Chapter 21 - Going off the deep end

  First things first, I checked my entire townhouse to make sure no surprises were hiding under the bed.

  The fridge smelled like roadkill, but other than that, everything seemed fine.

  I dropped all my clothes into the garbage bag and checked the taps. Unsurprisingly, there was no running water. It seemed like a blasphemy to use my emergency drinking water supply to wash myself. After a short brainstorming session, I remembered the only other spot that had water in this house - the boiler.

  The previous owners had left me a box of manuals for all the appliances, and it took me about twenty minutes to find and read through the instructions on how to empty the barrel. I spent another twenty minutes searching the garage for an appropriate hose and buckets.

  A pinched finger, a broken nail and a pulled back later, I was a happy owner of a full tab and a still half-full boiler. Praise the builder who installed a 50-gallon boiler tank for this townhouse.

  The water was room temperature, smelled stale and had more than a few sediment stones in it. But I was too happy to finally wash the grime off myself to let that bother me.

  The room was bathed in a warm glow of burning candles. The house was blissfully quiet and familiar. It just smelled like home. I dunked under, closing my eyes in relief.

  I rose out of the water and grabbed my favourite gardenia shampoo. Then put it back and took the conditioner instead. The state of my hair will take more than a little bit of untangling.

  Using the wet tangle teezer, I started combing through my hair: one, two passes. Something was off. I brought the brush to my eyes and whimpered. This couldn't be real.

  The brush was full of dark brown strands. Not just a regular "shedding season" full. The micro-beads with fake hair were coming off together with handfuls of my own strands. I pulled a clump of the comb with a shaking hand. Then touched my skull. There were patches. Whole patches of emptiness. I threw the tangle teezer across the room, knocking down some bottles on my stand.

  I ground the heels of my palms into my eyes until white flooded my vision. My eyes burned like hell, but I refused to let the tears overwhelm me. How was I supposed to stay sane when everything that made me me kept getting stripped away?

  Mrs. Hill's burning face flashed behind my eyelids like a cheap horror movie jump scare. I blinked frantically to clear my vision. My gaze fell onto my right hand, alarmingly thin, but completely healthy.

  The alien woman said I'd need to eat more for the next few months. Did the healing skill drain vitamins from my body to regenerate cells? Between losing my hand or some hair, the choice was all too obvious.

  "Don't be such a crybaby," I told myself and finished washing, ignoring the falling hair and the sticking out ribs. At least I was alive.

  After a thorough scrub and somewhat successful attempt to rinse my hair out of all the suds, I was wrapped in my fluffy, clean robe, staring in the bathroom mirror.

  My look was the card I have relied on for so long; seeing how far I'd deteriorated in just days was brutal. My eyebrows and eyelashes were singed, my cheeks so hollow I looked like I'd had buccal fat removal. Dry, scaly skin. Red rash circling my eyes, nose, and mouth.

  All the muscles I'd worked so hard to build were gone. I looked like my eighteen-year-old self again, the one who'd run from home and survived on the gas station coffee and ramen for years before finally making ends meet.

  With my fingertips, I traced the jagged scar cutting through the middle of my forehead and into my hairline. The raised bumps where the skin had joined at the wrong angles made my hands itched with the urge to scrub it away. Of course, I knew it wouldn't work.

  Instead, I rushed downstairs and downed every vitamin in my cabinet, chasing them with a protein shake. The contents of the fruit basket on my counter still looked edible, so I grabbed an apple and a knife. Even through the closed fridge door, the smell in the kitchen was offensive, but I was suddenly so ravenous I barely noticed.

  My binge was interrupted by a knock. I wasn't in the mood to chat right now, so I continued chewing on my apple when another knock followed, this time louder.

  "Hello, Chloe! I saw you come in."

  I took a deep breath, closed my robe tighter, picked up a knife and went to answer the door. It was an apocalypse we were dealing with. The knife was a necessity nowadays.

  The look in the peephole showed an HOA Board Chair. The lady looked like she hadn't had a decent sleep in a while. But the pearls, lipstick and old-fashioned blue cardigan were still there, neat as ever.

  I imagined her putting on lipstick and pearls this morning, shooing the dinosaurs away from the window and promising to address their inquiries in an orderly fashion. I had to stifle my hysterical laughter. I was losing it, just a little.

  She knocked two more times by the time I ruled in my emotions. I hid a knife in my sleeve and opened the door.

  "Goodness gracious, Chloe, darling. I wasn't sure if it was you or not. We had five empty houses when all this started, and only you have come back."

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Thank you so much for checking on me…" I nodded, internally squirming and trying to remember her name. I did not succeed, and the pause was getting awkward. I pulled on all the experience I had communicating with the corporate drones. "I am sorry. It was an exhausting journey, and I could really use some sleep right now. To what do I owe the honour?"

  "Of course, of course, I won't keep you waiting. We were worried about the robbers, so I came by to check. And just a few things you should know about some small changes in the community policies. We are pulling resources until the National Guard rescues us. If you don't mind, if I can see what you have available…"

  She tried to step in, but I stood my ground in the doorway.

  "I have no idea, to be honest, if anything is still good. I just arrived, and my house smells like roadkill in summer heat. I will make sure to check and update you at my earliest."

  "You have to understand, Chloe. We have a community with children and the elderly here. We have to think of those in need first."

  "Beyond doubt," I nodded. "I will make sure to share everything that is still unspoiled."

  "Thank you, you are a saint. My husband will stop by in twenty minutes to pick it up. We'll also have a neighbourhood meeting soon. You are welcome to attend. Some folks have interesting insights that I think you would appreciate."

  "I am gravely tired. Maybe tomorrow?"

  "Oh, Chloe, you are a young, able woman. You can for sure postpone your nap for a few minutes…" She continued insisting with a sweet smile.

  I wanted to slap her in the face so much that the hand started to tingle. I could almost see how her white pearl earrings would clatter to the floor. But she was an older lady, probably someone's grandma. She didn't really know what the world was like anymore.

  "I just survived hell out there," I said, no longer smiling. "I will put on the porch what I can spare, but I will be going to sleep now."

  I closed the door in her face. I knew the importance of keeping a good face. But she was definitely not one of my followers, and I didn't see a camera in her hand. Even if the Internet ever comes back, she is inconsequential to my life.

  "Young Lady! Your mother did not raise you right, if you think…" The woman started preaching, but I tuned her out.

  Going through my food turned out to be a smart idea. I found a few expired cans of soup that I could contribute to the community. Together with whatever had died in the fridge. All the meat, milk, eggs, and other perishables had to go. The cheese, bread, and pantry items were still good. But without a way to cook the beans, rice and potatoes, I added those to the donation bin, too.

  By the end, there was a large trash bag of garbage, and a small recycling bin with dry pasta, rice and beans. And a very impressive sandwich pile with tuna salad and cheese.

  I've put garbage and the bin outside, locked the door, and pulled my shoe rack to block it.

  Realistically, I had about four days' worth of food and snacks. But staying here that long seemed like a bad idea. This lady had come in and asked nicely today. Tomorrow, when starvation and dehydration set in, she'd probably just break in. She clearly felt entitled to the "community" resources.

  I packed the remaining food into a fresh hiking backpack and carried it to my bedroom along with the tray of sandwiches and a bottle of juice.

  The sandwiches took me only ten minutes to finish. I sat on my comfortable mattress, drinking sweet orange juice and staring at the black TV screen. It reflected my sad form back to me.

  I'd fought so hard to get back here, but what was really here for me? An empty house with almost no food, no water, and bitchy neighbours. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I didn't know where would be safe.

  How long would grocery store supplies last? If my neighbours were anything to go by, the streets would soon be filled with angry mobs in addition to the monsters already roaming around.

  Andy's idea about heading to a ranch or farm farther from civilization had merit. But wouldn't everyone have the same idea?

  I'd just closed on this house, but it wasn't going anywhere. If private property still meant anything once the government cleared out the monster dens, I could always come back to it.

  I should at least check on the evacuation point. Someone there would know what was going on. They should have directions and information. I didn't even have a radio.

  Remembering of my phone, I plugged it into the power bank and found it already depleted. Had I forgotten to charge it after using it last time?

  The urge to scroll and distract myself with a flawless media feed was overwhelming, but that option was unavailable now. My brain was starved for information. I felt like I was on a deserted island, even though I was surrounded by people. The world had become so small.

  A rush of anxious energy hit me. I got up, changed into my favourite fuzzy pyjamas, and started gathering essentials: my most important documents, a change of clothes, and supplies to refill the first aid kit. My car was still at the shop, so I had to pack light.

  Going through the toiletries, I couldn't help but throw glances at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Again and again. Unfortunately, the vitamins didn't magically fix everything. My hands were itching to do something with this scar. A sharp steel pair of scissors lay heavy in my palm. Maybe if I cut it out and reconnect the tissue with my card, it would look better? But scissors were not sharp enough for that.

  I went back to the kitchen and pulled a small paring knife. It was the sharpest blade I owned. I went back upstairs and found the lidocaine cream I bought for my back pain two months ago. I lit a few more candles, lathered the ointment all over my forehead, sanitized the knife with the alcohol, and took a deep breath.

  The [Tissue Splice] card's area of effect must have been small, judging by its last use on my arm. The end of the scar near the center of my forehead looked the worst, but the entire scar was also only two inches long. I double-checked that the card was off cooldown, took a deep breath, pulled the skin away from the bone, and excised the ugly white deformity in a single swipe.

  My own wail of pain bounced off the bathroom tile and made my ears ring. The agony must have jolted my delirious mind awake. What else but complete lunacy from lack of sleep and stress could explain cutting off a piece of my own face?!

  The blood trickled down my nose, getting lower and lower with each passing second. The small chunk of flesh fell out of my shaking fingers. I was getting lightheaded and nauseous. In a rush to fix what I've done, I pinched the ends of the wound closed. A quick [Tissue Splice] knitted the skin together, but it still hurt. I removed my hand and studied the healed cut. The skin bunched inward at the edge. It was literally as the skill implied, spliced together.

  "I guess I won't need surgery for a facelift," I whispered to myself.

  Then I looked into my own eyes, trying to evaluate how sane this idea was.

  Did the eyes of a crazy person look any different? Would I even be able to tell if I was going off the deep end? Maybe Jessica was right, and I have hallucinated this entire apocalypse after hitting my head. One thing was clear: I was definitely not sleeping. I've done more than pinched myself, and it hurt like hell.

  I wiped myself clean and healed the residual inflammation on my forehead with [Heal Wound]. I fished out a Band-Aid and covered what remained of the scar and its ugly transition into healthy skin. I just didn't want to see it in all the reflective surfaces around my house. The temptation to cut out the rest was too great.

  When the last spike of adrenaline subsided, the blood loss did me in. I was asleep before my head even touched the pillow.