The wind whistling past Adrian made closing the door to the Croteau's more of a struggle than he anticipated as he simultaneously tugged the doorknob and planted a foot at the baseboard of the doors frame. He had only been inside for fifteen-- maybe twenty minutes and already the atmosphere surrounding his tiny hobble of life had shifted. The sky, now a bright navy-blue was strung with sparsely placed clouds. Not the absolute clear night he had been silently praying for, but being able to see the twinkle of a few stars was pleasant. There were notably more of them these days, without any light pollution to act as a hindrance. Cold nipped at his nose and ears, Adrian squinted against it. It had been autumn for only a handful of weeks but he missed the warmer temperatures of summer. The weather was strange now that the residue of explosives linger in the air and on the land, also contaminating water sources. It was drinkable... but Adrian assumed that most people alive and who wanted to stay that way for a long while found cleaner sources. He took a sip from his canteen, filled with filtered water, and put it back. Gloomy trees swayed to the rhythm of the wind.

Descending the steps of the wooden porch, placing the cane in its makeshift sling (a crude strap wrapped diagonally around his torso, a swath of velcro on his backside to keep the weapon in place but easily removable) with the end featuring the steel toad being lowest to the ground and Adrian's right calf, he began to trace his fingers along the banister. White paint had begun to chip off, flakes still nestled along the wooden planks that the small patio consisted of. He gave a longing look toward the house, though never stalled in his pace. The Croteau's lived in the north-west end of Santa Monica in the suburbs. There were multiple houses that looked similar to the one he was in, and some that looked like they would have cost a hundred grand more. A few homes had been looted and vandalized without method, stripped clean by people who had cleared out before Adrian had arrived. Although every now and again when he wandered he could spot a freshly targeted building. If they got much closer, he thought, he would take off and find a new place to live. It was a sad thought. The streets were narrow but not cluttered. Though chaotic looking, in the apocalypse the coast had not fallen into a complete mess of garbage and destruction. Quite unlike the land that lay further behind the shorelines, the areas most affected by warfare..

A lot of people here evidently tried to escape the bombs. Some of these folks had boats, and that's probably where most of the cars are. Parked off at some dock or hidden camp, but not all of them were. Some had remained stationary on the sides of the street or in driveways or shut away in garages. Adrian wouldn't have to go as far during this evening’s scavenging trip as he would during the one tomorrow. He and whoever else that may have been taking gasoline from the area might have siphoned a good number of the vehicle's gas tanks around here, but not all. He would walk maybe five blocks and find a suitable car to drain.

When his feet dutifully made their way on to the concrete of the sidewalk, he stopped and listened to the cold quiet of the calm night, soaking in a natural moment of serenity. He allowed it to roll over the anger he still had nestling, permitting a shift in the thick, opaque substance that was his own demeanor. With subdued anguish, he could sense in his normal and more accepting perspective once again. A deep inhale of crisp autumn air passed as he acutely listened for sounds other than the wind, he found none. Adrian set off.

Going down the street, which he deemed the safest route as it wasn't as densely populated as going up it, he swept his eyes in a trained manner over the field of view in front of him and occasionally over his shoulder. Adrian had never received survival or combat training but he was by no means mindless in the art. He had scuffled once or twice, late at night outside of bars when drunken jackasses were demanding rides home, and knew the gist of how to defend himself. His father had told him before that he could be a great leader because he knew what battles to pick. Library books made small stacks in a room back at home base, containing tips on encounters with wild animals or in some books, people. He studied well and long on a number of subjects. No matter how much he took in, Adrian knew that what would keep him alive was what had been doing so up until now... his wit. By relying only upon himself he figured he removed all possible chances of unexpected failure.

His steps were strong and confident, but also fell to the ground through forced willpower. Adrian would admit to anyone, he hated... absolutely fucking hated being out here. The world had color but he saw through a grey filter, not changing the hues but only the feelings that he received from what spread out before his eyes.

He noted a house at the end of his block, a burgundy one that he recognized, with its front door newly busted in. Only the bottom left part of the wood was attached to the hinge and remained vertical, the rest was in a mess similar only too coldly to the one he created in the Croteau’s attic not anymore than an hour ago. Praying that this looting was not ongoing and had already passed, Adrian quickened his stride and traveled down the next few blocks with nary a problem to be found.

---

Kicking at the rubber of a tire of some white Toyota, Adrian scouted his eyes ahead. There were four cars in clear sight, a few more in the distance and partially hidden or out of the way. He bent down to the tire and grabbed around the back at the bottom of the cold, rugged material. He found and grabbed the red bandanna he left snugly under a rock placed under the car, and pulled it out from underneath its weight. Putting it in his back jean pocket, he moved on to the next car, a red Dodge. Old, well used. He popped open its gas tank and sniffed with intent. The faint yet powerful smell of gasoline touched his nostrils. He set his jerry can to the ground, removed a water bottle and the bandanna from his pockets and put them down as well. Taking the clear tubing off of his shoulder, Adrian stretched it out of its coil. He stuck one end into the gas tank deep enough to be suffocated by the liquid. After unscrewing the jerry can, he took out his jackknife. It took a little bit of elbow grease, but Adrian cut off a foot long section of the tube. He stuck this in the gas tank as well, letting its weight and force hold it in place as the back end hits the top of the opening and stays put. A trick he had learned from experience was to take a rag and stuff it in the airways of the tank opening to create a better flow by controlling the air that went in and out. He soaked the bandanna in water from the bottle, using about a quarter of his supply. He crammed it around the plastic tubing, hoping it would hold its place. Putting the end of the longer tube into the jerry can's thirsty mouth, he began to blow into the smaller tube.

His cheeks were swollen like flesh colored balloons for seven long seconds as he forced air to shove through his lips. Worry crawled into his gut as he noticed that nothing was coming out of the other end, the uncomfortable stretching feeling was growing from the sides of his face. Halting the attempt on this cars gas tank almost became reality, but as a last ditch effort he added a little more strength to his gust. He could see the bandanna begin to bulge out, panicked, but was immediately filled with relief as the overflow of sweet gasoline finally began, riding in a self contained water slide all the way down to the canister. Releasing the air pressure he had been creating, gravity continued to do his work for him. He could hear the faint, enclosed trickling of gas pouring and smell the scent of it growing stronger. Even though this was technically theft and it made him feel feel disgusting, Adrian never felt guilty. Nor when he looted for other supplies. It wasn't even because it was necessary, the process just became natural... overtaking the spot of gas stations and grocery stores. Realizing again that it doesn't take long for the world to change his morals, he sat down and stared at the night time clouds, reminiscing fondly about convenience stores and toll booths as the jerry can filled inch by inch.

---

About a block away from the red car, with his gear all packed up and strapped on him and the red bandanna now residing under the tire of the vehicle again, Adrian heard glass shatter. The sloshing inside the canister crashed against the walls as he came to a sudden stop, making lapping noises. He cocked his head downward, angling his left ear upward to hear more clearly. Crouching down, only half hidden by a steel mailbox on the sidewalk, Adrian listened. If someone was after him, he thought while touching the end of his cane that was closest to his shoulder, he would be ready.

He remained as a statue for two full passing minutes with not a sound or sight out of the ordinary. When things like this didn't add up, stress would eat at Adrian's innards. He recognized the initial sound to be on the same level as the ground, indicating that something glass fell or was thrown onto the ground. Gazing around quickly, doing a swift half-circle turn before turning back, Adrian scoped out the houses around him. This part of the area was a shade prettier, the home owners obviously more wealthy here. Charming colors that were cheerful even in the night coated their walls. No lights, no signs of movement, and no answers. There were hedges blocking his view by the house directly beside him, the house in the direction of the crash. The hedges were so tall and dense that even though they were dead he could not see passed them. Now there was a choice to make. Weighing his options, he wagered he had about two good ones. Option A would be to hide the jerry can in the mailbox, and investigate the source of the noise. Option B would be to hightail it out of there, avoiding the risk of confrontation and danger. Each passing second as he considered his choices was frozen in a glacier, and each one potentially put him deeper into danger. The wind blew by ominously.

"God dammit..." he swore in a muttered breath, gripping tightly now to the realization that he would need to investigate the noise. He couldn't risk being followed back home. Whatever made that noise needed to be dealt with before he moved on. As silently as he could, he slowly slipped the jerry can into the mailbox. The hinges attached to its mouth were rusted and let out soft, piercing squeals as they opened and closed. Casting a defeated downward glance at the noise, he waited in stationary silence. The hedges swayed behind him, and he thought he heard a thud in a direction he couldn't locate. A sweating palm reached for the cane he straddled to his backside. Adrian nervously licked his lip, unsheathing his weapon as alarm doubled his heartbeat. He was no longer thinking, his thoughts lost in a whirlwind of decisions to be made. Standing up slightly and gripping the wooden cane like a sword, Adrian made slow and smooth steps until he was close enough to the hedges that his palm could rest flatly on the lifeless branches. Listening to the world intently, he approached the opening that was merely ten feet in front of him. The immediate stress and fear he felt had made a clear sky of the fog that racked his brain constantly. Trembling hands fumbled the cane he held, which he caught before it fell from his grasp. Counting his blessings, he did a shoulder check before arriving to the corner of the dead shrubbery. This was a calm night, perfect for possible danger to be lurking ahead or behind.

He found himself lost in a moment, just a brief moment, as he gazed down toward the cane he now possessed. Crafted personally by the initials K.S. Wells, the blunt instrument that was once a helpful walking tool was seemingly built as a weapon that was perfectly accommodated for Adrian's height, weight and strength. In the days where he practised with the weapon, he found its silver-tipped end was ranged so well as it would come in contact easily with what he swung at while keeping himself a safe distance away. Though the frog mount weighed heavy, and was able to demolish planks of wood an inch think, the staff was light and sturdy which resulted in quick and precise swings. The frog boldly stared out wherever he was cast, always resonating to Adrian how he needed to be as hard as steel, too. He was thankful for how expertly this piece was made. To make sure it wouldn't break in combat, he had tested it. Admittedly he had enjoyed obliterating and smashing the door to a house two streets up. This was a few weeks, maybe a few months ago. Holding it as if it were a miniature battering ram, he plunged it straight through the wood by the door knob. The frog remained stuck as the door flew opened wildly. Losing his grip on the tool he stood silently and satisfied. Adrian accepted the necessities of life as they came, even felt some slight, masculine enjoyment from it, but already longed for a world that had more class.

Rounding the corner now, his fear not concerned with whether he was ready or not, there was nothing to be seen but an average front lawn. Adrian glanced over the place. He partially saw the side of a barn behind the house, its door open. Someone had left the lawnmower out, residing by the fence to the side of the property. The house itself was a pale baby blue, with shutters along the windows in a darker blue. The grass, unkempt and decayed, didn't appear to be trampled. Sure that the source of breaking glass was directed this way, he noticed that all of the windows remained fixed and in tact on this side. Cautiously he marched on, taking to the corner on his left. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed, Adrian's paranoia perceived it mockingly, though he let the thought slip. He wanted nothing more than to be back in bed with three thick blankets smothering him into a deep sleep. Maybe he could have used one of his hot chocolate powder mixes he had stashed in his backpack. He considered the stuff a nectar so sweet, he hoarded every packet he could find, which unfortunately had been very few, fewer so as time went on. Distracted by thoughts of chocolate he obliviously rounded the next corner.

Adrian froze as a wash of cold spread throughout his back from the base of his neck all the way down to the end of his spine, rippling in waves of cold energy. His eyes transfixed directly ahead, he stared at the rather large bull terrier that was no further then ten metres in front of him. Facing toward him, the animal was distracted. It was busy ripping into the freshly made carcass of a bird, black feathers and gore flying higher then the creature would any more. Relentlessly, the dog tore and swallowed chunks of bleeding meat whole. Feathers and slobber glued its face, while its ass wriggled to and fro with a delight that seemed sickening in the light of the situation.

Adrian was lost in the moment, hung up with no ideas. Unfortunately, it cost him as the terrier looked up, blood droplets falling from its jaw as it grew into a vicious snarl.

Most animals now had become violent and aggressive, he had seen many dogs forming packs similar to that of wolves. As Adrian's mind began to churn thoughts, the animal stepped courageously forward. He considered it some form of luck that he had only encountered the single dog, not gaining any comfort from the thought. A low guttural sound emanated from its maw as it closed the distance between them. Adrian stood his ground, straightening his spine and gripping the canes end with two hands. The guide and how-to books he read mentioned that you can establish dominance by not backing down. He swung at the air with much strength, releasing a yell. The force made him step forward, and the crazed dog froze in a defensive manner. Adrian followed suit.

"Get back! Go!" he yelled at it, kicking the air with the same foot that he had attacked the generator with earlier. The dog, more cautiously now, treaded onward. The gap between them closed to half of what it originally was. Adrian warned the creature again, swinging once downward and then a rebound swing that went upward. His heart patted his chest steadily as the dog kept moving, never blinking. Its growls were now accompanied by threatening barks. Adrian's peripheral vision noticed the leg of the dead crow twitch in the distance. Adrian stepped backward, resenting every decision that brought him to this situation. He loved dogs. Growing up, his family owned a beagle named Lulu. She survived until his late teens, and it wrenched his heart awkwardly in its socket when she passed. This was the first dog he had encountered closely since the world turned to shit. He gulped a mouthful of saliva. With purpose and apparent anger, the animal darted forward three steps before leaping, its jaw open as it began to clear the remaining six feet between it and its prey.

Time moved in slow motion. The wind ceased to exist and as he recalled it in his head in the many nights from now that he spent reliving this scene, the sky wasn't even there. As if set on a stage, acting in some movie, he lived and reacted as if this was meant to happen, a scripted event. The fear inside of him was never overwhelming, he felt secure in victory though his conscience screamed for him to stop. The toad that until this moment had been residing the top of its head on the ground, began to follow an arc. Sailing up, its trajectory curved, aligning perfectly in time with the skull of the bull terrier. The hunger-loosened skin of the animal rippled from the sheer effect, followed by a small cascade of blood not unsimilar to the effect of a stone dropped in calm water. Echoing in his ears much more then it deserved to, the hard squelch and thud from the impact reminded him of smashing pumpkins as a teenager, watching the vegetable brain-like matter spread out. The dog closed its eyes as it yelped in pain, momentum now carrying its partially crushed skull spinning to the right with the rest of its body spinning after it with weird and lazy momentum. Motionless on impact, the dog fell in a lifeless heap a short distance beside him. Blood matted the animals white fur and stained the toad on his cane. Something broke inside of him, and all about him gravity was dropping as the power of what he had just done consumed him.

Mechanisms in his brain were at war. Rationalizing the situation by the reason of life or death did nothing to satiate the overwhelming disgust that screamed at his actions. He had bludgeoned a dog to its death. No tears came as he willed himself to cry. Dropping his instrument of doom, Adrian vomited. A mixture of granola, water and stomach acid left him. He fell backward, almost forming the fetal position. His eyes closed tightly, he tried his hardest to escape all thoughts. He begged God for nirvana, an escape from this reality even if just temporarily. It took minutes of breathing erratically before he could form any thing straight in his head. He needed to leave the area; this wasn't the place to have a breakdown. Lifting himself to his knees, he groped around for the cane and found it. He used it to stand himself upright, fresh blood coating his palm. He sighed heavily as he slowly blinked his eyes, taking in the sight of the newly dead animal before him. Thinking back to Lulu brought his throat to a tight clench, gulping at the memory contrasted against the travesty he faced while fighting back another wave of vomit. Cruelty, he felt, was a crown glued to this head.

Like a zombie, he walked toward the shed in the backyard. Beer bottles were strung along a banister of the balcony behind the house. One lay smashed on the ground below, the suds splashed along the walls and grass. Adrian passed the mutilated crow and without thinking to he analyzed its corpse. Innards lay outwards, blood-red coating crow-black in wild patterns across its body. The dog had had some time with his feast; a good chunk of bird was absent. Here and there around the bird lay bits of flesh, further spread out were feathers. Good lord, the feathers. Dozens if not hundreds of different sized jet-black feathers meshed in with the mostly hay colored grass, making for a disturbing and grotesque mosaic, being eroded by the wind. Adrian swallowed a lump that re appeared back in his throat, wiped the perspiration from his forehead that was gathering despite the chill and moved on, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust.

Minutes had ticked by but Adrian's heart hammered thunderously and steadily still, nor had he shaken the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his nerves. He brought his hand to his face. Pale, shaky, sweaty. It fell back to his side as he once again regarded the shed. Eggshell-white, dinky, and the door was left wide open. He swallowed the lump again and solemnly walked the remaining five or so yards to the shed's open mouth, sheathing his cane.

He looked inside the small building and quickly found what he was searching for. A determined hand grabbed the shovel, and he placed its tip in the ground beside the shed. Adrian shoveled out dirt, placing it carefully. The land around here was dense, making shoveling a difficult task. Digging the small grave took fifteen minutes when it ought to have taken five. Adrian planted the shovels rusted head in the dirt pile he created. The least this animal deserved was a proper burial. He retched at the thought of murdering some family's former pet. Slowly he made his way back to the body. Blood had stopped spilling shortly after the event had occurred, and he was glad this wouldn't be a messy affair. Having said goodbye to Lulu did not make this any easier, even though the bull terrier would not have shown him any of the respect he intended to show it. Only now did he notice the collar and tag it wore, and grabbing it he read aloud the name "Kevin". Adrian silently said his goodbyes as he patted the dog's ruffled fur. Suddenly, his hand froze. His head cocked, he quickly pressed his ear to the chest of the dog. Its heart was beating. Softly, very softly. Emotions flaring, Adrian scooped the canine up carefully and with trembling arms. He could feel faint pants of breath against his skin as he now jogged hurriedly back to home.

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