Chapter Four: Mom
I open up the front gate, ignoring the loud cries from its rusty hinges, then head up to the front porch. The Chicago Tribune is still sitting there from this morning, the headlines screaming up at me in their bold font. Something about an investigation into a police shooting, another headline about a local food festival kicking off. Mom would probably like that festival, so I grab the paper and tuck it under my arm. I retrieve the house key from my front pocket and slide it into the old brass lock and twist, the deadbolt causing an audible ‘thunk’ as it slides home.
Pushing open the door, I step inside and drop the newspaper on the floor and kick off my shoes. Then I immediately go upstairs to put my bookbag away in my closet. Heading back downstairs, I turn into the kitchen to get something to eat before I start cleaning up. The floors need vacuuming, and the pile of dishes in the sink has to disappear. I grab a rapidly browning banana off the countertop and peel it, throwing the peel away in the small, white plastic trash can in the corner, right next to our little square kitchen table.
I take a bite of the banana as I glance at the digital clock on the microwave. It’s two in the afternoon. Mom said she might be home by three, but if she had to stay late then she wouldn’t see me until tomorrow morning. I swallow the mushed up banana in my mouth and sigh. I try not to get my hopes up when mom says she ‘might’ be home early. It so rarely works out that way, so I’ve just begun to assume-
I hear the deadbolt on the front door being unlocked, and the door swings inwards with a creak. “Abby?” calls a voice with all the grace of a Parisian ballerina.
“Mom!” I cry. I drop the banana on the countertop and dart out into the hallway, my big, goofy smile creasing my face almost to the point of hurting. But who cares about that, mom is home! Beautiful even when the exhaustion is pulling on her eyelids like gravity and her hair bears a passing resemblance to a disheveled lion’s mane.
She smiles back at me, and we meet in the hallway for a hug. Some people would think it’s weird to greet each other like this when it’s only been a few hours since we last saw each other, but in our lives we never know how long it will be before we get another moment to talk.
“So you made it home for supper?” I ask, looking up at her.
“No, I’m home for the entire night,” she replies as she runs a hand through my hair.
It’s a good thing I’d warmed my face up with a smile in the kitchen because the smile I felt now probably would have fractured my cheekbones. “The entire night?” I repeat like a parrot. That never happens! Not as unexpectedly as this, at least.
Mom laughs and says, “That’s what I said! Now get your shoes back on, we’re going to the store before dinner!”
“Yes ma’am!” I chirp as I shove my feet back into my pink Chuck Taylors. I can clean the house later, right now I’m going out with my mom!
Mom walks over to the little bookshelf in the hallway, packed with books of all sizes and genres. There’s biographies on great generals and leaders, classic works of literature like Ivanhoe, a philosophical manifesto or two, and a bunch of fiction, including everything from Harry Potter to the works of John Grisham. If there’s one thing of which we have an abundance, it’s books. Mom goes out of her way to get me books, usually from the library where they’re cheap. I’ve got a lot more up in my bedroom, and still more in a storage bin in the coat closet.
But there’s one book on the shelf in the hallway that’s just for mom. It’s not even actually a book. It’s a small copy of Plato’s Republic, but the insides have been hollowed out to make for a tiny, secret storage space; that’s where mom keeps her cash. She begins to pull out a small wad of money.
“Actually, I think I can cover it for today,” I say to mom.
“Whatever are you talking about, Abby?” she asks, turning to face me. I pull out the money that Mr. Marino gave me earlier, and mom brings a hand up to her mouth.
“Where’d you get that?” she asks, her eyes alight with curiosity.
“Mr. Marino wants to hire me to help him with his gardening,” I reply, handing mom the money. “He says he’ll pay me to come over twice a week.”
“Oh,” is all mom can say. I catch a twinkling in the corner of her dark brown eyes, the beginnings of a tear. But she never lets them fall, not where I can see. I know she cries. Sometimes I can see the aftermath on her cheeks, sometimes I can hear it at night when she thinks I’m sleeping. But she never lets me see.
And so I return the favor. Our tears are our own; private and separate.
It wasn’t even that much money. We probably would not be able to get everything we needed from the grocery store, but I wanted to do this for mom. I wanted her to buy something for once without digging into her tiny savings account, hidden between the pontifications of a long dead Greek.
I expected her to resist, to push the money back into my hands. But after briskly rubbing the back of her hand against the edge of her eyes, she says, “Well, as long as you’re working for this money.”
“I am,” I reply, following her lead and wiping away the tears before they get the chance to fully form.
“Okay,” she says, and then she smiled again. We walked out the front door together, and mom locked it behind her. We exit the front gate and take a left, heading towards the nearest grocery store.
Suddenly the sound of sirens pierces the calm summer air.
Chapter Five: Noise
I don’t know what it is I’m feeling down deep in my stomach, but it’s not like anything I’ve ever felt before. Sirens had been hounding mom and I since we left our house, some distant and others on the same street. Police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, anything with a loud siren was flying up and down the streets of Chicago this afternoon.
“Was there another terrorist attack?” I ask mom. I’d seen the footage from the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York, and this felt eerily similar.
“I don’t know, my dear,” she replies. I can hear the trembling in her voice, despite her best efforts to put up a brave front. A new sound reaches my ears now, like a distant thrumming. It gets louder and louder, soon overpowering the sound of the sirens. I look up in time to see a whole group of black helicopters zooming overhead, heading towards the heart of the city. Were those military helicopters? I saw guns and rockets on them!
“Maybe we should go back,” I suggest to mom, but she shakes her head.
“No, we’re almost there. Let’s just get some food and we’ll get right back home,” she says.
We round the last corner before the grocery store and hurry across the street and through the parking lot. It’s mostly empty for now, a good sign I think. We walk through the sliding doors and they close behind us, partly closing out the sounds from outside. Here, things feel a little bit safer, and my breathing starts to return to normal. The cashiers and shoppers look more curious than worried, everyone staring down at smartphones as they try to get information on what’s happening in the city.
“Get a basket, please,” mom says, and I do so. She starts to sound a little bit relieved. Maybe there was nothing to be worried about after all. We head towards the back of the store to get some bread first. I grab two loaves of the store brand bread and drop them in the basket as mom checks that off her list. Next is six cans of bean soup; these are on sale. We then move down to the end of the aisle towards the refrigerated section to get milk and eggs.
There’s suddenly a great uproar. The sirens and the sound of helicopters are back, and now I can hear shouting and swearing. I poke my head out of the aisle in time to see an enormous mob of people swarming inside the store, dashing this way and that. People are pushing and shoving to get baskets and carts, fighting each other to reach the shelves of food.
“Abigail, stay close,” I hear mom say. She never uses my full name like that. She grabs my arm with an iron grip, taking the basket from my hand as she pulls me towards the back of the store.
“Where are we going?” I ask as fear begins
to claw up my spine with icy fingers.
“Out the back,” mom says. She doesn’t look at me, but stares straight ahead. People are going to catch up to us soon, but mom quickens our pace. We push through some double doors marked ‘employees only’ and find ourselves in the back of the store.
“There!” I say, pointing towards a back exit, and mom immediately pulls me that way. The noise behind us is an incomprehensible mess by now, with so many people yelling and screaming. I think I can make out someone by the doors. “I can see it! You were bit!” is what it sounds like. But that doesn’t make any sense. What does a bite mark have to do with-
BANG BANG!
I shriek, and mom and I whirl back around, staring through the large windows on the doors through which we’d just come. A man holding a black handgun is tackled by a mob of people around him.
“Mom?” I say, my voice and body shaking. What’s going on?!
“Come on,” is all she says. How can mom be so calm?! What are we going to do?!
We burst out of the back doors and mom, still gripping my arm with a white-knuckle grip, practically drags me to the side, heading in the direction of our house, but not the same way we came. Mom must be hoping to get us around the riotous crowd.
Oh man, there’s so many people here. They’re all trying to push into the grocery store. Mom drops the basket and gathers together everything we had so far in her arms, probably afraid that the bright red basket would attract too much attention.
“Stay close, Abigail,” she says again, but she doesn’t have to tell me twice. The mob is so loud now, I’d rather have the sirens and helicopters deafening me. At least those noises didn’t include threats of murder. I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.
Am I sure I’m not dreaming?
More people. More people coming from our left, heading towards the grocery store. Mom doesn’t look at them. She just keeps walking straight ahead, dragging me forward with her. People are rushing past us, pushing and shoving us out of the way.
Clunk.
What was that?! I look over to see that mom dropped one of the cans. It hits the pavement and rolls away. The man who had shoved her sees it and stops. He’s staring at mom.
I don’t like that stare. I don’t like that stare.
“Excuse us,” mom says. She hauls me forward again. I can’t even face that man anymore, so I stare at my shoes. Maybe next time I look up we’ll be back home.
“Give it to me!” I hear the man yell. I look up, startled.
That’s a gun.
He’s holding a gun.
He’s holding a gun and he’s pointing it at my mom.
“My daughter needs-” mom started to say.
“GIVE IT TO ME!”
“Take it!”
Mom drops everything and steps away. Wait, not everything. She’s still trying to hide a loaf of bread in her purse!
Please don’t see it, please don’t see it, please don’t see it.
“I said everything.”
This can’t be real, this isn’t happening. This can’t be real.
“I need this,” mom says.
BANG
NO!
I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know. I…I don’t know what to do. What do I do, do I try to cover the bullet hole, what do I do. That man took the food, we needed that food. Mom, just hang on! She’s not answering. We don’t have any food. Mom, it’s gonna be okay! She’s not moving. Don’t worry, mom! She’s not breathing. Please, mom. Just tell me what to do, mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy, please please please tell me something. I need you, mommy. I need you, please.
Chapter Six: Alone
How could I just leave mom there? Well what was I supposed to do? There was more people, more shouting, more helicopters, more sirens, more guns, more shooting. Was I supposed to carry her? Stay there and die? Would that have been better?
The Herrera’s weren’t home. Their car was gone by the time I got home. I didn’t dare walk to Mr. Marino’s house with all the people in the streets. They might kill me like they did my…
But I’m home now. I locked the doors and windows and closed all the curtains. Now I’m safe. I’m safe at home. I’m definitely safe here. Why would I not be safe here? Of course I’m safe. It’s safe. I’m safe.
BOOM!
What was THAT? AN EXPLOSION? A BOMB?
It was far away. All the gunfire and the shouting and the pushing and the killing, that’s not happening here. People are going this way and that way and this way and that way and this way and that way. But not here. No, not here. They’re not here. No one’s here but me. Just me. Alone. Just Abby. Alone.
I’m just gonna go to bed. Change into pajamas and go to bed. That’s what I’ll do. I can’t be scared if I’m asleep. Maybe I’ll sleep with the lights on. Or maybe not? Lights on could draw attention. Lights out I think. What choice do I have?
Chapter Seven: Night
It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark
WHAT IS THAT SCREAMING WHO SCREAMS LIKE THAT WHAT WAS THAT OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT THERE’S SO MUCH SCREAMING
It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark
PLEASE STOP SCREAMING LIKE THAT WHATEVER YOU ARE STOP SCREAMING LIKE THAT PLEASE STOP THAT SCREAMING PLEASE STOP IT THERE’S SO MUCH SCREAMING PLEASE STOP SCREAMING PLEASE
It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark It’sdark
Chapter Eight: Morning
Morning. No sleep. A little sleep? Nightmares, I think.
No. That was real.
Morning. Quiet.
I’m hungry. Gotta eat food.
Food is downstairs. I go downstairs. There’s no one downstairs.
Not even her.
What was that screaming last night?
NO. DON’T THINK OF THAT.
Not even when it’s light outside.
How can I make it through another night of that?
I do. Somehow I did. And again.
Then three more nights. Three? Six? Don’t know.
Don’t count the nights.
Don’t count the days.
Must have been several.
Can’t eat. So hungry but can’t eat.
Lights don’t work.
Water stopped.
Screaming stopped.
Chapter Nine: Monsters
Monsters in the house, there’s monsters in the house. Not people. They look like people. Those aren’t people. Monsters. Must be quiet or monsters will get me. Don’t move, don’t breath, you’re safe under the bed. Monsters in room, Abby alone under bed. Safe.
THAT HORRIBLE SCREAM
Monster saw me, tried to grab me. Got away. Running, keep running downstairs. Other monsters see me. Monsters chasing me. Get out of the house!
Running down the sidewalk. Mr. Marino? To his house? Mr. Marino would help me. Mr. Marino can save me. Monsters behind me. Turn left, lose them in alley maybe.
Big truck in the way. Turn around! Too late, monsters here. A dead end. Why is it called a dead end, because now I’m dead.
Gotta fight. Here’s a stick. Useless, just like me. Monsters closing in now.
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
Chapter Ten: Zach
Who is that? That man with the rifle just saved my life. He’s walking towards me. What does he want? He’s not one of those things, is he?
“Are you alright?”
What kind of a question is that? Do I look alright?
“My name is Zach. What’s yours?”
…Abby. That’s what she named me. He’s smi
ling now, what’s so funny?
“Lucky for those things I got ‘em before you did. You would have given them hell, huh?”
What, with this stick? Was that supposed to be a joke?
“Where are your parents?”
My parents…
Just shake your head.
“You don’t know?”
Oh, I know. I know exactly where.
Just shake your head.
“So you’re all alone?”
Nod.
“Would you like to come with me?”
Nod. Yes, definitely nod. He’ll keep me safe, this Zach.
Can barely stand. Legs are weak. Lift your hands, see if he’ll carry you.
That was easy.
“We need to find you some clothes, kid. Where’s your home?”
Point.
He’s taking me home. He’s talking to me. Something about bugs?
“Can I call you ‘Bug’?”
Sure. Nod.
There it is. Home. He set me down. My room is upstairs. Point.
“Your room? Okay, stay behind me.”
Following him. He’s got his rifle up. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. There’s my room.
“Here you go. Come on out when you’re dressed.”
My room. Those things made a mess. Just get some pants and a shirt. And shoes.
“Do you have a backpack or anything to carry stuff in?”
My backpack, it’s right here in my room. Right where I left it on that day. He’s talking again, pointing downstairs. Nod. Follow.
The kitchen. He wants to bring food. Don’t have much. Some water and canned food. He puts some in my backpack. It’s heavier than I thought.
“Too heavy?”
Not really. But nod. He put the water in his own pack.
His Name Was Zach (Short Story): Abby [Alone] Page 2
