After Earth - An Unlikely Companion

I’ve spent the past two weeks in this small blue collar town. Well, at least what remains of the town. I believe I’m somewhere in Northern Connecticut, but the nameless town is desolate and doesn’t give off any character. Like many places I’ve traveled through, the roofs are mostly caved in to the crumbling buildings. I’ve spent a lot of time on this main street foraging for supplies. About three blocks up on the left is Clark’s Hardware where I gathered the supplies needed to build my alley shack. There is very little left on the shelves. Most of the tools have been looted by violent packs of survivors with the intent of creating short-range weapons such as nail-covered baseball bats. This is a weapon I only thought I’d ever see in zombie films or Batman comics.

Across the street from Clark’s is the MegaMart. Similarly, most of the shelves are barren, but I’ve been able to stock up on the few canned goods that remained. I used their shopping carts to transfer supplies across town to my secluded alley. Upon arrival, I thought about setting up camp inside the MegaMart, but I figured that more travelers would end up coming through town and the grocery store would be the first place they’d stop. The quiet space of an isolated alley seemed like the safer choice.

As I walk up the street toward the edge of town, I pass a small dive bar with the left side blown out and debris scattered among the torched piles of rock. My goal this morning was to leave immediately and get an early start out of town, but my vices pushed me toward that disheveled saloon. I figured a little whiskey will make the walk more tolerable. I step over the ashen remains of a wall and peer carefully inside. Nothing to see except a few knocked over bar stools and half a wooden bar. I creep inside cautiously, breaking glass beneath my boots with each step. The interior looks like Clint Eastwood bust through and destroyed the bar with his trusty revolver. Behind the bar lie a series of wall-mounted shelves with a group of empty liquor bottles. Above the shelves is a lonely sign is mounted with the quintessential bar expression, “It’s 5 O’clock Somewhere” and a jovial leprechaun giving a thumbs up. The character reminds me of the Lucky Charms leprechaun from my childhood.

I walk around the bar and find a half-empty bottle of gin on the floor among more broken glass. It’s certainly not my first choice, but I no longer live in a world that allows me to be picky. I unscrew the bottle and take a quick swig. It’s been so long since I felt the soothing burn of spirits sliding down the back of my throat and warming my chest like a campfire into my stomach. I grin like the cheerful leprechaun on the wall above me as I embrace the bitter bite that follows. A cough escapes my mouth unexpectedly and my eyes water softly in my flushed face. The nostalgic sensation is abruptly halted by the sound of rocks tumbling close by. I rub my eyes clear and slide the rifle off my shoulder.

With one quick motion, I set down the gin and squat behind the bar giving myself just enough room to peer over the top edge. Another crash of rubble comes from just outside the blown out hole in the wall of the building. Whatever intoxicating plans the gin had with my body are instantly flushed out by the fear encapsulated in beads of sweat skiing down my face. My eyes dart toward the noise outside as an orange fox trots in confidently. I’m slowly overcome with relief as the fox sniffs its surroundings. As I wipe my face and adjust my footing, glass crunches beneath my boot and I see the fox whip its head around to face my hiding place. I duck behind the bar, but can hear the curious animal’s paws coming toward me. As I reach into my pack, the fox peers around the side of the bar and glances at me with a tilt of its head. It lets out a puff of indecisive air. With steady motion I grab hold of a can of tuna and pull it from my pack as the fox and I engage in a staring contest. The animal slowly takes a step forward glancing at the tin I open with a gentle crack. I place my offering on the ground in front of the fox and it takes several more small steps toward the food. To my relief, it accepts the tuna with pleasure and munches furiously. I recognize this as my chance to leave on peaceful terms.

Upon leaving the bar, I step over a dusty sign on the ground between some wooden planks. I swipe away the dust with the toe of my boot to reveal the words “The Lucky Leprechaun”.

“Not so lucky anymore,” I mutter to myself.

Several paces down the street, I notice the patter of paws on the ground behind me. I turn around to find the fox staring up at me with that same tilted stare it gave me behind the bar.

“Shit,” I mumble as I scratch my head. “Sorry, buddy. I can’t help you. I barely have enough food for myself.”

The fox tilted its head the other way and stuck its tongue out with a persistent pant. With a sigh, I turn and walk away from the nameless little town. Out from the corner of my eye I see those little orange paws trot up next to me and together we make our way down the quiet road.