This is from Ivan's Perspective
The sun was an annoying and relentless beast.
Its rays piercing through the window, the blinds open, lazy and not doing their job. My face was searing from the strength of the sun. I stirred, groaning as the harsh light assaulted my eyes. My body felt like it was encased in concrete, every muscle stiff and angry at being called upon. My mouth was a desert, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like it had been glued there.
I squinted against the brightness, cursing myself for not having the foresight to close the blinds before I had collapsed into bed. Moving felt like an insurmountable task, each millimeter of motion a battle against the stiffness that had settled into my limbs. I gritted my teeth as I used my arms to roll myself over and push up into a sitting position. My body protested every movement, a symphony of aches and pains that made my head throb in time with my heartbeat.
Blinking felt like sandpaper against my eyes, the dryness making each blink a chore. I looked down at myself, realizing that I'd fallen asleep fully clothed. I fell asleep, waiting for the pills to kick in. I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in.
Those pills... they were something else. They'd knocked me out cold, beat me up, and left me feeling like I'd been run over by a truck. But they did do the job that was promised.
The empty water bottle from last night sat on the bedside table. I was cruel to myself in my mind for my lack of foresight. I scrunched my parched lips, wishing I had saved some for the parched morning that was now in. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
With a groan, I brought a hand up to my face, massaging my cheeks and jaw in an attempt to stimulate some saliva. I moved my tongue around, the effort monumental as I tried to work some moisture back into my mouth. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to croak out a few words, my voice raspy and dry.
Next came the Herculean task of stretching out my stiff muscles. I started with my arms, working my way down to my legs. Each movement was a battle.
I don't know how long it took, but eventually, I managed to get up and start moving around the room. I gathered my things, packing everything back into my bag with methodical precision. My stomach growled in protest, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since the 3 burgers now firmly clogging my insistence the previous night.
My bike was heavier than the last time I touched it as I pushed it upright. I wheeled it to the front desk, my stomach continuing to demand attention. The front desk was deserted. After waiting for a few seconds and calling out in a horse voice, I dropped my keys on the desk. I pushed open the door, bracing myself for the acrid smell of smoke.
But to my surprise, the air was fresh. Well, it was fresher than it had been in days. I could actually see the sky. The usual scent of ash and smoke was noticeably absent, replaced by the faint smell of damp earth and vegetation. There was still a hint of smoke, but it was almost imperceptible.
The grumbling in my stomach was a constant reminder of my hunger, and the tantalizing aroma of food from the bar across the street was too much to resist. The sign was the same as yesterday, but the scene was different. The place was bustling with people this time.
I maneuvered my bike across the street, not bothering to look for cars this time. The same young lady from the previous night was there, her face lighting up in recognition as she saw me. "Back for three more burgers?" she asked, her tone teasing and cheerful.
I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Just two today," I replied. "And water instead of beer, if you don't mind."
She nodded and led me inside. The bar was half full, the atmosphere lively and warm. I chose a table near the door, setting my bags down on the chair next to me.
The waitress returned quickly, a pitcher of water in one hand and a plate with two burgers and fries in the other. "Enjoy!" she said, setting the food down in front of me.
Before she could leave, I stopped her. "Do you know where I can refill my water bottles?" I asked.
She nodded, a friendly smile on her face. "Sure, there's a pump well in the central park. It's still working and open for anyone to use. It's just two streets over, next to the fountain, off Main Street."
I thanked her, handing over $40 for the meal and information. The burgers were just as delicious as I remembered, the juicy meat and fresh toppings a welcome replacement to the jerky and chips I'd been surviving on.
Once I finished my meal, I left the bar and made my way to the park. The well was easy to find, and it was on the way towards home. I refilled all my water bottles, the cool water a welcome relief. More people walked up as I finished, with big jugs and buckets.
With my stomach full and my water bottles replenished, I felt ready to tackle the journey ahead. I had about 25 miles to go before I would be home. I knew it wouldn't be easy, especially considering the aches and pains that had settled in my muscles from the previous day's strained efforts. But I was more than halfway home.
I mounted my bike and set off, my pace slower than I would have liked. Each rotation of the pedals sent a jolt of pain through my legs, abs, and lungs, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. Progress was slow, but it was progress.
I reached a particularly steep hill after a few hours of steady riding. My legs protested vehemently, their strength waning with each passing peddle. I tried to push through the pain, to force my legs to keep moving, but it was no use. They had reached their limit.
With a sigh of resignation, I dismounted and began to push my bike up the hill. I leaned heavily on the handlebars, using them for support as I trudged upwards. The sun beat down on me relentlessly, its heat intensifying my misery.
When I finally reached the top of the hill, I was panting heavily, my shirt sticking to my back with sweat. I fished a water bottle out of my bag and uncapped it, downing its contents in one long gulp. The cool water was a welcome relief, soothing my parched throat.
Surveying the road ahead, it seemed flattish. Feeling optimistic, I attempted to mount my bike again. However, my legs had other plans. They wobbled beneath me, causing me to stumble and hit my leg against the bike's tire. I staggered backward, barely managing to catch myself and the bike before we both ended up on the ground.
With a sigh, I turned my back to the bike and carefully lowered myself onto the seat, giving my trembling legs a chance to rest. I was so focused on my own discomfort that I didn't notice the man on horseback approaching until he was almost upon me.
"'Evening, Ivan," he called out, his voice deep and carrying easily in the quiet afternoon air.
I squinted up at him, recognizing the familiar face of John, a friend of my late Uncle. His face was weathered by years of sun and hard work. "Oh, hi, John," I greeted him, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I didn't realize I'd made it this far already."
John returned my smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Comin' far?" he asked, his gaze taking in my bike and the bags hanging off my shoulders.
I nodded, my smile fading slightly. "Yeah, when the power went out, my truck broke down in the big city. I've been on the move since then." My voice was trembling, the exhaustion was clear in my eyes.
John offered, "Wanna meal and a break?"
I hesitated momentarily, my desire to be home wrestling with my exhaustion. But in the end, my body's need for rest won out. "That would be great," I admitted, my voice filled with gratitude.
He gestured for me to follow him, leading the way towards his house. As we walked, he turned to me, his brow furrowed in concern. "So, it's not a local problem?"
I shook my head, my gaze focused on the gravel path ahead. "No, so far, everywhere I've been, the power has been out." The words hung heavy in the air.
John simply hummed in response, his expression thoughtful. We continued in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. As we approached the house, John called out to his wife through the open kitchen window. "Darling, Ivan stopped by."
Once inside, John's wife greeted me with a warm smile and a towel, offering me a basin of water to wash up. She asked if a meal of cornbread, eggs, bacon, and sausage would be to my liking. I thanked her and took a seat at the kitchen table, sharing my story.
Halfway through my recounting, the meal was ready, and John's wife joined us at the table. The food was amazing, exactly what I needed. As I ate, I continued to share my experiences, my voice filling the cozy kitchen.
After the meal and the storytelling, I felt a renewed sense of energy. I thanked John and his wife for their hospitality, explaining that I needed to continue my journey home. John accompanied me to the door, his gaze thoughtful. "Do you think your brother-in-law is still working, even with the power outage?" he asked, his tone casual.
I shrugged, unsure. "I'm not certain," I admitted. "But you're welcome to stop by anytime. I'll make sure to return the favor of this meal." I offered him a small smile.
John nodded in understanding, and I turned to leave. I walked back to my bike, my muscles protesting slightly as I swung my leg over the seat. But I managed to settle myself, pushing off the ground and starting to pedal once more.
The rest of the journey was relatively easy, the road familiar and comforting. I was only a few miles away from home now, and the sight of the town limit sign brought a wave of relief. I was greeted by one of the deputy sheriff and a few locals armed with guns. Their faces broke into warm smiles when they recognized me, their greetings filled with good-natured teasing.
"Why'd you downgrade your ride, Ivan?" one of them called out, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
I laughed, then coughed. "Truck broke," I replied, my voice filled with mirth. I pedaled past them.
As I pedaled through the familiar streets of my hometown, it felt oddly surreal. The peace was something that felt foreign. The sun was beginning to dip close to the horizon, casting long, stretching shadows across the landscape. Children were playing in the parks, their laughter echoing through the air. Families were gathered by the lake, enjoying the last few moments of daylight. The usual group of town gossips were seated in their rocking chairs, their voices carrying on the breeze. I was greeted by several familiar faces, their warm smiles a welcome sight.
I continued through the town, heading towards the dam that separated the two sides. I turned onto the street that led to my house, passing by a variety of homes, townhouses, cabins, and the apartment complex. As I gasped to keep pedaling, I wondered why my Uncle had chosen to place our houses at the very end of the street.
As I neared my house, I spotted my wife in the front garden. She was bathed in the soft glow of the twilight, her figure bent over the plants she was tending to. She looked like a spirit of nature, her beauty taking my breath away.
I rode up to her, my heart pounding in my chest. I clumsily dismounted from the bike, dropping my bags to the ground. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close.
She reacted instantly, her head colliding with my nose. She let out a startled scream, squirming out of my grasp. Before I could react, she swung her trowel at me, the metal connecting with my arm hard enough to hurt bad. It was only when she recognized me that she stopped, her eyes wide with shock.
"Ivan!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. She pressed her lips to mine, her kiss passionate and full of relief. I held her close, the pain from the trowel, the ride, the fear, the destruction, the trauma of the past forgotten in the joy of being home.