Adrian stepped foot outside of Reggie’s for the first time in sixteen hours. He was worried about Kevin. Is he alive? I hope so. The fear ate at him, surprisingly. He'd barely spent time with the creature, but already Kevin had become a priority thought, like an actual pet.

Not that that was what Kevin was, Adrian thought. Kevin was too vicious, too changed by the new world to be a pet. At best, Adrian thought, if Kevin came too- and that was a mighty big if- he would need to be penned up for Adrian's own safety. After Kevin was healed, he'd be free to take his own path and Adrian would go his.

The thought invaded his emotions and stained them with hope and anxiety. He wanted to postpone having to make the decision. No, not quite. He wanted life and time themselves to leave him alone, to stop putting him in these predicaments. Choice after choice keeps cutting my soul in half.

The day was not as bright or clear as yesterday; smokey colored clouds rolled by in one huge mass, blocking the sun but not darkening the day. Here and there Adrian could see a beam of sun, looking spiritual in its splendor. He shuffled the duffel bag on his shoulder and winced at the pain in his hip it caused. He strengthened his grip on the steel toad for support and relief. The pain subsided but left an itch, a horrible one. For a single second Adrian considered scratching it, even going as far as moving his hand to his side before the sudden horror of the imagined aftermath swept it away.

He set on. Santa Monica’s outer limits looked alien to him. The bricks around him were weather-battered and sun-baked. The sidings of other buildings were either torn haphazardly or still in good shape. The only inbetween were the sidings that featured comedic or serious messages and images, conveyed in spray paint. Adrian walked by one of these, an overly large and crude purple penis, without giving it much of a glance.

The road before him turned into a gradual downhill slope. He knew from yesterday’s travels that this would take him back out onto the Pacific Coast Highway. Adrian looked like he was acting out an old man with a bad back as he traversed it.

---

The highway, much like yesterday, was empty. Eagerly ignoring the beaten hunk of a transport trailer, he scuffled down the black tar pathway. The sun was beginning to meet the high end of its bend as Adrian walked on by that charred up house. He was wondering whether it was a curse or a blessing that his wounded leg definitely prevented exploring it when he heard an engine in the distance. It was low and faint, but it was unmistakably fast sounding. It was coming from in front of him, and if Adrian couldn’t see it now then he might still have some time to hide. He looked around like an animal caught in a corner.

There were two options. Adrian spotted some garbage bins to his right, they could easily hold him. Then there was the charred building to his left. A short but nonetheless intimidating jaunt due to recent injuries where the garbage bins were ten, twenty feet away. Through all of this pondering, the engine was getting louder. He could hear gears shifting, and thought he might have seen a blip of black far along the bend in the road.

Adrian thought, rapidly. His mind was slowly charging but finally gaining headway, plans were forming. His leg wouldn’t allow him to fit in the bins, that should have been obvious straight away. He could hide behind them, true, but that runs a certain risk. If the car stopped to inspect the building, he would be out in the open and left to luck’s mercy.

Another inspection of the building that took three valuable seconds determined that it hadn’t at all changed in the past day, and he didn’t think that what cars he could quickly scan had been moved or were new. Hadn’t it been so abandoned looking that I passed it over, even with my health and need for food? Adrian ran out of time to think. He needed to act.

Far, far up on the highway, still another thirty seconds before being able to see the small figure that would grow into Adrian was the sudden appearance of a very quick, black car. Adrian could only see a dot moving in a steady line. He began to scoot and shuffle toward the building, crying out in pain as his left hip grinded, burned and poured blood that quickly stained his pant leg before Adrian had made it three-quarters of the way there. With a pathetic attempt of a baseball dive he jumped behind the charred door. The hum of the distant motor had grown but was mulled considerably behind these walls. With baited breath, Adrian listened and waited.

---

Outside of the burnt shack and still a distance up the road, an incredibly sleek and shiny foreign car was cruising at an alarming speed that any police officer would flip their lights on and give pursuit for. It rounded corners with perfection maintained by a good car, and ease maintained by a good driver. The black body of the automobile was matched in equal by the tinted windows. If Adrian could see it, he would be impressed by the quality and clear cost.

The engine, loud from a distance, was deafening at close range. It rolled on by the turnoff that Adrian had walked out from yesterday, creating a current of wind in its trail that scattered debris and litter. Inside the car were two people, and the one in the passenger seat rolled down his window to look at the upcoming building. He was a black man, early 30’s with dreadlocks that were tied in tight cords along his scalp. He wore an angry but calculated scowl that was all business and no pleasure. After the passage of a few seconds, he turned his head to the driver and spoke. The driver replied and began to slow down his breakneck speed.

As the burnt shack came into range, he stopped completely. The man in the passenger seat nodded to the driver, and the driver pulled in the lot with a well practiced turn. He put the car in reverse and rolled it back all of the way to the front wall of the building.

---

As Adrian heard the car slow down, stop and then pull in he began to panic and search for a hiding spot. All around him was wreckage, it looked like the long abandoned and burnt remnants of a wild party. There was a counter that wrapped around like a bar at navel height. It was cluttered with magazines that were cluttered with dust. It didn’t look like anything had been touched in a long time. Across the floor were fallen magazine racks, tables and chairs that no longer were in their original arrangement. Books, cards, pamphlets and papers were littered like dry leaves on an autumn forest floor. Adrian heard the car backing up to the wall and knew he was running out of time.

He saw his only shot at salvation; in the corner there was a five foot tall cardboard box that was leaning against the wall, already opened violently on the top. The water cooler that had been inside of it was laying in pieces on the floor. There was no time to lose, car doors were opening and closing as he hobble-sprinted to the corner, threw the duffel bag behind the counter (Luck will have to abide for me a little while longer), took the box and pressed it over top of his body and laid on the floor. He had to bend his legs and spine; his six-foot-two frame didn’t fit in the box perfectly. As the building’s front door opened again, Adrian was just slipping his finger tips back inside of the box.

“--and another thing, Brady. We’ve got to whip these taggers into shape. Look at this. What was the point in tagging this heap?” the man had a boisterous voice that was set in a deep baritone. An accent thickly coated each word, but Adrian couldn’t make out which. German? Swedish?

“Mmm,” came the indifferent agreement from the other stranger, another man based on the low-toned voice. This person spoke more quietly. The fall of heavy steps in boots padded around the building, first growing distant and then closer as they rounded the room, discussing things all while Adrian’s heart hammered at his throat. Unknown to the duo, there was a man on the verge of a heart attack merely a good kick of a box away.

“Brady, there isn’t anything in here. This place is a dump and we’ve waste our time coming here. I don’t understand why you thought there’d be anything here, didn’t I say so in the car? Come on, we have a busy day.”

“Relax. The day’s been good. We’ve found a lot, Johnny will swing by what we marked and get it. Two flat screen’s, a fucking shit load of food, and we found that portable generator. When Johnny gets off his drunken ass, he’ll pick up the boys and get it all up and bring it home. So look around, we’re scouting for valuable shit for them. For us.” the second, quieter man was most definitely in charge. Adrian listened. The men weren’t moving. Seconds ticked by and the box was growing more and more stifling hot. Glimpsing down at his feet he could see a slither of light pouring in through a hole, roughly by his knee. This produced a fresh wave of nerves, but it was much too late to do anything now. After a minute, there was a shuffling of feet that led to the main door.

“...Ok. Let’s go. There’s nothing here we need, that water cooler would of been nice, had it not been smashed into a million pieces,” this was the quieter man speaking.

“Finally. Or, are you sure you don’t want to check these empty boxes for secret jewels?”

“Lay off of it or the boss will hear how you swiped his cigarettes the other day.”

“You wouldn’t. Besides, we both know you’ve been…” this last bit was cut off as the door banged shut behind them.

Adrian could hear mutterings but couldn’t come close as to guessing what the first man knew that the second man might have been doing. Finding himself curious, he shook the feeling as he shook the box off of him. Staying out of view, Adrian peeked through the window and saw the backside of the first man as he got into the driver’s seat of a very luxurious looking black mustang.

In rapid succession there was the brief shake and rattle, the noise becoming familiar to Adrian now, of a spray can followed by the sound of it spraying. There was barely time to react before it had finished, but Adrian was putting his back against the wall regardless. One hand gingerly massaged and checked his gunshot wound, the other was primed and ready to grab the cane in his sheath.

A second car door slamming shut could be heard, followed by the sound of an engine coming to life. In ten mere seconds, the mustang was gone, and Adrian came out from hiding to watch it drive off toward Santa Monica. If I had slept for ten more minutes today, I would have been robbed, mugged and probably killed. He blinked and a bead of sweat fell into his eye, he wiped at it and then wiped at his damp forehead.

All of a sudden, Adrian wanted to be back at the Croteau’s more than anything. He weighed that impulse against his other desire’s and was surprised to discover that he even wanted to be at the Croteau’s more than he missed Douglas or his parents. More than he wanted to be home in West Virginia. The building he was in now smelt musty, but a new scent lingered. Cologne?

Very strong cologne, and sharp smelling. The scent was potent enough to travel to his taste buds where they produced excess saliva at the sour tang of the fragrance.

Without a surplus of caution, and after obtaining his duffel bag again, Adrian stepped outside. The day hadn’t changed much in the brief ten minutes that he was inside, but now there was a new smell that persisted. One not so familiar, but easily deductible. Spray paint. He turned around to face the building and saw that where there had formerly been a grotesque red “X” in paint, now the letter had been overwritten with hot-pink streaks. The former marking that apparently symbolized “possible loot” was no longer visible besides a few tufts of red. Adrian touched it and wet paint lifted off to stick to the three fingers he had touched it with. Staring at it let him accept all of what had just happened as real.

I must be the world’s luckiest son of a bitch to still be alive, he thought. The past day had been a series of trials and errors, and despite the long rest he had awoken from only an hour or two ago, he was ready to be back home at the Croteau’s to put his feet up. Faintly and growing more faint he heard the engine of the car barreling down the PCH. He cast another glance at the burnt shack before continuing on the highway, a little more quickly now even with the pain in his hip.

---

Adrian rounded the bend off of the highway without another hitch in the plan. The day was relatively relaxing and only grew moreso as he climbed the gentle slope that would soon put him on the final turn to home. An uneasiness grew in his stomach, at first small and bubbling but then it solidified into a knot. It gave off a pressure that was disorienting, but as it persisted Adrian was able to define it: homesickness. Adrian was longing to be on the inside of a familiar four walls. Invasive thoughts of Kevin brought worry. The formerly strong scent of ocean was now becoming a background smell.

Not being a man who lived on the edge of his seat very often, Adrian was glancing over his shoulder for every odd noise he heard. The wound in his left hip was throbbing and begged for a break, so he felt inclined to listen to it. There was no way he would let this injury get any worse than it was already.

Along the upslope of this road was a low rising brick wall whose pattern cascaded as it ran parallel to the pavement, never being more than three feet high. Adrian simply chose here to sit. There was an immediate relief and a noticeable drop in intensity from the thrumming in his hip. Adrian thought it was something like a magnified version of the feeling of taking your shoes off on a long day full of walking. The thought made him conscious of how sticky his toes felt, trapped in the working boots for a whole day. He daintily removed the left boot and with a little less care removed the right, followed by the socks.

The cold breeze kissed his sweaty, slightly swollen (and cracked on one toe) feet with magic powers. It was a sweet drink of iced tea on a scorching summer day, or a clear blue sky after emerging from a long darkness. He wiggled his toes and felt grit fall loose, but he didn’t care about his hygiene right now. I probably smell like a pig’s ass, but who’s here to know?

No one at all. He glanced up the slope, barely able to see the tops of trees at the peak of the hill. Down the slope was the small turn-off intersection he had just came from. Not a soul in sight. No mysterious foreign black cars. No maniacs with guns, or mythical marathon runners. Nor was there any danger from hostile animals.

But still, the paranoia he had come to recognize as a close acquaintance instantly creeped in. First in his bowels, creating a loose stirring. The stirring churned into something more. It was spreading in a familiar way to his abdomen, then going both ways and reaching both toes and fingers simultaneously. All of a sudden he was a twitchy mess. An uncontrollable impulse propelled his left foot in a light kick, the flare of pain was brilliant in his bullet wound. He tried to stifle it with the palms of his hands.

Once again he looked up and down the road and although he still saw nothing, not a soul, he couldn’t help but feeling like he was being watched again. Behind him, there was nothing but buildings and ferns but suddenly every bush was a hiding spot and every house a potential vantage point for someone Adrian didn’t know about or see.

And that was that, his moment of respite was over. He pulled on his socks quickly. One had been balled up when he took it off, and it took a bit of in-the-heat-of-the-moment cursing and finger work to put it on inside-out (which went unnoticed). Next came the shoes, a normally simple task made difficult by pain. After a struggle they were on, and he was off of the wall. He marched up the hill, looking down out of fear and a small silly belief that if Adrian didn’t see any danger that the feeling would go away.

Soon panic seized his legs, the muscles began constricting until they locked up, preventing even a single step more. Similarly, his arms shut down and hung loosely but still, the cane fell out of Adrian’s non-existent grip and rolled slowly down the hill before the bobble’s weight took the lead and swung it where it stopped by the brick wall.

Adrian was frozen in a warm stupor. The day was calm but inside of him there was a storm. He tried desperately to control his mind, taking deep and forced breaths. He couldn’t center his mind though, each breath and every thought was just a snowflake in a blizzard as all around Adrian the world was spinning. He put a hand out but met nothing, somehow managing to keep his balance in spite of this.

Time saved him. Even though his world was a flurry of chaos and the one around him was nearly perfect in how still it stood, time brought the two back together and after five very long minutes, Adrian was calm and had stopped tremoring. He licked dried and cracked lips, took an exaggerated swig from a canteen around his neck, then feebly picked up his cane and continued walking back to the Croteau’s, where a long awaited and proper rest was.

---

Adrian was now on the same block as the Croteau’s and was relieved at the familiarity of it. During (what should of been) a simple walk, Adrian quickly went from a home folk to a wanderer, and now he was finally back to a place he could recognize. It was odd, only being strongly familiar with a single block or two of land and then virtually becoming a free land explorer or maybe something as simple as an exotic tourist, only to arrive back to a slice of comfortability. A slice of home.

The day was growing long. His walk home, which should of lasted thirty to forty-five minutes, took up two and a half hours of precious sunlight with his decreased speed and all of the necessary stops he had to make. Even with the extra precautions, his leg threatened to burst open anew and spill blood. He hadn’t checked it; it was something that he could feel.

It was upon this thought that he decided on one more short rest to relieve the pain and also check the wound, all the distance of only eight or ten houses down the road from the Croteau’s. Devoid of any immediate resting areas such as a bench or half-wall, he simply sat on the edge of the sidewalk and unbuckled his belt. What's one more stop?

With the grace that still tried to protect against social embarrassment, Adrian scanned up and down the road for any unexpected traffic and saw none. Perked ears only heard whistling wind. He unfastened the button of his jeans with two fingers and gripped the waistband with his other hand, the cane was laying on the ground and within reach. Like unwrapping a fragile box, Adrian lowered his pants to his knees and propped his right ass cheek on the sidewalk, leaning at a near 45° angle. With his left hand he carefully picked the medkit out of the duffel bag that Adrian still wore but was resting behind his back. Next he peeled off the bandage. It felt much more like ripping off wax.

After it was removed, he inspected the wound. The gunshot had been clean, but he was surprised at how big the wound was. Doesn’t look exactly like how they do it in the movies, he thought. With an alcohol soaked pad he wiped away all dry, drying and wet blood as best as he could. The cleaning provoked a further gush, but Adrian quickly put on another bandage so that it was tight and snug. Only a small red dot blossomed, and he noted that the stinging burn was marginally better. The med kit went back in the duffel bag, and Adrian’s ass went back in his jeans which he then zipped, buttoned and buckled up again. With a fumbling hand he grabbed the cane and propped himself up so that he was standing, the duffel bag slid and bounced on his backside which brought a bark of pain. Adrian had barely noticed it, once again trading awareness of what is around his body for the amount of focus required for what he was staring at.

Directly across the street, just barely visible from where Adrian was standing, was a logo on a house that looked like a red “X” entrapped in a pink circle. The pink paint gleamed flashily against the red paint which had lost some of its shimmer from being applied a little before the priorly mentioned marker. Without sparing a moment he turned in a half circle and saw, on the house that had been behind him, another splotch of pink paint like he had seen on the burnt shack. No trace of red paint was visible here, but Adrian assumed it was underneath the pink just like before.

In a surprise to even Adrian himself, his body did not freeze up in terror. Arms, legs, hands and feet moved as nimbly as ever (or as they could when going against a bullet hole in your hip) and he was quickly heading back to the Croteau’s. Every house along the way though not obviously damaged or looted, was now sporting a swath of red paint that was either circled or smudged out with pink.

Adrian rounded the final corner to see that, yes, the Croteau’s had been tagged as well. On the front left corner of the house there was a red “X” and a bright circle around it, paint drips were still running down from the circle in tiny beads. He rounded the corner, awash with horror that felt numbingly cold, and saw that his generator he looted months ago was gone. A large square of dead grass was visible.

They took it. They took it, and they probably went inside as well. Now he was frozen. He was a river dam cemented with fear. The Croteau’s looked haunted. The windows, though intact besides the one in the attic, were grim and concealing. The chipped paint now looked like desecration rather than rustic charm. Adrian could see that the door was shut, and with a little further inspection he could also tell that there were deep set tire tracks, probably a trucks, that had backed into this driveway.

Adrian tried to lift two stumps that were formerly feet but found them rooted to the ground. His knees were locked solid into place. The Croteau’s was towering over him, threatening to collapse. Adrian shook all over and silent tears fell from his eyes. His fingers twitched and a wave of sickness washed over him, to be replaced then by that ominous swimming feeling. Adrian looked down for fear of seeing himself floating above his body, but saw only his feet at an elongated distance.

Clammy hands wiped drool from his lips and fell back down limply. The air felt thick and Adrian could feel it being displaced more noticeably than usual. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and dropped off of his eyelid.

Kevin. The thought came like a rock to a windshield, causing a crack that spread. Adrian lowered back into his body, the feeling of swimming was fading away again. Muscles let go of their tension and Adrian tried to settle an uneasy stomach. With deep remorse he took baby steps (helped heavily by the cane) and walked up the steps to the door. It didn’t look like it had been touched, but then again Adrian hadn’t bothered to turn the generator on long enough to lock the doors… forced entry wouldn’t have been necessary. Fucking tool, he thought angrily to himself.

The door handle turned noiselessly and swung in. The mudroom was now the yawning jaws of a cave’s opening. Adrian scanned it for any noticeable signs of entry and found none. There were no footprints nor dishevelled items. The curtains remained in place and the cabinet drawers that contained scarves, winter hats and mittens remained firmly shut. There wasn’t a noise to be heard from inside.

No one’s inside. No one’s been inside. And he was sure in that thought. If looters had been inside here, even to just give a passing eye over for the interesting items like the two men he had encountered before did, they would have taken the water that Adrian could see even from the porch. It wasn’t hidden, it had been at first but Adrian quickly grew wearisome of taking it out and putting it back under the sink. He stepped in, a little less fearful but not yet brave.

“Hello? If anyone’s in here… I am armed and it’s in your best interest to get the fuck out.” Adrian tried to sound menacing, but his throat cracked and the word “fuck” went too high in its pitch, making him sound like a scared teenager in puberty. Not a soul stirred in the house, and the fear he had welled up started turning the gears in his head. A plan was already formulating.

---

Kevin was fine, that was the first thing Adrian checked on. When he had seen him in the exact position he left him in, albeit now with thinning ribs, his heart leapt in joy. Five minutes was spent patting the matted fur and giving bottle caps full of water and crushed up vitamins. Kevin was silent and unmoving except for shallow breaths that came out in wheezes.

That was all the attention he could afford to give him. After that his time was passed by putting all of his belongings into a centered pile in the living room. Unconsciously, Kevin watched over a small pile of water and dried meat, along with other foods Adrian brought back. The two jugs of gasoline were there, along with a reusable grocery bag that had every single article of clothing that Adrian owned inside. The easel lay propped up against the remaining canvases that Adrian owned, along with a small box of art supplies. Adrian had decided to take the vinyl record player and a few of the good records. All of this chocked up to compile the list of all of Adrian’s worldly goods. And he was ready now. Ready to leave the Croteau’s, to leave home.

---

Another ten minutes was spent hobbling around outside, checking the neighbours closed garage doors. In the house across the street he spotted a vehicle that he thought would run. He hadn’t tried to drain gasoline out of cars parked inside of garages, that still felt a little too much like breaking and entering back in the earlier days. Hell, it might of even felt like illegal activity just three days ago. But now it felt mundane to bust open the side door’s window, unlatch the lock and let himself in.

A white hatchback with two doors was parked facing the outdoors. He searched the entirety of the garage, opening containers and tapping under tables and feeling around door frames and ledges. He got down on his belly and searched under everything that made a crevice: tables, counters, an old sofa, and the car itself. Finally. He found a spare key to the car under the rug that was just by the door Adrian entered from, attached to what he assumed was a house and garage key.

He jimmied the garage door open and breathed in fresh air. The day was darkening, the Croteau’s was still untouched. Adrian unlocked and tried out the car’s ignition, the engine came alive instantly and displayed a nearly empty tank of gas with the REFUEL symbol lit up in neon yellow. Two sunflowers hung like mock fuzzy dice around the rearview mirror, each with a cartoonish face. He drove to the Croteau’s, put the car in reverse and then backed into the lot. The seating was not comfortable on his wound, so he placed a small pillow that the Croteau’s had on the couch in a position that helped alleviate the pain. Still, driving would need to be kept to a minimum. An hour at the most.

Despite the fear he still felt, being in motion and keeping his mind occupied helped him stay in control of his body. It was there, tempting to overwhelm him like a glass of water filled to its brim. But not that Adrian saw the plan, the problem and the solution he was putting himself into action.

Then he packed up. Everything. His small pile that contained his life was crammed into the trunk of the hatchback. Kevin was nestled comfortably in the backseat and support was added from the floor to help keep him still should there be any sudden stops, this was mainly comprised of pillows and blankets.

Adrian stood in the Croteau’s and limped through each room, remembering. The wooden crosses were hanging above the door frames, and even more petals had fallen from their stems. He reached the attic and found a wood splinter he hadn’t swept up earlier two days ago when he broke his easel.

Before, I couldn’t handle what was outside of these walls. My past ate at me… and these sudden bursts of anger… Can I control them, now? Can I do this? Am I passed this?

Adrian walked downstairs on damaged legs and grabbed the two jerry cans he had hidden under the sink, one was half full and the other one was a quarter full. He dumped them both into the hatchback's gas tank and then sat in the car. His mind was racing with questions and possibilities. He patted Kevin on the backside, turned the car on again and with nearly half of a tank of gas, left the Croteau’s. Forever.