by C.L. Bevill
* * *
Two more days later, I was sitting on an A-frame swing in the backyard of the house we’d set up in. It was a large ranch house with black shutters and white trim. Someone had put a lot of effort into keeping the yard trim. Neatly trimmed rose bushes ringed the house. The back porch had two barrels of orange chrysanthemums guarding the door. Since they weren’t getting any direct rain, they were wilting. The grass was starting to be a little overgrown, vainly waiting for someone to fire up the riding lawn mower and take care of business.
Kara had gleefully discovered a vegetable garden beyond the barn to the south. She was picking fresh items to make something she couldn’t decide on yet. Zach had watched me carefully negotiate my way outside to the swing with my notebook and a bottle of water, and then disappeared in the other direction.
I had decided to make a list of things I missed. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the high tech items that made me nostalgic, but simple things like ice cubes and hot water from the tap. I filled up one page and started on the next one before I stopped in amicable disgust. My fingers dropped to my lap, and I sat there gently pushing myself back and forth with one foot.
My general physical improvement had been nothing short of miraculous. The scratches on my back were red marks that didn’t even look that bad in the mirror. The bruises on my chest had faded overnight. The shoulder wound was closed up. Kara had removed the stitches before the skin could grow over them. I felt better, better than I had in days. I thought I was ready to get on a bike. Or at the very worst, be stuffed in the bicycle trailer again.
Zach didn’t agree. Naturally. Kara was Switzerland, the weenie.
I bent over slightly and looked at the green grass. It was easier to think about the people who had once lived here. Her name had been Gigi. His name had been Eddy. They had two grown daughters and three grandchildren. The photographs had been pretty revealing. They had loved their lives here. I hadn’t looked beyond the pictures that had been lovingly set up in the living room. Their names had been engraved on a wood plaque that was mounted above the front door. If their empty clothing had been strewn in the positions where they last lay or stood, Zach and Kara hadn’t volunteered the information.
It was my thought that Gigi was the gardener. She had loved her flowers, and she had loved being out in the sunshine. Had they been bad people? I wouldn’t have thought so. They kept their house clean, and they liked to entertain people as evidenced by the pictures of parties in their backyard. But I hadn’t known them, so I couldn’t even guess what their true personalities were like.
What was bothering me was, why was I sitting on their yard swing and they weren’t? Why was the man with the dirty blonde hair and searing blue eyes still alive and able to kill someone else? Why were only certain people still here, still alive? Why those people? Why me? I didn’t think I was particularly deserving of this fate. Or perhaps it wasn’t intended as a favorable action.
“What are you thinking?” the deep voice asked.
I would have liked to say that I didn’t jump, but he had startled me. “I was thinking about Gigi and Eddy.”
Zach came around the front of the swing. He’d approached from the rear, and I hadn’t heard him. Dressed in his characteristic manner, he wore some loose blue jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Apparently, Eddy had been a much heftier man than Zach. He crossed his arms over his chest in his typical fashion and stared at me with those chocolate brown eyes. It was difficult to read his dark expression. “Gigi and Eddy?” he repeated calmly.
“They lived here…before.”
Glancing at the ranch house, Zach started in surprise. “Oh,” he said at last. “We’re here using their house, their things, even their clothing. I guess it would be hard not to think of them a little.”
“You didn’t look at their portraits in the living room,” I said, thinking it was a fact.
“I looked,” he said plainly. “I can’t do anything about them. Not now. And I didn’t know them. But I’m grateful that they kept their house well stocked.”
I sighed. “There’s that.”
“Are you all right?” Zach asked after a long moment. “You seem sad.”
I met his eyes. “Yes, I’m sad. I wish I knew why things are the way they are. I wish I had answers to the unanswerable.”
“And if you had the answers, would it make you feel better?” he said quietly.
That stopped me. I had to think about it. If I had answers would I feel better? No, I wouldn’t feel better. It was possible I might feel worse. What if the answers to my questions were the worst possible answers that I could have? “Can we go tomorrow?” I asked instead of answering his question. It was obstinate of me, but I thought he didn’t need to know the answer. “I can ride in the trailer, but I think I should pedal a little ways, just to try to start building my strength back up.”
Zach nodded shortly. “Two days of riding in the trailer. Kara and I have been talking about it. We’ll see how you’re doing before letting you get on a bike. When we get to the next big town, we’ll find a better trailer for you or maybe a bike.”
“Great,” I muttered. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you’ve got to know how hard it is to sit here and do nothing.”
Zach unexpectedly grinned. It was absolutely shocking to see the wealth of white teeth in his tanned face. He had a pretty face when he was grim. But when he smiled, it was like the sun came out from behind a large dark thunderhead. I stared unashamedly. “You’ve been better than I expected. I thought you’d be beating me with a stick yesterday.”
“You mean we could have gone yesterday,” I asked slowly.
He grinned again with a nod and went toward the house with a little whistle.
Before I went inside, I watered the mums while Zach watched. When I was done, I looked at him and said, “Somebody else might get to see them before they die.”
Zach didn’t reply. He looked levelly at me and then at the flowers as if he didn’t quite get my reasoning.
Well, I didn’t understand him either. Zach didn’t like to talk about before. He didn’t talk about his life. He didn’t talk about what had happened to him after the change and before he met up with Kara. He didn’t talk about his family. When the subject was broached, he deftly changed it. Sometimes he did that so well that I suspected he was a psychologist before. That, or a defense attorney. A really young one.
Zach had secrets. We all had secrets, but he had big honking giant ones. He wasn’t a serial killer, or he was saving Kara and I for a rainy day. But seriously, I didn’t think he was dangerous. Or at least I didn’t think he was dangerous to Kara or to me. Sometimes the subject of the man who had attacked me came up, and I could see the blistering rage behind Zach’s eyes. However, he could be remarkably gentle to me and to Kara.
I began to suspect that half of the reason he’d insisted on staying at the house was for Kara’s benefit. Her rebuilt knees were giving her problems that she didn’t want to discuss. She took anti-inflammatory pills and did several kinds of physical therapy designed to build the strength back up in her knees. Nonetheless, Kara had enough pride that she didn’t want to admit that her knees needed the break. Consequently, I was the reason we had to stay. I didn’t completely mind being a convenient excuse. It gave me a little something to do.
That evening I sat outside on the swing again while Kara cooked on the small fire contained in Gigi and Eddy’s elaborate barbeque pit. It smelled good. There were grilled onions and pan-fried potatoes. She’d cooked fresh carrots and wrapped olive oil-drenched peppers in foil to bake in the pit. She put everything onto plates and took it inside for us. Then she came back out to clean up after herself.
My mouth was watering as I anticipated eating the fresh vegetables.
Then there was a whirl of vibrating light. The little firefly pixies returned in an avid swarm. They didn’t seem agitated or annoyed this time. Rather, they seemed to be curiously intent on me. Kara straightened up from beside the fire
pit as she realized they had returned. Zach came outside almost immediately. He stood on the back porch and watched the little things circling me enthusiastically.
One buzzed my face and then buzzed it again. It landed on my notebook and stared up at me. It made a little noise that sounded both inquisitive and interested. I didn’t understand, but I thought that perhaps it was asking me if I felt all right.
“I’m okay now,” I said softly.
The firefly pixie twittered. Its wings beat intensely. It walked up and down my notebook as if lecturing me to be more careful in the future. “Thank you,” I said to it. “I know you did something. Something I don’t understand. But you saved my life. I think that you gave me something I desperately needed.”
The little thing cheeped again. Its tiny, beautiful head tilted to one side and then to the other. It launched itself into the air and circled my head, finally hovering in front of me. Its body was glowing brilliantly.
I turned the page to the drawing I had done of the creature and showed it to them. That really got their attention. They took turns examining my work, all making a sound that sounded suspiciously like chortling. When I looked up, Zach and Kara were standing nearby, lost in a cloud of their own admirers.
I knew the little things didn’t quite understand me. But I remembered something they had done. They had sung for me. So I cleared my throat and sang to them. I was an alto, and I wasn’t a bad singer, but I couldn’t remember any songs but one. I sang Silent Night to them. They immediately surrounded me in a frenzy of rapt concentration. Many landed on me or on the swing in their attempt to get closer to the music. When the last refrain faded away and it was obvious I was finished, one bumped me encouragingly. Several others chirped provokingly.
Zach laughed and said, “I think they want an encore, Sophie.”
“I can’t think of another song,” I admitted.
“Sing Silent Night again,” he suggested wryly. “I don’t think they’ll mind.”
But they weren’t happy with just one more song. Dinner was going to have to wait. I ended up singing for an hour with Zach and Kara joining in and suggesting music at times. We did a great many Christmas songs including Deck the Halls, Away in a Manger, Little Drummer Boy, and Here Comes Santa Claus. Jingle Bells was a huge hit.
After a while, they seemed happy enough to let me stop. It was just as well because my voice was starting to go. They gathered into a tight cluster of little glowing lights and flew off to wherever they needed to be.
“I’ll get you something to drink, Sophie,” Kara said solicitously. She went inside to get water for me.
“How did you know to sing to them?” Zach asked strangely.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. Then I turned my head. Something was bothering me, and the hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I couldn’t quite figure it out. But then I smelled it. “Do you smell burning?”
Zach leaped up from the ground where he had ended up sitting. The fire in the pit was almost out and full night had fallen. The wind was blowing out of the north. He looked in that direction and stared for a long time. Then he said to me, “Go inside with Kara. Lock the doors. Load bolts into the crossbows. I’ll knock three times when I come back.”
Kara was silent for the longest time while we waited. Then she said, “You know, it’s strange.”
I sat in a chair in the kitchen and rested my cheek on the palm of my hand. I was tired, but I knew I couldn’t sleep. Not until Zach had come back safe and sound. “What’s that?”
“It smells like cinnamon again,” she said with a great deal of puzzlement. “I remember the day before the change I couldn’t get that smell away from me. I thought Maggie had spilled cinnamon in the kitchen. It just seemed overwhelmingly powerful. All day long. Then the day I found Zach, and again on the day we found you. Then today. It seems strange.”
It seemed strange to me, but I let it go because there was a lot of strangeness to be found. The change, the new animals, everything. Smelling cinnamon at odd times didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
An hour later, Zach returned. Kara broke open another glow stick, and we both looked at his severe appearance. “I climbed to the ridge north of here. I think it’s the town five miles from here. One we pedaled right through that night. It’s on fire. The fire isn’t spreading, and there are several breaks between here and there, so I don’t think we’re in danger from that. But I have to wonder if it’s him.”
“He’s following us,” Kara said forbiddingly.
“Yes,” I said. “He is.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Zach announced coldly. “No debates. I don’t want to be here when he decides that we might be around. No more broken windows or signs that we’ve been here. When we forage for food, we take from the backs of the stacks and don’t spill things. Don’t leave any fresh signs of where we’ve gone. With a little luck he’ll head to the east and we won’t ever see him again.”
I didn’t think he was going to give up that easily, but I didn’t say anything else. I knew we were safe enough for the night, or the firefly pixies would have warned us. I just hoped that my faith in them was justified.
