Never underestimate the depravity of their fellow man.
Part III
Day ten, Sunday, October 27
Chapter Seventeen
Sunday, October 27
Fairfax, Virginia
It was just after midnight that Sunday as Peter stood in the middle of the living room of the woman’s apartment. Candles were burning on the kitchen counters and on a small dinette table nearby. On the sofa, three young faces looked up at him, full of curiosity and fear. To his right, in an overstuffed recliner that had seen better days, an overweight woman stared him down with a pistol sitting on her lap. It was pointed at Peter’s midsection.
“Did you hurt my granddaughter, mister?” she said in an eerily calm voice. She never raised the gun at Peter, but one squeeze of the trigger would put a hole in his stomach.
Peter slowly lowered his bags to the ground and allowed the backpacks to slide off his shoulder on top of them. He was relieved to be rid of the excess weight, but he didn’t dare relax with a gun pointed at him.
“No, Mamaw,” said the young woman, who glanced at Peter. It was the first time she’d taken a good look at the man who’d crashed her head into the wall. “It was an accident. He helped me get away.”
“Get away from who, child?” the grandmother asked.
Peter’s eyes darted from the woman to her injured granddaughter, who’d taken a towel off the kitchen table and pressed it against her head wound, which continued to ooze blood.
“There’s people at the mall, Mamaw. Bad people.”
For the first time, the woman raised the gun and pointed it in Peter’s direction. He instinctively stepped backwards a pace or two.
“He one of ’em?” she asked.
“No.” The young girl sensed her grandmother’s hostility toward the stranger in their apartment. “We just kinda bumped into each other. His name is, um …” Her voice trailed off, so Peter spoke up.
“Peter, ma’am. Peter Albright. I live. Well, I lived in Falls Church. I’m not sure it’s there anymore.”
“There ain’t nothin’ left over that way,” she said, waving the gun like she was a teacher using a pointer during a lecture. Peter really wished she’d put the gun down. He tried to take her attention away from him being a threat.
“We really need to look after her wound. I have some medicine in this duffel bag right here.” He pointed toward the one full of medical supplies and energy bars.
“I’m okay,” the girl said. She walked around the kitchen bar and entered the galley-style kitchen. Peter made eye contact with the three younger children, who sat nervously on the sofa, side by side.
“Hi, I’m Peter,” he said to them with a smile. Their icy, emotionless stare spoke volumes. They didn’t trust him.
“My name’s Asia on account my daddy was from Thailand,” said the woman, who finally lowered the gun. “He wasn’t no good and left me and my momma alone. Just like Jackie’s daddy and my daughter did.”
Jackie, the young woman Peter injured, returned from the kitchen. “They didn’t leave us, Mamaw. The government took them.” She glanced over at her three siblings, a boy and two girls. “My father’s in prison. Our momma is too. Mamaw takes care of us, and I’m an assistant manager of the Cinnabon at the mall.”
“That group moved in yesterday and began threatening people,” said Peter. “They shot at least one person, maybe more. I wanted to get out of there, and that’s when we, you know, ran into each other in the hallway.”
She removed the blood-soaked towel from her forehead and dabbed the wound with another towel. She smiled when she saw that the bleeding had stopped.
Relieved that her wound wasn’t more serious, Peter asked, “Were you looking for food?”.
Jackie laughed, as did her little brother and sisters. She playfully waggled her finger at them. “They said they’re tired of the cinnamon rolls. We didn’t have much in the cupboard because Mamaw’s check is deposited on Friday, but, you know ...” Her voice trailed off as a sadness swept over her.
Peter nodded. They weren’t the only Americans living paycheck to paycheck or on some form of government assistance.
Despite his concern for Jackie and her family, Peter was ready to get on the road. He was concerned that the longer he stayed in the area, the more likely it was that he’d be exposed to radiation. Plus, people would become more and more desperate. He was anxious to get out into the countryside.
He turned his attention back to the grandmother. “Well, um, Asia, it was nice to meet you, even under these circumstances. You have a very nice granddaughter.”
“I’m gonna die.”
Asia blurted out the words without emotion. She said them in such a way that the statement stunned Peter.
“We all are at some point, ma’am. Help is on the way, I’m sure of it.” He lied. Peter was sure of one thing. Help would not be on the way anytime soon.
“Mamaw, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I’ll try again to find your medicine.”
Peter realized there was something more to the grandmother’s statement. “What kind of medicine?”
“I have the diabetes. I only get a week’s supply of insulin at a time. Friday was my refill day. My insulin pump quit working when the bomb hit. I had a couple doses to inject but I used ‘em. I can’t keep it cold nohow.”
“Ma’am, I’m no expert, but I think I heard once that people with Type 2 diabetes can go without insulin for many months. Maybe even a year.”
“She has regular Type 1, right, Mamaw?”
The woman closed her eyes and nodded.
“Aren’t there some kind of drugs you can take besides injections?” asked Peter.
“She keeps glucose tablets around for low blood sugar. They’re not prescription but she ran out of those, too. I was supposed to buy them yesterday.” Jackie hung her head down in despair.
Asia explained what
