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.
The two looked at each other for a second through the rain. The man looked down at Kyle’s body.
“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.
There was one thing that Kyle hadn’t thought of. There was no place for the smoke to escape. Could being that cold really obstruct his judgment? The smoke would continue to build in the room until they were engulfed in it. Kyle walked toward the door, passing Chet and propping the door open. The air began to suck the smoke outside. It was a temporary fix, but a necessary one.
Kyle turned toward Chet and Victor. “What were you doing outside?”
“Well I was making my way to Las Vegas because that’s where everyone is saying the safe zone is. I started having engine trouble as soon as the rain got bad. I had to find someplace to hold up till the rain stopped, and then I’d see what was wrong with my car. I saw you when you first pulled up. I was hiding outside under a small opening where the roof extends out. When you came back out I wanted to get your attention.” Chet spoke with that same British accent as before, but Kyle could have sworn that his voice changed a bit. It was lower than before. Could the cold have changed his tone?
“Yeah, you scared the shit out of me. I almost shot you,” Kyle added.
“Yes, I apologize for that. It was a bit rude of me to startle you. I wanted you to get a good look at my face. I didn’t want you to think I was one of those creatures outside. Mind if I get closer to the fire? I’m drenched and very cold.”
Kyle nodded. “You can put the gun down now Victor.” The boy did what he was told and backed toward the fire.
“Much obliged,” Chet said as he walked closer to the warmth of the flames. “I don’t mean to meddle, but em, why are you in your knickers?” he asked rubbing his hands together in the universal gesture to get warm.
“We just took a rain shower. My clothes are drying and I gave Victor my only spares. I’m stuck like this until something dries.”
“I see,” Chet said taking off the trench coat and setting it on the ground.
“Where are you guys headed?” Chet asked.
“We’ll have more time to chat later. We need to go get more stuff to burn. This paper will only last a few more minutes,” Kyle said.
He grabbed the Winchester that sat upright on a wall and walked to the store’s door. It was locked. Kyle repeatedly used the butt of the gun as a ram. The lock slowly broke free. He stepped inside with the shotgun ready to fire at anything that moved. The counter was to his left, and in the middle of the room stood an island of shipping
