by Jones, K. J.
Mazy moved closer to Phebe as they walked. She whispered, “Pell may be a problem.”
“He needs to get over himself.”
“I’m betting a nickel Ty hits him.”
“That’s a sucker bet. A nickel? Really?”
Mazy shrugged. “We’re a frugal bunch.”
Phebe chuckled. “Do we even have nickels?”
“I’m sure somewhere on the boat there’s loose change. Maybe it the couch cushions.”
“Just think, money is worthless.”
It was always a startling thing to remember.
“Can’t eat it,” Mazy replied.
A small parking lot opened to their left. Palm trees guarded a wrought-iron fence. Phebe checked behind and under shrubs. Nothing. No one.
“This place was filled with tourists when we were here,” she said. “It’s eerie.”
“The shrubs are already getting overgrown and messy,” said Mullen.
“Shut up, Tyler,” ordered Mazy.
“I didn’t say nothing.”
“We all know you were about to. Just let him enjoy his tour, for Christ’s sake.”
“Fine,” Tyler said with a full-blown teenage attitude. “I’ll never speak again or have any opinions.”
“Shut up, Mullen.”
Mullen sniggered. “Are you psychic now, Maze?”
“Y’all getting on my last nerve.”
The next buildings were redbrick.
Mullen said, “I think this is called federalist style. The architecture. See how it’s different from the others.”
No one cared.
Big live oaks arched over the road.
“Do you have something in mind, Miss Phebe?” Mazy asked.
“There’s a house. We really liked it, but everyone does. My brother looked up its real estate listings.”
“Are we in the market of purchasing?”
“It sold for seventeen million dollars a little while ago.”
“Oh, pocket change. Will they take a personal check?”
To their left, a long one-story building of brick painted in faded white. A park was behind it and a marina neighboring it.
“This is where I peed,” Phebe said.
“Are there bathrooms or did you pop a squat?” asked Tyler.
“There are bathrooms. See the signs?”
Mazy pointed. “Is that the water down there?”
“It is. Fort Sumter is just over there at the mouth of the bay.”
They passed three-story antebellum houses, refurbished and painted neatly. But the houses looked strange to the eyes of those coming from other historic cities. The widths of the houses were townhouse-sized. But these were free-standing houses, not sharing internal walls with neighbors.
Catching a glimpse of the side of the houses, it was a surprise. Big antebellum plantation-looking houses, pillars included but turned sideways. The side of the house was on the street. The front of the house faced the garden.
“This is so weird,” Mullen muttered.
They came upon an especially stately house.
“Whoa,” expressed Mullen. “Check this place out, dude.”
“I got eyes,” snapped Tyler. “It’s a wall.”
“No. Look beyond the wall.”
“I can’t see beyond the wall, asshole.”
Mullen skipped the inevitable insult to step up to a grand double door front.
“Are you not seeing the house to the right of the wall?” asked Brandon.
“I don’t care, dude. When are we gonna eat? It’s just a dumb house.”
“A dumb house with a lot of potential for us,” said Mazy. “Pell, check that alley there to the north side.”
“Affirm, ma’am.”
Brandon ran past Mullen, who read the historic listing sign by the front door. To the door’s right was a row of three large windows, shuttered. The bottom sills nearly six feet up. He slipped past a small tree planted right at the mouth of the alley and moved in, riffle raised.
Mazy and Phebe looked up at the wall. It had solid square columns or banded piers. In between, white balustrades that looked more like fancy staircase balusters. Phebe reached up to the top of the stucco wall.
“Six feet at least,” she said. “Then they’d have to climb those ornate posts.”
The balustrades topped the stucco façade wall made the enclosure eight feet tall.
Mazy kicked the wall. “Seems solid. But what about this gate?” She moved over to a lacy wrought-iron double gate, as tall as the top of the balustrades and columns. “Whoa. Check that out.”
“That’s why I call it the Star Gate House.”
An upright pentagram stood at the center of each gate panel.
“Which is also like the sci-fi show.” Phebe smiled.
Mazy grabbed the wrought-iron bars and shook the gate. “Not the strongest. Guess that’s why all that junk is piled up against it.” She reached through the bars to see how much of it she dislodge. “Nope. Not working this way.” She yelled to the guys. “Check the door.”
“It’s locked,” Mullen yelled back.
Brandon reappeared. “The north side is clear. All brick wall. No windows to the main house. But looks like a lot of attachment buildings towards the west. They will hold but not as well as a brick wall would.”
“We can seal up the alley and avoid that problem altogether,” said Mazy. “We need to get someone inside to let us in.”
Brandon looked up at the second and third-floor windows. “What if someone’s home?”
“Mullen, knock, would ya.”
Mullen used a brass knocker against the solid oak double door. They waited. “No one home. Or they’re really slow at answering like my grandma was.”
“Ty,” said Brandon. “I’ll give you a hoist up, huh?”
The kid sighed. “Affirm.” Blood sugar dropping per second on his attitude-ridden face. “Ya know, y’all, I’m a growing person.”
“Just get inside, kid.” Brandon squatted down and cupped his fingers together.
Tyler readjusted his beloved riffle and placed his raggedy sneaker in Brandon’s hands. An easy hoist up. The kid climbed the railing and dropped down the other side. They waited.
“Hey. It’s totally different on this side.”
“Just open the door or the gate,” Mazy ordered.
“Working on it. Somebody thought they could put stupid stuff in front of the door and that would do something.”
Sounds of things scraping wood. Then the locks.
“Come on in, y’all.” Tyler beamed with pride.
“Got ourselves a monkey boy,” said Brandon.
They filed in.
“Most important member of the group,” the kid said. “Look at this. Deck furniture’s gonna keep out zoms.” He kicked a chair.
“Whoa.” Mullen’s eyes widened. “It’s not the house behind the door.”
“It’s called a piazza,” said Phebe.
“A what? Who?”
“This balcony. It is called a piazza. I can remember it because it’s like pizza.”
“Don’t you say pizza, girlfriend,” Mazy said. “I’d cold-blooded murder a person for some pizza right about now.”
“I feel that way most days in the Carolinas. They can’t make pizza right.”
“New York-style pizza. Mmm. That’s what I’m saying. Cold-blooded murder a family of four for a slice.” Mazy looked at Brandon. “Not literally, Mister Sensitive.”
“I’m sensitive now?’
“You are something, brother.”
Mullen had cupped his hands around his eyes to see into a window. “I can’t see anything.”
“That’s because the shutters are closed on the inside, Einstein,” said Phebe.
The windows were enormous six-over-six sashes. They went from floor-to-ceiling. Easy to use as doorways themselves.
There was a real door to the house. Not as grand as the one on the street. Mullen knocked on it.
“Anyon
e home? We come in peace.”
“Are we on Mars now?” asked Brandon. “This sure is a nice piece of property.”
Phebe said, “Triple-tiered piazzas with graduating orders of Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns. I think that’s what it is. Or Ionic, Doric –”
“No one cares, cher.”
“Oh.”
“It sure is pretty, whatever those balconies are called.”
“Hipped roof. Or something like that. It’s tin, I think.”
A double-plot property with a yard. A formal garden shaded by trees. Palm trees grew to the height of the red roof. In between more robust, shorter trees. It was well planned. Professionally designed.
Behind the wrought-iron gate, where someone had piled up anything they could find, was a tree-shaded laneway. Originally, the horse-and-buggy would come in along the cobblestone driveway, then bank to the right into the stables towards the back of the property. The stables were still there, obvious by their tall, rounded archways. But bricked over now. All the outbuildings were attached, making a super long single building behind the grand house.
Mullen kept trying the doorknob and pushing. “This is locked solid. Should we shoot it?”
“Break one of these windows,” said Tyler.
“Halt,” bellowed Mazy. “Both of you dumbasses. If we’re living here, do we want a busted lock or a broken window?”
“Oh.” They looked at each other.
Brandon stepped to the door. “It has a deadbolt.”
“Anybody bring the lock kit?” Mazy asked.
Head shakes.
“We’re doing good, people. Somebody’s making the run back to the boat then.”
“There’s a marina down here.” Phebe pointed. “Right on this road.”
“I’ll go back then,” said Brandon. “I’ll dock up here.”
“Wait,” said Tyler. “But the guys are supposed to meet us by the cruise ship.”
“They have to pass this dock to get to the cruise ship. I think they’ll notice the Molly. It’ll be okay, little man.”
Tyler sneered at him. “Stop calling me little man. It sounds stupid.”
Brandon smiled at him. “Alright.”
As he ran off to complete his errand, Tyler mumbled, “I don’t like that guy.”
“Tough shit,” said Mullen as he leaned against the door. “You are stuck with him.”
“That’s Emily’s fault.”
Mazy followed Phebe towards the back of the yard.
“It has the original kitchen, restored – stables, and servant quarters.”
“Servant quarters?” asked Mazy. “Or slave quarters?”
“Actually, I don’t know. I think it was built in the eighteen hundreds.”
“This whole section, it doesn’t look eighteen hundred.”
“Definite refurbish. The original kitchen was modernized, but the original parts were kept. I’m hoping that means a wood-burning stove or something.”
“Looks to be attached to the main house there.”
Phebe continued, “Lots of outhouses.”
“It has an outhouse?” Mullen yelled over. “As in an outdoor bathroom?”
“No. I mean, it has outbuildings. The wrong word. Old man memory went into the wrong file under O.”
“Nuh,” said Mazy. “Bet we could really use an outhouse. Doubting there’s water still running.”
“Oh, great,” said Mullen. “No running water.”
“No electricity.”
“Oh, God!”
Mazy chuckled. “Mullen’s in for a reality check.”
“I’m gonna live on the Molly then.”
“No, you are not, buttercup.” She turned her attention back to Phebe and looked at the long building behind the house. “Why are the houses turned sideways?”
“Town zoning back in the day. Each plot was narrow and long. But the planters wanted grand houses like they had at their plantations.”
“Ah. I get it. The only way for them to get that was to turn the house sideways.”
“That’s why they have the faux grand doors at the street leading to the piazza.”
“Strange. But this is some gorgeous house.”
Phebe tried the doorknob to the kitchen at the back of the house. Kitchens were not originally attached to houses due to the fire risk.
Mazy explored the servants' quarters. Two-story, long, brick building with a red tin roof. Modern-looking windows ran along the second floor. Each window flanked by decorative black shutters that were utilitarian useless. The first thing to pull down for firewood, she noted. The building appeared more reminiscent of rental townhouses in suburbia. Except for arches indicating the first floor had been the carriage house and stables.
“This isn’t what I think of for servants, possibly slave, quarters, ya know?” she said.
“Yeah. I don’t think they kept it original.”
“Definitely not. Shame. I like the old looks. This is too modern for my taste.”
“I’m not going to ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t mean you like the look of slave quarters, right?”
Mazy laughed. “Most folks rent shittier places than urban refurbished slave quarters. There’s whole hotels that rent out slave rooms and nobody thinks otherwise.”
“Guess I’ve only seen the slave cabins from museum plantations outside of here.”
“Those are rural. Folks would notice they’re in slave cabins.”
“Never underestimate the stupidity of others.”
“My God, is that not the truth.” Mazy shook her head. “Uh-huh.”
They walked through a patio area with a trellis roof.
“A gas grill,” said Phebe. “That’ll be helpful.”
“Man, this place was wealthy.”
“Sold for seventeen mil.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother’s in real estate. Sells multimillion-dollar houses in the Miami area. South Beach. He looked this place up.”
“Is that how you knew about all these outbuildings?”
“Yup. He was obsessed at the hotel over this place. But it hadn’t come up on the market yet, back then. I don’t know why they sold – the people who repaired this place. It was a shambles when they bought it for a song. A lot of love went into rebuilding it.” She looked up at the house’s upper floors. “A lot of love.”
“Is that a greenhouse?” Mazy ducked her head down to see under tree branches. “I think it is.”
“A little one.”
“What’s the chances they grew some vegetables?” Mazy hurried to go see.
“Probably bad.”
Phebe caught up with Mazy at the greenhouse’s doorway. Everything inside was dead.
“Figures,” said Mazy.
“Shame.” Phebe stepped in and lifted a brown vine. “This looks like tomatoes.”
“My question is how long can we live off of food from the Before?”
“Hopefully a while, until we figure out how to grow our own.”
“Fingers crossed and God willing.”
Back outside, Mazy looked around. Hands on hips. Head shaking. “Hate the silence. Ya know?”
“Never thought it would be a bad thing, back then.”
“I know, right?”
The faux door to the piazza opened.
“It’s me,” Ben called out so he wouldn’t alarm them and get shot.
They crossed the yard to meet him.
“The Mol’s docked at the marina.” He pointed at the door to indicate the marina nearby. “No problems.”
“Good,” said Mazy. “Brought your kit?”
“Yeah.” His gaze was on the house. “Are we gonna stay in this place?”
“If it checks out.”
“Wow. We keep moving up in the world.” He smiled at her.
She was tempted to smile back but resisted. “Did you see where they were living?” She gestured her head to Phebe. “On the island?”
“Yeah. Nice mansion.”
“Doubt this one has electricity. Or running water.”
“Yeah. But the upside, it’s originally built for that, yeah?”
“It is really old,” said Mazy.
It didn’t take him long to pick the deadbolt and doorknob lock. He stood and turned the knob. The hinges creaked as it opened.
“Hello?” Mazy called as she crossed the threshold. “We mean you no harm.”
They listened. The ticking of an analog clock answered.
“Guess no one home.” Ben raised his riffle. “Let’s go in. Boys, you get the six.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” Mullen said, thinking he was funny.
They entered the house in their usual military assault manner, stacked up behind each other. Flashlights on. Rays of sunlight emitted through cracks in the window shutters. A fancy foyer came first. They spread out to control the terrain. Mazy hand-signaled Phebe to the right.
Despite the house was only one room deep, it was huge. They found a dining room with a crystal chandelier. A front room where the grandfather clock ticked away but was stuck at three-twenty-two. An elliptical staircase that swirled upwards to the other floors.
Towards the back, the kitchen. Its original features were mixed with modern conveniences.
“Look at that oven,” Mazy said.
It was an original beehive oven, predating electricity.
“That will come in handy,” Ben responded.
“Damn right, Running Elk.”
“You know how to cook in it?”
They moved into the connective hall to the servants' quarters and carriage house.
“Do I strike you as a girl who knows how to cook in a wood-burning oven from the eighteenth century?”
“Not in the slightest.”
She chuckled. “Then you got me right. Let’s backtrack and go upstairs.”
The house was antique decorated and immaculately clean, except for dust floating around. Ben led the way up the stairs. Mazy seconded Ben’s gun, aiming upwards. Phebe behind her. Tyler and Mullen were left downstairs.
On the second floor, every door was closed, making life less convenient.
“L-T?” Ben asked.
“Start at the left and work right.”
Each bedroom door had to be opened. They proceeded in to check. The new owner was in the process of furnishing from what they found. New mattresses still in their clear wrappers standing against each other as they leaned against walls.
