Chapter 7 Cam
Cam awoke, his mouth parched, his body in pain.
For a second, he was disoriented as he struggled towards consciousness.
Four solid walls and dim lighting, but not his bunker.
Reality came crashing down. He wasn’t at xTerra but waiting out a mid-October blizzard.
He sat up and winced. Even this normal movement sent shooting pains stabbing through his leg and injured foot.
Taking a breath, he pushed up farther, easing out of his sleeping bag on the cold floor. The air in his room was cool, but not so frigid that he worried about freezing.
The previous days came flooding back as he adjusted to the pale light of his candle lantern.
He only had one more new candle—he hadn’t intended them to be both heat and light around the clock for days in a row.
Without windows, he didn’t know how long he’d been here or what time of day or night it was.
Based on his hunger and thirst, he guessed he’d been here for roughly three days.
With the raging storm and his pain, it had been easier to sleep than to be awake with little to occupy his mind.
While he’d rather rest, he had urgent needs. There was no way he could jam his swollen foot back inside his boot. Still, he needed to test his mobility.
With care for the tight swelling, he added an extra wool sock over his tensor bandage to keep his toes from freezing, wincing every time he jostled his ankle.
Everything took longer than it should, and he struggled to focus.
Not only that, but moving around, even with his makeshift crutch, was agony.
He only had another three days’ worth of food.
With his ankle fucked, he couldn’t walk home, nor could he forage to supplement his dwindling supplies.
His head ached, and his brain remained foggy—already feeling the effects of thirst. Wearing his thickest jacket, he hefted his canteen, sloshing the meager amount—only a few mouthfuls remained. Pain or no pain, he urgently needed to locate water. Today.
If he cut his food rations further, he could survive for a while. A few missed meals wouldn’t hurt him long term. Without water, he had three days. Tops. He needed to explore this house and hope he found something.
Otherwise, tomorrow might be his last day.
Once upon a time, many rural houses in remote areas had wells for their water.
Even if an electric pump wouldn’t operate without power, it was possible that the plumbing in this place might work.
Or there could be a hot water tank he could drain.
He was desperate. Seven-year-old rusty tank water.
Yum. He’d have to filter and purify anything he found to drink, but at least he wouldn’t die.
He licked his dry, cracked lips. Mustering his remaining energy, he forced himself upright, bracing himself with his crutch and the wall.
His head swam. He closed his eyes, leaning against the beige paint until the world ceased spinning.
He collected his light from the desk, because the rest of the house would be dark with its shuttered windows, then slipped into the dim hallway outside his refuge.
From the front of the house, toward the entrance, the covered windows rattled. Outside, the wind still howled.
Cam hobbled deeper inside, coming to a T in the dusty corridor.
He turned left, locating bedrooms on either side of the hall.
To the right was the largest bedroom with a king-size bed and a private bathroom.
Swatting strands of cobwebs from the doorway, he stumbled inside and headed for the ensuite.
He twisted the taps on the sink. His shoulders slumped when nothing happened. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed.
He glanced at the toilet and checked the tank.
Dry. Glancing around, he relieved himself, preferring the toilet to a bucket.
The small amount of urine he produced was bright yellow.
Feeling foolish because he couldn’t flush, he closed the lid.
He gritted his teeth and proceeded across the hall to the second bedroom and its adjoining bathroom.
No better luck. It seemed each bedroom was a suite.
Who’d lived in this remote location with such luxurious guest accommodations?
The second bathroom had a frosted window over the shower.
No light seeped through, so it might be nighttime.
He sighed. Maybe he should search for a basement.
He might discover stale bottled water or soda, or the elusive hot water tank.
Plastic containers would be well past the expiry date but would be better than dying of thirst.
He tried every doorknob in his search for a water source, coming up empty. He found a walk-in closet, and a depleted linen closet with some mismatched sheets covered in mildew spots. Still no water.
Unable to resist, he took a tiny sip of his precious supply—doing little to assuage his raging thirst. He was almost out of options.
If he’d been fit, he might have collected a supply of firewood and gathered snow to melt.
Maybe he could burn furniture. He should search for a fireplace, rather than start a fire in the middle of the living room.
Either way, at least he’d be warm. He shook his head.
His brain was already slow and fuzzy if he was considering an indoor blaze.
He wasn’t quite desperate enough for that. Not yet.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a moving shadow. He was certain he wasn’t hallucinating. Yet. He blinked, then squinted at the hallway. A cat?
“Here, kitty, kitty.” His scratchy voice seemed loud in the house, the gale outside a dull background roar.
The black cat paused and stared, as if deciding whether to be friendly. Cam sat on the side of the dusty bed, elevating his injured foot onto the mattress. He sighed, relieved by the diminishing pain. “You’re a nice, healthy-looking kitty. Lots of mice and rats here?”
Come to think of it, there should have been rodents everywhere because of the nasty weather, but this house didn’t seem overrun, unlike dozens of places he’d come across over the last several years. Not even many droppings. His pulse picked up.
If the cat lived here, where was it getting water?
The cat stared at him, its amber gaze unblinking.
The woman and her similar gaze flashed through his mind.
Cam stood, and the cat disappeared, trotting down the hall.
He followed, hobbling faster than before despite his discomfort.
He passed the fork in the hall leading back to his bunk space.
The cat had continued past the opening into the dim hall ahead.
Maybe this direction would prove more fruitful.
He reached the end of the hall to find it blocked with a piece of unpainted plywood draped with a blue fuzzy blanket.
The cat disappeared through a low rectangular opening—a homemade cat door, covered by a different blanket on the far side.
At some point since the world had gone to hell, someone had lived here.
The hole was much too narrow for a person, so he couldn’t follow. What was on the other side?
His heart rate spiked again. Perhaps someone still lived here.
Maybe his mystery woman. It was a long shot, but he’d been on his own for days.
Being stuck here made him lonely for someone to share his time.
He took a breath and, without thinking for too long, he knocked on the wall, the sound echoing in the immense house.
Nothing. The silence seemed deeper than ever.
He tried again, pounding hard enough that his knuckles ached.
Still nothing. Leaning down, holding the wall for balance, he poked the covering of the cat door and tried to peer through.
Someone on the other side might know where there was water.
Unable to help himself, he swallowed. His parched throat ached.
In the poor light, he couldn’t see anything on the other side. Disappointed and feeling more alone than ever, Cam headed back to his room.
With the storm still raging, he couldn’t collect firewood.
With the amount of ash and volcanic debris still in the atmosphere, he also needed a top-notch filter for melted snow.
The filter on his water pump was nearly done.
With a sinking heart, he slipped back into his room.
He set his lantern down with a thump, grateful for its heat and light, but frustrated about his fruitless quest for water.
Cam rubbed his stiff hands near the meager flame.
He should have worn gloves for his exploration.
The rest of the house had been frigid. He leaned his crutch against the wall and sat on the loveseat, swinging his sore leg up once more to elevate his throbbing ankle.
With nothing better to do, he relaxed, his arm slumped across the upholstered back along the wall.
He would regroup and try again when the stabbing pain in his head lessened.
His eyes fluttered closed, though the pressing need for water meant he couldn’t rest for long.
To his surprise, the wall felt warm compared to the wall in the hall.
Warmer than his candle could account for.
His heart thumped harder in his chest. He slid his bare hand higher up the wall.
Definitely heated. He lurched up, struggling back onto his good foot, and shoved the couch with a scraping sound a few feet to the left.
He ran his hand over the wall again, this time lower.
Moving further left, still touching the expanse, he found a section hotter than the rest.
Was there a fireplace on the other side of the wall? One with a fire.