The wheel of the shopping cart squeaked. It was a bad wheel amongst four. Then, carts were meant to glide across polished linoleum market floors, not struggle against the torn gravel and ripped up roads of a decimated city.
Cawing overheard far up in the gray of the early morning mists, a murder of crows sailed through the sky, on patrol for fresh meat. This city had plenty to offer the birds. From the various perches and dark hideaways to nest in from the ample amounts of food strewn every which way in the buildings and along the streets barren of everything save rubble and debris.
Staring at the birds then down at the puddle reflecting his own face, the Homeless Man stooped low and scooped both hands in the puddle. With little hesitation he brought the not so clear water to his lips. His shaggy white beard was then stained by gray and black drops of fluid trailing their way down. Despite the taste, iron like blood, the Homeless Man scooped his hands in the puddle again and drank once more.
Up above the birds cawed again. The Homeless Man raised his head and slowly came out of his squat over the puddle. Then, as if in front of an audience, he smoothed out the faded gray hoodie sweatshirt and long dirtied slacks he was wearing to what he considered respectable for the unseen audience. Adjusting his cap (which promoted a baseball team long since dead), he gripped the handlebar of the shopping cart with both hands and pushed it past the puddle and down the street. He had to push much harder whenever one of the carts’ wheels got stuck in a hole or deep trench.
…
Later, finding himself at a four-way intersection encircled by four massive formerly glorious skyscrapers, the Homeless Man stopped his cart again. He shook his aching arms which had done their best in their aging state to keep the cart moving forward despite the roughness of the terrain. When he could more or less feel his hands and fingertips again he then unzipped his pants and proceeded to pee in the shadow of one of the buildings.
One of the buildings had fallen on another when its’ foundation was blow away, seemingly cupped in a giant hand and simply brushed away into the passing winds. Another nearby building had a crescent moon shaped hole in its’ side, with debris and rubble still falling off to the streets every hour or so, their descent and eventual crashes as well paced as the ticking of a clock.
The Homeless Man finished urinating and zipped up his pants. He wiped his rough and blackened finger tips on his sides.
A noise.
A girder from one of the buildings above, teetering like a rotten tooth in an old mouth, was swaying in the breeze, suspended by only one embattled support cord. One of the black birds from before, deciding to rest momentarily from its’ quest for food, landed on it. The supporting line snapped and the girder began to fall. Slamming into the building it landed on its’ side and free-falled shattering windows and pounding steel and concrete as it traveled. Finally, it landed on the street and destroyed a fire hydrant. The incredible shock and noise that followed the girders’ landing sent all the remaining animals of the city soaring out from their hiding places and rushing in a mad burst away from the unexpected surprise. The water from the hydrant gushed out like a spring. Nearby, the Homeless Man was now sopping wet and chilled to the bone.
He prayed that the day ahead wouldn’t be cold.
…
The Homeless Man had decided to keep moving as any kind of physical activity would keep him slightly warmer than if he just stood still. Or so he hoped. But now, with his clothes bundled on thick in expectation of the coming winter now soaked completely through, he had to deal with this extra weight on his body plus the aching tremors that assaulted his body every few seconds.
A small amount of luck presented itself. The road ahead wasn’t quite as raggedly destroyed as the rest which would make for some slightly easier traveling. Now the wheels of the cart were free to sway and twirl in all of their damaged glory. The Homeless Man looked out from under the brim of his cap at what surrounded him now.
Shops…shops…shops…
As far as he could look ahead of him there were nothing but shops and parked cars stuck in the streets between the rows of shops. Grocery stores, mom and pop stores, hardware stores, gun stores, marijuana spots, cafes, coffee shops, bars, pool halls, diners, restaurants, clubs, family places, lonely places, places for the old, the young, the misplaced, places for illicit acts and deceptions. And on and on.
The Homeless Man made a point of going into each shop in search of food, both for the obvious (to obtain supplies) not so obviously (to keep his mind off of the growing cold around him). But unfortunately, the Raider Survivors had been through this area before and repeatedly as shown by the shelves of the shops which had been picked clean like a once bountiful harvest.
Still. The Homeless Man persisted. He looked under tables for old gum. Dove in dumpsters around back for anything that could be eaten, food or not. He scanned the floors, the pavement, the sidewalks. He scraped every surface and eyeballed every conceivable location he could get his mind to dream up. In the end he was left with a couple of dented cans, a ratty old toothbrush, and a book that had just barely survived a burning attempt.
The Homeless Man took out an old and rusty box cutter that he had picked up off of the body of a Raider Survivor a couple of months ago and was about to open one of the cans. But to his surprise, the lid was already loosely ajar. Squeezing his fingers beneath the lid and lifting it, hoping against hope that…nothing. Nothing but a dead rat.
He dumped out the rat and unhitched from his belt an old wire coat hanger he had found. Bending it, shaping it, contorting it, he eventually straightened it out almost completely and then skewered the body of the rat on it. Then, lifting the hood of one of the parked cars he began sparking two stones above the engine. It was stupid he knew, liable to burn himself to death. But hunger was a strange friend. It desired the world on a plate and would sacrifice anyone and everyone for a taste.
The sparks lit the engine. An old fuel line exposed. The engine caught fire. Quickly he thrust the skewered rat over the fire, then with his free hand he grabbed a fallen branch off of a nearby dead tree and also forced it into the fire. With a hop in his step that belied his years, the Homeless Man leaped and bounded away from the flaming car and made it back to his cart just as the car exploded.
Using the makeshift torch he had created, the Homeless Man lit a bonfire in a half full trashcan. He began devouring the rat. All too quickly he finished it. He took the can that had held the rat and, on a whim, threw it down an adjacent street towards the far off center of the city. Maybe a memory of childhood compelled him to throw it, of playing catch over lush verdant fields of wheat grass, getting lost with eager young girls in the thickness of the brush, so unwilling to leave.
Then, silence. Complete. Unbreakable.
A noise.
Something stirring. The sound of the can bouncing down the street and eventually cracking a window and setting off a car alarm. The alarm woke the creature. The Homeless Man heard a low growl, then a loud and pained roar.
A figure rose in the distance, rose very tall, six, seven, eight feet. A bear. The zoo had been nearby.
The Homeless Man tugged at the strap around his shoulder and slowly turned it around until the rifle it was attached too was safely in his grip. The grizzly bear had risen, its’ fur bristled with a rage too long subdued behind bars of iron. Years of submission to the eyes of bored man-apes had made it soft. But not in recent times. Free from its cage the bear could hunt and live and kill anything, satisfy every need and urge on its terms not anyone else’s.
The Homeless Man ducked behind another car and peeked over the edge towards the bear some fifty or so feet away.
Silence again. The Homeless Man brought the scope of the rifle to his eye. He closed the other. Through the cracked telescopic lens, it was as if he were right up in the snout of the bear, smelling its breath and staring deep into its brown eyes, maybe catching a glimpse somehow of the forest and the life it had lost in the passed years.
The Homeless Man took a breath and brought the rifle still. His finger lightly began to depress the trigger. The bear turned.
It looked right at him.
…

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