Familiar Face from Memory

For one reason or another, Jonathan had forgotten that there were still people living in town, refusing to head off to the settlement that promised a better future. Right.

The people remained in town survived thanked to the collapsed supermarket on the other side of the town. There were still a lot of edible foods inside, such as wheat, dried corn, white flour and rice.

It had only been 16 years or so, and those foodstuffs had been said to last up to 20 years or more. The problem was getting those foodstuffs out and making use of them.

It was much harder than said.

"Don't shoot," Jonathan gambled. Considering that he had not been shot in the head already, it was a good gamble. "I don't mean you any harm."

"Neither do I," an elderly man responded and steadied his shotgun. "But I cannot let you take that."

Jonathan was unable to recognize the voice, but that was not a surprise. He had not talked to anyone in town for years. Simply because he preferred to be on his own.

No one would betray him if he had no one to relied upon. It was a good choice, considering all that he had been through.

"Can I at least take half?"

Jonathan asked, trying to remember where he had heard the voice before. Matching it to the countless of faces that he had seen over the years. There were simply too many. Far too many.

"No," the old man answered, sternly.

Jonathan frowned and wondered how to get out of this sticky situation. He did not really like being at the mercy of another. While it was not the first time, he hoped it would never happen again.

He cursed himself for having been too preoccupied with small victories, forgetting to always mind his surroundings.

It was not entirely his fault, however. The people who had lasted this long were pro at sneaking around and staying completely out of sight. They had to, lest they wanted to be eaten. Or worst.

"A third then?"

Jonathan bargained and angled his right arm forwards a little. He used his middle finger to try and pull out a small handle-less knife just under his long sleeves.

He had knives concealed on all of his four limbs and in the sole of his boot in case he ever found himself tied up again. He would never allowed himself to be in a helpless situation ever again.

"No," the elderly man responded and pressed the twin-barrels of the shotgun against Jonathan's back, just below the neck, readying to severe his spine with a single blast. "Drop your weapons and leave."

"How about you just shoot me right now, old man?" Jonathan snorted and gripped the knife with two fingers. He could have used it since the old man had made a grievous error of getting too close to him.

Staying so close allowed Jonathan to turn the situation in his favor with great success, especially when he was physically stronger and taller than the old man.

Jonathan was physically stronger and taller than most people. Surviving alone in the forest and doing everything himself had its rewards.

Aside from making his body very fit and capable, it had taught him the necessary survival skills through practical exercise, mostly trials and errors. That was very true, for if he failed at whatever task he was trying to do, he would not get another chance.

It was a good incentive to try his best and without hesitation.

"Don't make me," the old man warned and jabbed the barrel against Jonathan, who was weighing the option of whether he should just kill the old man or not.

Honestly, if it was anyone else, Jonathan would be heading back to the bunker with the goods already.

This time it was different.

Something stopped his hands, as he recalled a grey-haired woman. She had the most gentle eyes, as she taken him in from the cold, clothed him and fed him with what little she had against her husband's wishes.

Against greatest odds, Jonathan had felt the warmth of a mother once more, and the only reason that he did not want to stay in town with her was because his appearance frightened people and make her life more difficult than it already was.

The woman died before most of the town headed north years ago. The ones that remained had some kind of sentimental values like the old man. Or that they had much to lose.

Jonathan now recognized the voice. How could he had forgotten?

"I'm not making you do anything you don't want to, Thomas. And I don't think you're going to kill me," Jonathan said, confidently.

He inhaled deeply and secured his fingers around the knife while keeping it out of view. "If you did, you should have done it without saying a word."

He then lowered his hands nonthreateningly and turned around. "That is the only reason I didn't drive this knife through your neck the first chance I have."

That and killing the old man would not make a good impression when Jonathan decided to pay a visit to the graveyard. Or the afterlife. Whichever first.

Jonathan then snatched the shotgun from the old man's hands before checking whether the weapon was actually loaded. It was, but with blank shells – just to frighten off scavengers.

He eyed the Thomas before tossing back the weapon.

"If you needed foods, you could have asked instead of trying to steal it off me. That never ends well."

Thomas turned towards the two corpses lying on the snow in response.

"That's different," Jonathan said and placed the knife back under his sleeves.

"They were planning on killing me, so I kill them first."

He then turned back to the two backpacks before tossing one of them at Thomas. "If you rationed it, it should last for a few weeks."

Jonathan watched Thomas checking the backpack before eyeing the supermarket in the distant. To be honest, he was going to sneak there and tried to salvage some supplies from the basements while no one was watching, but it seemed unnecessary now.

He didn't want to risk his life more than necessary. He remembered that the gang who took up camps around the collapsed building were a bunch of rapists and murderers.

Since he wasn't a woman, the gang members would just shoot him on sight and loot his body before burning or burying it. Burying it was more likely.

There was a reason for that.

"A month at least," Thomas said. "I have been eating nothing but grasses for the last couple of days."

"Grasses?"

Jonathan looked around. Nothing could grow in the cold. That wasn't exactly true, but it was incredible hard for anything edible to grow in the never-ending winter.

"These," Thomas said and showed some grasses. They were white like snow.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at them. He had seen them growing around his bunker, and he did try to eat one of them along with some mushrooms he had found.

It did not go well. He was sick for several days straight, and he was sure it wasn't the mushroom.

"These are toxic," Jonathan pointed out.

Thomas nodded in agreement. "If you try to eat them raw like this, they are. But if you let them dry in the sun first and then eat them, you won't get sick. In anything, I think I feel better."

Jonathan arched his brow and examined Thomas carefully. The old man was in his late 80s. At his age, he should be in bed, readying to see his maker. Instead, the old man was outside in the cold, trying to rob people with a shotgun.

The cold should have done the old man in already, but he was still alive and kicking.

"Maybe they are some kind of herbs?"

Jonathan questioned himself.

"Never seen these kinds of herbs before," Thomas said and pocketed the grasses, "but they are very effective. They are kind of rare too. I have been looking out for them."

"They are growing everywhere in the forest," Jonathan pointed out, finding nothing wrong with giving the man that information. "If you want some, I will get you some next time I drop by town. Just don't try and shoot me again."