by Wade Ebeling
“Thank you, Baby. It wasn’t quite as hot as I like, but it still felt pretty amazing!” Corinne said, reaching over Rebecca to rub his shoulder. “I put the rest of the spaghetti, which was great by the way, in a bowl, and put it in the hole…You can totally tell that the water will get even warmer. Ya know? Maybe if it gets to sit in the sun for a couple days. I hope so,” she said wistfully, withdrawing her hand. “The clothes seemed pretty clean, too. That’s what took us so long, I did mine and Rebecca’s. But I couldn’t twist them enough to get most of the water out. Is there any way you could make me something to help squeeze or wring them out? Of course, it didn’t help having this one hogging the whole tub,” Corinne said with a partial grin.
“I’ll try to think up something for you tomorrow,” Daniel said, smiling his promise to her.
“That was super fun! Can I take another bath tomorrow?” Rebecca asked, scooting up further on her pillow to get eye to eye with her father.
“As long as it starts raining again soon. The barometer says that the pressure is falling and the humidity is rising. So, it might rain tomorrow or the next day. If it does, you and Mommy can take one almost every day,” he beamed, trying to prolong their admiration of his cleverness. “Tell you what, we’ll give her a little break and, soon, you can take a bath with me. That sound like a deal?”
After one of the better days had in a long while, despite all the added stresses, the Moore family snuggled together atop the mattress, which was now lying on the cool floor of the dark basement. Within minutes, every member had fallen into a deep and contented sleep.
Chapter 6
Tuesday
Good to his word, George had kept either Jimmy or Chase watching over the man’s house. The boy’s view of the house was through the obscuring properties of the second-story window’s dirty glass. They sat ten feet away from the window and off to the right hand side. Only the thinnest of glimpses could be seen of an old burnt house out of the window to the left. The remnants of the house were like an open sore just beginning its healing process, leveling ever closer to the world’s plane mark with each new garbage bag or tree limb that got tossed in.
The three boys would never dare to wipe a viewing port into the greasy glass, things like that would eventually be noticed. The brother’s backs were aching from all the time that they were spending sitting atop the sharp backs of the metal chairs, using the uncomfortable perches to have the right downward viewing angle. It hurt sitting atop the chair for hours on end, even with two balled up shirts underneath.
Jimmy caught himself drifting away, thoughts leading him far away from where he was. Arousing only found that he was staring out of the same damn window again.
On the first day of forced voyeurism, the man could be seen systematically boarding up his windows. Every window that could be seen on the house was secured, the only exception being the large glass sliding door in back, which the man kept using to go in and out of. It was like the man knew they planned on trying to break in. At one point George had pretty much given up altogether on breaking into the house. The man had not left the area and he seemed to be preparing for an impending assault. But as they watched the second day saw the man’s behavior go from slightly weird in the morning to just plain strange before nightfall.
George made sure that Jimmy got up early each morning. He needed to be certain that the man did not leave without them knowing about it. After a couple of boring, yawn-laced hours, the man came outside in late morning to gather more lumber from the side of the house. Jimmy thought the wood would go to sealing up the big glass door, but that never happened. The man took a piece of plywood and a few scraps of 2x4 around to the front before heading over to the house next door. This put Jimmy into a panic. The house, where the boys had set up their silent vigil inside no longer felt safe at all.
What if he is checking all of the houses? Was that some kind of battle belt he was wearing? If he goes in a circle, are we going to be next? Or, will we be last in line?
It was quite the relief to see the man reappear carrying a large pane of glass. Jimmy calmed back down, again confident that their hide-a-way was not going to be invaded. The tree swaying to and fro in the steady breeze kept Jimmy from noticing the man up on the roof earlier than he did. Only when the man walked up to the peak, and from behind the tree in Jimmy’s sightline, did he finally see him. The man turned slowly, stopping when he seemed to be staring right at the second story window that Jimmy sat behind. Sitting on the chair’s back put Jimmy eye level with the man and, he thought, in plain view. But the man turned away before Jimmy yelled out to warn his brother to run. The blue sunglasses the man wore must have hid what his eyes were truly focusing on. Jimmy slid down to sit on the chair correctly, his backside approving of the move, and settled in to watch the man build a glass cabinet on the roof that had a water barrel inside of it. The man worked hard and fast, leaving the roof after filling the barrel with buckets of water.
It was around lunch time, and Jimmy was thinking of going down to the basement to see if George and Chase were awake yet. Despite the hunger pangs, he did not leave his post. After hearing a loud splashing sound, Jimmy stood up very slowly. Much to his chagrin, Jimmy was staring at the man again, who was now naked and carrying buckets of water along the side of his house. Jimmy was in complete disbelief as he watched the man fill the buckets from a rain barrel, pausing every now and then to tilt his head up towards the sun.
The man looked absolutely crazed. Who else but a fool smiles at the sun while walking around naked? This guy had to be off his rocker.
Chase was on watch around the time the man was working on something in the corner of his yard, which was blocked from view by the leaning, moss-covered fence. Chase said that after the man worked a while in the corner, he dug a hole in the yard of the burnt house, threw some small bags into it and covered the cavity back over with some clumps of grass. Around this same time, George and Jimmy were in the basement, discussing the man’s sanity while fretting over their own food situation.
The trio only had one can of stewed tomato and one can of green beans left between them. Both cans were well past their freshness dates and looked more than questionable. In fact, the contents of the smaller can was only discerned by the ‘G.B.’ written on it in faded indelible marker. Once opened, the tomato’s seemed fine, and even though the green beans had a strong metallic tinge to them, they had none of the tell-tale odors of rot.
George ate half of each can and sent Jimmy upstairs to share the remainder with Chase. Jimmy ate one of the last four remaining tomatoes and one large bite of green beans on the way up to see his brother. Chase was given the last of the food as ‘his share’. While Chase wrinkled his nose and tried to eat, Jimmy watched as the man came out and threw a baggie into the hole left by the burnt house.
Jimmy and Chase sat together for several hours without seeing the man again, and without discussing the fact that they were out of food. As the sun began to set, George came up demanding to speak alone with Jimmy. Chase was left to continue the watch without George even acknowledging the amount of time that the younger brother had already spent in the sparse room. Jimmy and George sat in the dim basement for a couple of hours debating over what the group should do next. All of the homes in the area were stripped clean; and not just of the food. The past ten homes had yielded absolutely nothing useful. They were officially out of food and prospects.
George made his case for taking over the man’s house very clear. It appeared that desperation and hunger had given him all the skill of a trained orator. In truth, the prospect of Chase’s starvation was really the only point that need be made. Jimmy could not dispute any of George’s seemingly air-tight argument. Nonetheless, the idea of attacking the man was flat appalling to him. The escalation of punishment from looting to murder weighed in heavily on the equation, too.
Looters were generally stripped of all their belongings before being severely beaten and sent away from the area as a limping
warning sign for others to see. Murderers, however became a community event if they were caught red-handed. The indicted killers were not executed outright, or even by the townsfolk themselves. Instead, they were marched along in the center of a large jovial procession, which ended at the border with Detroit. This is where the already harassed killers were carried through the barricades and had their major arm and leg tendons slit to prevent their escape. In a wriggling pile of helplessness, they were left awaiting a fate that was far worse than the prospect of a slow, eventual death. The rats always found them first.
The townspeople who hung around always knew that the captured and sliced-up killers had survived just long enough because of the piercing screams. Being eaten alive always resulted in macabre howls, which never tapered in intensity once they had been imprinted upon one’s psyche. These bone-chilling death throes were exactly what the Council was going for. Those screams were what kept the people of New Warren in line. Witnessing them for the first time, just this past year, gave Jimmy pause the entire time that George kept openly talking about committing homicide.
George, feeling that he had won the quarrel, then tried converting Jimmy to the idea of mounting an assault on the crazy guy’s house. George kept alternating between saying how easy it was going to be and how they probably wouldn’t have to kill the man anyway. Jimmy could not withstand the constant barrage for very long and, eventually, gave in wholly. Before Jimmy realized what had happened, George, satisfied with his thorough mental working over of one brother, went upstairs to get the other. He wanted to see if the man had been spotted again, or if anyone else had been seen around the house.
Jimmy now sat nervous and alone. The one candle lighting the basement with wicked, guttering shadows did not help. The idea of Chase and George together, without him being able to supervise the interaction, helped even less. Fast enough to keep the worst of the possibilities from forming, Chase came feeling his way down the dark, creaky steps. He picked up a folding metal chair and set himself quietly down beside his brother. The faint beam of George’s shake-flashlight preceded his descent. The flashlight hardly worked anymore, despite, or perhaps because of, George’s constant sophomoric gesturing with it.
“That dumb-ass tell you what he saw? Said the guy was running around naked outside again,” George guffawed.
“Really, Chase? What did you see him doing?” Jimmy asked his despondent-looking younger brother.
“He came out and dumped more water…or, whatever…out again,” Chase answered dimly. The three youths had had plenty of time to think up ghoulish scenarios to explain the constant dumping of water by a nude lunatic.
“Was he really still naked?” Jimmy wondered aloud. The idea that this guy really was crazy had fully taken root. This made the man different and therefore, lesser. Offensive action was easily more palatable against a freak than it was against an equal.
“Not the first time…He came out twice. Uh…The first time he had clothes on. The second time he was…well…” Chase said, obviously annoyed about having to retell the story. “I don’t want to talk about him. The dude scares me…I mean…”
“Whatever, man. We know for sure now. He has to be in there by himself. Nobody would be acting that weird if other people lived in there,” George announced boldly, starting to pace the basement.
“What are we gonna do?” Chase asked Jimmy, with a hushed tone and pleading eyes, which were in search of an answer that would put him back at ease.
George answered for Jimmy, ruining any hope that Chase had left. “I’ll tell you what we are going to do…” He pulled the small revolver from his waistband to end all doubts about what he meant.
“Maybe we could just ask him for some food?” Jimmy begged, reaching for anything that might change George’s mind.
“Hell, even if he did give us some food then what? Go ask him again the next day?” George growled. “No…Then he would just know we are around. We take this dude tonight…We’ll bust that big ass glass door of his with a tree branch or something. When he stumbles out to see what has happened, we will all bum rush his ass.” George smiled cleverly and continued, “We will go over there in a couple hours. Let him fall asleep first. Won’t even know what hit him.”
George tried to exude confidence as he said this, but failed. Still, neither Jimmy or Chase said a word in reply, as neither brother could think of a viable option that would put a stop to what was about to happen. All they could manage was disinterested nods of agreement to George’s grand postulating about what kind of foods they were bound to find after the deed was done.
……..
Wednesday
Allen Moore was long dead, and Daniel’s sleep was rarely invaded by the caustic memories of his father anymore. He was dreaming of him now though. It seeped out from some dark, mental crevasse, thought to be long forgotten. The theme of the visage was guilt. A deep-rooted shame felt over the last few days that father and son had spent together. Daniel and Allen had devoted years to becoming journeymen of how to talk without communicating. Then, in the last few days they would have together, just before Allen was killed Daniel suddenly became interesting to his father.
Allen spent those last days with his son trying to rectify all the years of neglect. First, he helped Daniel sift through and reorganize the items Daniel had acquired, which were spread all around the garage and house. After that, Allen led Daniel into the bedroom downstairs that held all of his own hard-earned plunder; the same room that Daniel had just broken into. Allen showed and itemized everything in the room for Daniel without reproach.
The next day, Allen let Daniel drive his truck around the subdivision, laughing and coaching the entire way. The drive ended at an old branch of the library system several blocks from the house. Allen taught Daniel how to breach the rear door by using a long pry bar, heavy wooden shims and a hydraulic jack that he carried around in the bed of the truck.
Daniel made sure that he was as unaccommodating as possible to his father on those last days. He had no way of knowing that there would not be another chance to gain his redemption.
In his dream, realization washed over Daniel. Allen Moore knew he was going to die.
Daniel was back standing in the dark library, acting like he was alone even though he was with his father. Holding a hard-covered red book in his hand, Allen was telling him to make sure that he read it someday. Allen then set the book high up on the top of one of the book shelves so that Daniel would remember where it was amongst the sea of look-alikes.
Terror still had a hold over Daniel when he realized that he was now, in fact awake. A hand was painfully griping onto his left shoulder. Daniel reflexively brushed the hand away with his right arm, startled to find that it was Corinne’s. He rolled onto his left elbow to look at his wife. Corinne was trying to whisper something to him, as she made a grab for his right shoulder this time.
“What?!” Daniel sleepily cried out, while blocking her hand at the same time.
Corinne cringed at his volume. “Shhh! someone broke a window…upstairs!” her low tone and finger up to her lips demanded attention, immediately and quietly.
Rebecca awoke with a shutter, immediately trying to crawl inside her mother’s torso to find safety. Daniel was glad that he could not see the fear in Rebecca’s eyes, of which Corinne had spread to her like a disease. Feeling the first symptoms himself Daniel bolted out of the bed. He then just stood dumbly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Allowing for enough time to recognize his own basement, reflex took over.
Daniel had to crouch down to raise the edge of the bed from the cold, multi-brown tones of the Berber carpet. Found quickly, the cold feel of the compact pistol gripped tightly in his warm right hand helped to steady his nerves. Sitting next to the bed was a pile of items that had come off of his belt and from his cargo pockets.
His fingers brushed across the multi-tool. No, not that. His thumb caught the hilt of the sheathed combat knife. No, not that, either. Finally, his pin
ky found what he was looking for, and he grasped the small flashlight tightly in his left hand.
The single large candle, which sputtered its barely adequate light upon the walls gave an effect reminiscent of being under water. It revealed just enough of the floor ahead of him to avoid stepping on Rebecca’s landmine challenge of plastic building blocks. Straining his ears and eyes, Daniel headed up the stairs into the unknown, cringing at every tread that squeaked, wearing nothing but boxers on his body and concern on his face.
Daniel slowly crossed the kitchen floor, pounding heart straining against the confines of his chest cavity. The heavy drapes that covered the door wall and dehydrator assembly suddenly billowed inward. Daniel dropped to his right knee, simultaneously raising the pistol up and clicking the flashlight on to aim at the movement. His mind envisioned a monster pushing its way inside the house, but the aqua colored drapes mocked him by cresting their movement and settling back into place.
‘Why is the door open?’ Daniel’s stunned brain wondered.
The flashlight then caught something out of place in the center of the living room. There surrounded by a dazzling sea of broken glass, was half of a cinder block. Daniel immediately recognized it by the black overspray as the same block that he used to prop up the solar oven. He struggled to place together a scenario that would result in this heavy block moving thirty feet across the trampled lawn, only to then hurl itself though the sliding glass door.
Daniel turned off the flashlight, trying to listen to what lay beyond the encompassing noise of his beating heart. The wind sounded like the worst kind of noises in his ears, all howls and whispers. But that disturbing wind also brought the gift of unwashed flesh to his nostrils.
‘Someone is out there!’ his mind screamed, trying to force the body into action.
For some reason his brain did not offer up any suggestions to back its desire for movement. Daniel just remained motionless, kneeling on the hard linoleum, staring in mute rapture at the slowly waving draperies.
