by MJ Ware
*
No one was ever here when I got home. Still, the house felt strange. As if it hadn't been lived in for years. It was the biggest house for blocks. Fake log siding and precisely placed boulders. Even I could tell it looked too perfect to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood.
"Umm, Nate, did you see this?" Misty sat on the arm of one of the crushed velvet chairs in the living room. Shoe prints on the white carpet traced her path.
"Hey, get out of there. You know better than that."
"Your mom must be so worried." She walked over and handed me a copy of the Indian Springs Tribune.
Misty was probably as close to my mom as I was. When we were about six, Misty's mom died. After that, my mom kinda took over as a surrogate. Our families always hung out, anyway, barbecues, camping, stuff like that. So, Mom and Misty always spent (too much, if you ask me) time together.
Right on the paper's front page, in bold with large black type: Two Local Teens Missing, Presumed Lost in Woods.
"It says they were organizing search parties to look for us along the trails behind my house," Misty said.
The article went on to talk about how upset our parents were. It even quoted my dad: "I'm praying for the safe return of my son. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I cried all night." Crying? My dad? He barely even laughs.
For a second, I thought I might cry. "How could we have done this to our parents? What were we thinking?"
"What if we never see them again? I've thought the same thing," Misty said.
I held in the tears, but was blinking like I was making googly eyes at her. Misty's eyes didn't look dry, either. She ripped the paper out of my hands. "Come on. Let's get going. Grab some clothes. I'll get the gun."
I dumped most of the camping stuff out of my backpack and almost stopped to look in the bathroom mirror. I was sure my hair looked rattier than ever, but with no one around, I didn't care.
I grabbed a pair of shoes and finally took a look at my leg. My sock had protected me from the worst of it. It was red with deep teeth marks and a bit of the skin was even broken. I didn't want to think about what it might mean, so I quickly loaded some t-shirts, jeans, lots of socks, and...Oh no, underwear. "Why can't Mom stay home and do laundry like a normal mother?"
"Do you ever actually listen to the stuff that comes out of your mouth?" Misty walked into my room. "Got some bad news. No gun. Your dad musta took it when they left."
I wasn't paying much attention. Sure, the gun was important, but not as important as clean underwear. If you doubt my priorities, try wearing the same pair for more than a couple days.
I frantically dug through my closet where I had a pile of old clothes I'd worn-out or outgrown.
"What are you doing? You feeling okay? Is it the zombie snot?"
"All my underwear are in the hamper, dirty. I can't find a single clean pair."
"There'll be hundreds of pairs at Walmart. You can change 'em every hour if you want. Just don't ask me to do your laundry." She picked up a dirty shirt off the floor and threw it at me. "Get a bandage for that arm and let's go."
