmly examining her new master. Winston found an inch-long comb attachment for the battery-operated razor, the longest one available in the kit, and proceeded to run it gently over Muffin’s body, her remaining fur falling to the ground en mass. When he was done, she looked like half the dog she was when she first “attacked” Winston. She, too, also felt younger.
“You are unusually compliant,” Winston remarked as he completed Muffin’s hairstyling. With her fur so short now, he saw the condition of her skin, which was deplorable, appearing to have been ravaged by fleas and ticks. There was little more he could do for her now, though he did find several bloated ticks on her underbelly and one near her ear that he carefully pulled out with the tweezers, and he dabbed a bit of hydrogen peroxide around the areas where the ticks fed. When he was done, she scampered in large circles around the back yard, leaping over the two decomposed corpses (Winston would never know that those bodies were Muffin’s owners), and back to Winston.
“You’re welcome, Muff.”
Winston was ready to get back to May. He stood at the pantry’s door with his hands on his hips, second-guessing as to what should be done with the remaining provisions. He decided that he’d leave them where he found them, hopeful that other hungry Americans would find them. Besides, if he did have to go out for food again, he knew where this place was. He pushed the baby stroller through the woods and onto U.S. Route 23, and started the journey north. Muffin tagged along.
“No, Muffin, stay.”
Winston walked. Muffin followed.
“Go on, now get.”
Still, she persisted. He understood the implications of helping this animal out, and knew that she was going to follow him no matter what he did, which is why he had taken all of the wet cat and dog food from the pantry. He continued walking north up the long and lonely road, passing by scores of buildings and neighborhoods, all seemingly deserted. He hoped the former occupants of this area were somewhere safe and far from the enemy, though deep in his heart he knew they were all dead.
Several miles north, near an area with many strip malls, he saw a group of people milling about in front of a burned-out gas station. They were definitely not PLA soldiers, but unkempt Americans forced onto the streets — like him. They all stopped dead in their tracks when they saw each other, suspicious of each other’s next move. It was surreal to be afraid of your own countrymen, but the war did pit Americans against each other for the basic necessities of survival. But the group went about their business when they saw that Winston was no threat, which felt even stranger to him. He pressed on, Muffin at his side, and then, again, a mile down the road, he saw more people out in the open. There appeared to be a semblance of community, but he didn’t engage them, though seeing them gave him a modicum of hope. He counted more than twenty people, and not one behaved like Jimmy — crazy enough to get himself killed. Still, Winston kept a hand on the partially hidden rifle that rested on top of the provisions. As he walked through the town, a group of three men and one woman approached, coming from the north. They slowed as they passed by Winston, but didn’t stop.