by Burgy, P. J.
The next two rooms were small bedrooms, as she had guessed. The first had a bed, the sheets a mess, and clothing strewn across the floor. It had been a little boy’s room, toy dinosaurs on the floor next to plastic, shining robots. The window had thin curtains and she could hear the rain pelting against the glass, the light filtering in well enough that she wouldn’t need her flashlight here. She kept it on, the red spreading out across the walls. The ceiling was leaking badly, water pooling on the floor.
The next room was bigger, but there was no bed, no clothes, nothing that would designate it as a bedroom. Instead, she saw a broken easel, white canvases, and a smashed black box that she recognized as being a computer monitor. Paint tubes had been squeezed empty across the floor, the different colors shades of blue and purple in the natural light, but merely dull reds to her flashlight. There was a stool in the corner of the room and an open closet with more canvases, these ones painted on.
She went to the paintings. Turning her flashlight away, she looked at a few in the light from the window, and pondered over the lovely models and flowers she saw. She liked art; at least what she had seen of it. The drawings and paintings she had seen in books, or the lovely things that people in the fort towns had created.
This was someone’s soul, pieces of it, left in a dark closet in an abandoned house. And now, was the artist somewhere else, hiding? Were they dead? Or, were they huddled somewhere in the dark waiting for nightfall?
She figured that she would never know and set the paintings back into the closet. She explored the last room all the way to the right at the end of the other side of the hallway, finding a large bedroom with its own bathroom and shower. The huge bed was bare, held up by a metal bed-frame. There was nothing under the bed, she had taken a quick look, and the mattress appeared to have been torn at, pieces of the stuffing inside hanging out. A single standing lamp had been placed next to the bathroom door, the cord running along the baseboard and into the closet.
In the closet, she found the exposed plug and a foot-by-foot square shaped, flattened indentation in the rug. She wondered if a small generator had been kept there at one time. There were some dresses hanging in the closet as well, and she rifled through them. There was nothing she wanted to take, so she shut the closet door. Lightning from outside caught her attention, so she went to the window. The blinds up, she took a look outside.
The huge tree out front came close here, the branches threatening to brush up against the side of the house. She glanced into the bathroom and saw that the window next to the sink was in very real danger of being bashed into by those very same branches.
Every room of the house explored, she went back downstairs. She pressed the third button on her flashlight, and regular bright, white light burst forth. She held her flashlight up near her shoulder, shining it around as she went to the kitchen. One by one, she opened the cabinets, revealing a scattered sampling of canned goods. To her, it was finding a treasure. Her spirits lifted, her insides fluttered, and she began to look at each and every can, flashlight searching for expiration dates and contents, flashing over labels desperately.
She found multiple cans of vegetables, but they were expired, and had been for years. Disappointment began to creep in as she continued, finding nothing she could salvage. Then, she found a pack of batteries. These would be good. She stashed them in her backpack.
She found several packages of rice, a round container of salt, and a bag of dried beans. She was beginning to feel her excitement grow once more, and her joy culminated in a soft cry when she found the bear shaped plastic bottle at the back of the last cabinet. It was half full, the contents golden and partly crystallized. She didn’t care. Stashing her machete, she left her open backpack on the counter by the sink and grabbed for the bottle, opening it, and squeezing the contents into her mouth. Honey.
It tasted just as good as she remembered.
She resisted the temptation to eat all of it, placing the bottle into her bag to get it away from herself. After loading up her backpack with the rice, beans, and salt, she felt the noticeable increase in weight.
Elated with her find, she heard the thunder roar outside and felt not even a modicum of concern at the loss of time. This was as good a place as any to bunk down for the evening. True, those boarded windows would do little to protect against the Infected if they attacked, but, if nothing drew them in, she was golden until morning. They were attracted to light and sound, and she would be silent until sunrise. There were still many hours to go, but she wouldn’t make it to Blue Lagoon at this point.
She felt unusually calm until she heard the skittering from upstairs.
Her sense of peace snapped violently, her attention whipping around toward the hall leading to the steps. She shined her flashlight in that direction immediately, her hand going for her machete once more. She hadn’t seen anything up there, no, but perhaps she had missed something. Her skin felt cold, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She crept toward the steps, turning the corner to shine her light up to the top. A dark shape rushed to the right, away from her light, and she cried out softly, trying to contain her shock behind clenched teeth.
Gathering herself, she went up the stairs, step by step, until she reached the top. Turning right, she illuminated the hall leading to the large, master bedroom at the far end. The light from outside was shining in through the window in the room, eliminating the need for her to continue using her flashlight, but she had her thumb on the UV button, ready to shine it at whatever was about to leap out at her. It had to be under the large, bare mattress of the bed, the bed frame allowing for at least a foot of hiding space underneath it.
She drew nearer to the bedroom and entered it. Lightning flashed outside, the tree branches brushing up against the bathroom window and scratching at the glass. The hail had died down and now she could hear the heavy rain and low rumbling of thunder much more clearly.
She crouched down and aimed the flashlight under the bed to have a look. At first, she saw nothing. Then, something moved again and Kara cried out, going for her machete. She had it drawn, raised up, and had been about to bring it down on the thing moving under the bed when she recognized the long snout, brown and tan fur, and floppy but pointed ears of a dog.
She stopped, falling back into her rear. The dog came out from under the bed, tongue lolling out and tail wagging. It was a mutt, ears that had been meant to stand flopped oddly, and a muzzle that looked too short for the size of the animal. In any case, it was happy to see her and approached to lick her face, oblivious to her shock.
“Dog?” She blinked, her wits returning. She sheathed her machete, set her flashlight down, and began at once to check the dog for a collar. The dogs at forts were always collared, as they needed to be leashed to keep them from running toward the Infected. This dog had no collar, and she pet the mutt before standing. “You scared the shit out of me, you little asshole. Dammit. What are you doing here?”
The dog whimpered and wagged its tail, excited and jumping up on her for attention. She had to push him down, exhaling through her teeth as she took a step back. The dog wasn’t to be dissuaded and kept at her.
“Why didn’t I see you earlier, buddy? Huh? Where were you hiding?” She asked the dog and smiled, shaking her head. When the dog sat, she sat too, facing the bed, her back to the hall outside. She glanced at the window, seeing that the sky was getting darker, evening approaching. The dog stood up again, tail wagging, and whined. She smirked. “I don’t have any food for you, buddy. Unless you like apples. You want an apple?”
She took off her backpack, opened it, and offered the dog an apple.
The dog snorted and she laughed softly.
“I didn’t think so.”
She watched while the dog trotted around the bed and away from her. He dipped his head after going for a corner of the room and came back around to her again, something round in his mouth. The dog dropped a metallic silver food bowl in front of her and she eyed the mutt, a
mused.
“Buddy, I don’t have anything for you, I swear.” She picked up the bowl, noting the wet chunks of brown muck along the bottom. She frowned, touching some of the moist bits with her fingertips. In the reflection, she saw motion, something dark behind her. She didn’t have time to react, her attempt to turn, to whip around, too slow.
Something hard hit her in the back of the head. She felt searing, blinding pain, the urge to throw up billowed up through her stomach into her throat, everything spun around, the wind howling, and the world went black.
Her fingers wrapped around her knees and she squeezed. There were thin lines of light in the darkness in front of her, the soft glow from outside sneaking in through the gaps in the doors under the sink. Those doors didn't keep out the smell or the sounds either; the stink of sewage and the crunching of bones, the tearing of flesh and muscle all reached her where she hid, huddled into a little ball and forcing herself to stay quiet. The noise was horrible and she covered her ears, grimacing, wishing she could throw open the doors and make a run for it; the kitchen door was so close, only five feet away, but those things were right there blocking her way. Kara heard them eating and then the wailing began again, growing louder and louder as she pressed her palms against her ears and resisted the urge to scream.
The first thing she noticed was the dull ache in the back of her skull, the second was the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach. She smelled vomit and knew that it was her own. She became aware of a third sensation, which was a warm, wet rag wiping at her mouth and face. She also felt tight bands around her wrists and ankles. Her hands and feet were bound together. She gurgled, trying to see. The room looked red.
“Shh.” Someone wiped at her face. She could see a blurry silhouette above her, white hair with tints of red, pale skin stained the same hue. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetie.”
Kara’s lips moved. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, I am. I am so sorry.” It was a female voice, and as Kara’s vision cleared, the face of an older woman appeared above her. This woman had to be in her late sixties, her hair short cropped and white. She was thin, her large blue eyes bright and sparkling. She kissed Kara on the cheek.
“What’s going on?” Kara asked.
“Keep your voice down, dear. It will be night soon.”
“What’s happening? Why am I tied up?” Kara asked, volume rising.
“Please, don’t make me gag you, please.” The woman leaned down, placing a cool hand on the side of Kara’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
Kara looked around the room. It was the large bedroom at the end of the hall, but the walls were bathed in red light. Her throat felt swollen and she swallowed, glancing around the room in terror.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, they can’t see the red light. You know that,” the old woman whispered to her. “They don’t see it, and we just have to stay quiet after sunset.”
“What is this?” Kara asked the woman, trying to focus on her face. The pain in the back of her head was making it difficult, but Kara was gaining her strength back bit by bit. She struggled in the bonds, looking down to see that she had a series of zip-ties holding her arms together, starting at her wrists and running to her elbows. Her left wrist was tied to her right elbow, her right wrist to her left elbow.
Somewhere nearby, Kara heard a dog whimper.
The old woman stroked Kara’s face, and tears began to run down her withered cheeks. The wrinkles around the woman’s eyes deepened as grief overtook her. “I wish I had another way. Something else to trade. But, I don’t. This was what I had to do, and I wish, I wish I had another way. I’ve been waiting for weeks for someone to come. Weeks. And, it was you. It is a miracle. But, also, it is terrible. And I am so sorry.”
“What are you talking about? Let me go.” Kara struggled and managed to squirm closer to the edge of the bed. The woman stood up, reaching for a metal pole on the mattress, and picked it up.
The old woman aimed the metal pole at Kara, waggling it in the air in front of her face. “I don’t want to have to knock you out again. Please. Stop moving.”
“Okay.” Kara went still.
“I need to get to Fort St. Claire,” the woman said, “That is a long way, and I cannot travel it alone. I need an escort. The Red Brethren said that they would do it, if I had a trade worth their time. Well, they said they need women. Young women. Pretty women. And here you are.”
“Oh, oh no,” Kara whispered. “Look, I’ll take you to Blue Lagoon and-”
“Quiet, please. My family is in Fort St. Claire, waiting for me. We were separated, and I got stuck here. Trapped. I have a trade now, and they will take me where I need to go. I need to be with my son, and my grandchildren, don’t you understand? I’m so sorry. I have to do this.” The woman was crying again.
“You can’t trust the Red Brethren,” Kara hissed, eyes wide and skin cold. “Please. Let me go. I can help you, I swear. I’m a runner for Blue Lagoon. I know this area like the back of my hand. I know every path, every tree, every forest-”
“No, stop.” The old woman sat down on the edge of the bed. Her long shirt was white, but tinted red in the light, her ragged slacks were a darker red, perhaps a tan shade in regular light. Placing the metal pole at her side, she wrung her hands nervously, looking to the window. “They will be here soon, before sunset. I called them on the shortwave. I told them I had you.”
“You have a shortwave here? We can call my fort-”
“We salvaged the shortwave radio from the safe house, before the Wailers came. I wanted to use it for good. I didn’t want things to be like this. I painted that symbol on the front of the house, and I have betrayed the law behind it. I could be killed for that, you know? But I had to…” the woman muttered to herself.
“Sometimes we do terrible things,” Kara said, her throat ragged. “Sometimes we make mistakes when we are afraid. I understand. We can leave here, find somewhere to hide.”
“No, they’ll be here soon. And they will leave with us both in the morning. I have their word.” The woman scanned Kara’s face. “They won’t kill you, you know that, dear. They want you alive, and to keep you alive. They want to have children, you know. They need you alive for that.”
“You know what they’ll do to me. I would rather die.”
“I am sorry. After they take me to where I need to go, you aren’t my problem anymore.” The woman looked away, eyes trailing across the room toward the open door leading to the hall. “I can forget about this, bury it, and spend the rest of my time with my family. That is all that matters. I can forget this.”
“I will scream. I will scream after the sun sets. I will scream and I will bring them here,” Kara hissed, fighting in her bonds. The woman stood up abruptly and stared down at her, grabbing for the pole again.
“Then I will knock you out. You would kill us all. You selfish brat.”
Kara spat at her. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll kill me this time.”
“You’re worthless to me dead. I’ll gag you first.” The woman rushed to a corner of the room, grabbed a handful of some sort of fabric and then returned to Kara. “You selfish, selfish little brat.”
Kara fought as the woman tried to stuff part of a towel into her closed mouth, forcing her lips apart but succeeding only in rubbing the dirty cotton fiercely across the front of Kara’s teeth. The dog was whimpering loudly in the room. The woman grew angrier, Kara growling and thrashing. Pinching Kara’s nostrils shut didn’t work either, as she could breathe through her teeth.
Finally, the woman covered Kara’s mouth with the towel, pushing hard, pinching her nose, and the air flow was restricted for long enough to force her to gasp. It had taken more than a few minutes, but the towel was shoved into Kara’s mouth and the woman wrapped another towel around to keep it in place. Kara could still make noises, but they were muffled. She thrashed again, glaring up at the old woman. Eyes locked, the two stared at one another as the sound of a heavy vehicle rumbled closer and c
loser, culminating in the roaring of the engine just out front of the house. The engine shut off. Silence.
There was a knock on the door downstairs.
The old woman drew away. She brushed herself off and licked her lips, glancing away from Kara, then back again. She rushed out of the room, and the instant she left Kara tried to find a way to tumble off of the bed. The dog had stayed and was wagging his tail, coming to the side of the bed to sniff and lick at her face. The woman was walking down the stairs, Kara could hear her footsteps.
Kicking her feet and rolling to the side, Kara fell off the bed to the floor. She landed on her right side, wincing at the impact, and her eyes darted around the room. Her machete, backpack and flashlight had been tossed into the corner of the room. Wriggling her way into a better position, she began to slide herself over to the corner, closer and closer to her machete. The dog whined.
“Oh, yeah, I can see this one’s got some spirit.” A male voice startled her.
Kara pivoted on her side, leaning to see the large shape of a man blocking the doorway. He was dressed in the typical gear of the Red Brethren, the crimson handprint on his chest plate painted on crudely. His modified riot gear was spray painted and asymmetrical, one arm bare, showing off tattoos and muscles, and the other covered in plating. His face looked like a battered war zone. He had shaved part of his head, tattooed his skin along his face, and had a nose that looked like it had been broken many, many times.
He looked at Kara and smiled, showing off multiple black pits where teeth should have been. “You didn't mention she was a colored girl. I like, I like.”
“I told you, she’s pretty, isn’t she?” The old woman stood behind him, wringing her hands.
