Sudden Independents i-1

by Ted Hill

“Hey, Billy,” Hunter called once outside, trying hard to keep up with the little kid. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Can’t,” Billy said in a huff. “I’m already late and Patrick will punch my teeth out if I don’t hurry.”

  “Patrick? That’s who I was supposed to meet for breakfast. He was going to give me work for my chips.”

  Billy stopped and turned. Hunter barely missed walking through him. Hands on his hips, Billy stared Hunter up and down like he was measuring him for a coffin. Then he shrugged.

  “You better follow me, then.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the Chicken Shack.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Jimmy

  After Hunter left, Jimmy struggled under the emotional strain that threatened to drag him down. First Scout ran off on a crazy one-man rescue attempt, and now his brother was on his way to meet Patrick the psychopath. Jimmy grabbed the hair under his cap and squeezed.

  Molly stared at him. “Are you okay?”

  Jimmy took a deep breath and left his hair alone. “No. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You should,” she said. “If not with me, than you should with Ginger.” Molly dropped the subject, spun around and walked away.

  Jimmy followed her back inside the new house and grabbed his backpack in the kitchen. He searched for Ginger, assuming she’d be arranging their new bedroom, but found her dusting the living room instead. Jimmy was amazed by the amount of dust buildup after six years. Brown clouds billowed in the air, prompting him to open the front door to give the dust an escape route. A cold breeze whipped in, swirling the tiny particles into a mini tornado. Jimmy knew what they really needed was a vacuum—and some electricity.

  Ginger fanned with a brown couch cushion, trying to get the dust cloud to move. “I didn’t realize how bad this would be when I started,” she said.

  “No turning back now,” Jimmy replied, coughing from the dust rushing into his mouth. He pulled on a window that opened with a frustrated creak and popped the screen off, allowing it to fall outside.

  Molly joined Ginger; she went to work with another cushion, fanning toward the door, while Jimmy opened another window. Finally the dust rolled out, dispersing into the front yard.

  The two girls were covered in dust and Jimmy started laughing. Dust saturated their hair. It covered their faces and arms and tiny piles sat upon their shoulders. He couldn’t stop laughing, even as the taste of dust became thick and gritty in his mouth.

  Ginger and Molly joined the laughter and pointing, first at one another and then at Jimmy. As though of one mind, the two girls attacked him with the cushions. Jimmy laughed even harder, trying in vain to defend himself as he realized the color of the sofa was not brown, but red. All three fell to the floor and wiped their watery eyes, leaving clear streaks down their faces like sad clowns from the circus.

  Molly sat back and looked around. “Chances are the rest of the house will be just as bad. We should keep cleaning before washing off.”

  “Are we going to have enough water?” Ginger asked.

  “We’ll have to manage,” Jimmy said. “All the water bottles got filled last night. We can get more when the sun goes down.”

  “I’ll go look and see if there’s any stored in the kitchen,” Molly said.

  Jimmy helped Ginger up and began brushing her hair off. Dust puffed out of her sweater and he smiled at her dirty face. She smiled back.

  “You’ve got dirt in your teeth,” he said.

  She brushed a finger across them, making a smeared muddy smile. “So do you.”

  Jimmy ran his tongue over his teeth and gathered a large amount of grime into a corner of his mouth before spitting it out the front door. The block was totally empty of activity; a good thing considering the racket they’d just made. He was tired of being cooped up indoors anyways. A large elm tree in the front yard stretched up to the blue heavens, its limbs covered by tiny dark buds as spring gathered its strength for the big push against winter. Jimmy checked the block once more and shut the door.

  Molly called from the kitchen, where Jimmy and Ginger found her with a gallon jug of water in each hand. “There are two more in the pantry,” she said.

  They all grinned. Molly set the water down and turned to the small camp-stove they’d brought along for cooking. As Molly started preparing breakfast for everyone, Ginger and Jimmy rinsed their mouths, swapping a plastic jug back and forth.

  Then Ginger and Jimmy climbed the stairs and continued their dusting duties. The first door they reached led to a bedroom with a full-sized bed in the center. A painted wooden sign hanging on the wall read, “For Our Guests, A Place to Rest.” Sunshine beamed through the only window. Dust lay thick on the bedspread, but Jimmy figured it would be easy to fold it up and shake it off outside.

  Ginger opened the window and popped off the screen, pulling it inside. Then she started folding the bedspread.

  “I think I can handle this one,” she said.

  Jimmy walked down the hall to the bathroom and opened the small window there before stepping across to the last room. All the activity kept his mind from worrying too much. It felt good to be doing something other than sitting in front of a window.

  He opened the door and stared, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness before he entered. When he did step inside, he saw two dried-husks of decomposing bodies on the bed. Quickly he took another step, pressed his back against the door to close it and turned the lock.

  Jimmy had seen a lot of death over the years. He became jaded right after the plague because death was everywhere. He helped remove a lot of dead bodies from Independents. The number didn’t compare to a city the size of Denver with its surrounding suburbs, but still, there had been enough.

  He found this scene bearable. Dried-husks weren’t slimy.

  He walked to the window, where a shaft of light tried to filter in through the dirty windowpane. He pulled on the cord that separated the curtains, allowing at least a little more sunshine access to the room.

  Across from the bed a bureau showcased a series of framed photographs. Jimmy first noticed the black-and-white photo of a couple, her smiling in a white wedding dress, him grinning in a military uniform. Another picture, framed in silver, was of the woman, a few years and a different hairstyle later, holding a bald chubby baby. The baby had the father’s grin.

  More pictures on the bureau told the rest of the couple’s life story. The son in his own uniform with the United States flag behind him, the son with his own bride, pictures of kids, a blonde girl, her younger brother, the little boy holding a fishing rod, grinning with his Grandpa.

  Jimmy touched the top of each frame as he imagined the love and happiness this family shared. There’s something powerful about a completed life, he mused. Memories were made that not even the plague had totally obliterated.

  Jimmy wondered if that’s what scared him most. He didn’t feel like his life was complete. If he’d only let Ginger know how he felt earlier, and if they’d given birth to a child, like Mark and Vanessa, then he might be ready. But he knew Vanessa would say there was no way she could leave her child now.

  Kids aren’t supposed to die before they reach adulthood. They should be given the opportunity to live a full and satisfied life. They’re supposed to be given the chance to grow up, make mistakes and accomplish enough to leave an imprint of themselves on somebody else at least, if not a legacy for the world to view in awe.

  Jimmy felt like he’d spent the past six years waiting to die. “What else could I do?” he asked, shuddering at the sound of his distraught voice in this couple’s tomb.

  He spotted a grayed piece of paper on the nightstand next to the man, stared at it for a moment, then unfolded and read the note:

  Dear Friend,

  I hope life is treating you well. This sickness took my Jane from me early this morning and I feel it coursing through me now.

  I enjoyed my 64 years. I grew up, I fought in a war se
rving my country and lived, I married the girl of my dreams, and together we had a baby boy who followed in my footsteps until he created his own.

  What footprints have you left behind? I hope you get the chance to leave some. No matter how much time is before you, treat each moment as a chance to help others and love those around you. Then in the end, you will know it was time well spent.

  If our remains are still here when you arrive, all I ask is that you bury me with my Jane. We’ve been together until the end and my only wish is that we never part.

  Best Regards,

  Jonathan

  Jimmy placed the note between the couple and made his way to the door. In the hallway, he met Ginger in all her beautiful dustiness.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Jimmy realized he was crying. He kissed her dirty cheek. “I have to find a shovel.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Scout

  Two boys circled the house where Raven was being held captive. Scout crouched behind a rock wall, deciding what to do next as precious seconds passed. The house was perched on a hilltop, with spectacular views all around. A jagged horizon of mountains lay to the west, blanketed in white snow that looked forbidding and insurmountable. Skyscrapers to the south towered above Denver as grim reminders of the lost world. Fields and mostly barren farmland spread out far to the north. East, across a golf course and the same shallow Platte River that winds through Nebraska, was the settlement where Raven had led them to start their search for Catherine.

  Given the views, many large-pane windows surrounded the house and huge stones and dark timbers covered the rest of the exterior for that mountain-home look. Evergreens and gray boulders landscaped the hillside and provided concealing cover for Scout’s approach. The house appeared like a grand castle, without the moat to swim or wall to scale. Luckily for Scout, he only needed to slip past two sleepy teenagers.

  The boys on patrol passed each other and turned their respective corners again. Scout ran thirty yards uphill before crouching behind a boulder. His legs burned from the short climb and his vision blurred from the thin Colorado air. He heard the boys returning by the shuffle of their feet. Then the footsteps stopped, and Scout held his breath in fear of discovery.

  “This sucks,” one said in a stifled yawn. “Nobody’s stupid enough to come out here. I should be in bed dreaming.”

  “I know,” said the other in a gravelly voice. He coughed his throat clear. “Great, I think I’m getting sick. How long have we been out here?”

  “I don’t know. I was sound asleep when that jackass came in and stuck his big, stinking boot in my face.”

  “Are you crazy? Patrick will beat you to death if he hears you calling him that. We’d better keep moving. If you see anyone, tell them we need a break.”

  “Cool. See you in the front.”

  The shuffling continued in both directions. Scout peeked over the boulder as the boys rounded the house. The backdoor was ten yards and a flight of steps to the wooden deck. He scurried up the steps and his feet rang hollow thuds moving across the deck planks. He pulled on the sliding glass door that didn’t budge and jiggled the handle with rising panic, having placed all his plans on getting through the backdoor. He pressed against the glass in a vain attempt to pry the door open. Shuffling sounds announced the returning patrol.

  Scout froze on the deck with his back against the locked door, unable to run or drop for cover as the first boy rounded into sight. Scout’s one chance to save Raven was about to blow up in his face. He prayed for a miracle without any real hope for an answer.

  Sunshine broke apart the low hanging clouds and found Scout like a searchlight during a prison break. Every nerve in his body contracted into a tight knot. He held his breath again. The heat of the sun warmed his skin; sweat slid down his neck onto the collar of his jacket that he now wished he’d left behind. The boys on patrol would see him standing there any second.

  Scout closed his eyes in defeat.

  “Would you look at that,” one boy said. “Now that right there is worth getting up early. The last time I saw the sunrise was with my mom.”

  The other one coughed until his face turned red. “Great. Maybe it’ll warm up a little.” He kept on his route and disappeared.

  His counterpart continued watching the sun for a moment. Each passing second drove Scout into a silent madness of urgency. His mind was flooded with horrible images of the torments being done to Raven inside this house. She needed him now and this kid was taking in the sunrise. Maybe he could jump him and roll the sick one when he came back around.

  “I miss you, Mama.” The boy wiped his tears and moved on.

  Scout scooted along the deck, pushing every window he could reach. The third one slid open and he hurried through, closing it behind him.

  A musty odor emanated from the heavy drapes pressing in on him. He sidestepped for a glance at the edge. The curtains did their job, making it too dark to see much in the spacious room beyond. He slipped out of the folds and his eyes began to distinguished shapes. Beneath his feet was a tile floor with area rugs laid out ahead. Several couches were placed sporadically on one side of the room and a long table occupied the other. A stone fireplace split the middle where smoky embers puffed a sullen orange in the hearth.

  A gentle snore rose from one of the couches and Scout noticed the lumpy form of someone lying there. A flight of stairs to the second floor climbed the wall to his left. Scout circled right, keeping his back to the draped windows, for a better feel of the downstairs layout.

  He crept closer to the twelve chairs evenly spaced around the table, passing a china cabinet that contained a full set of unbroken dishes. Scout continued to the double doors at the far end where light fanned out underneath. He paused, listening for sounds of life on the other side. He heard none and pushed the swinging door inward, walking though fast and easing the door shut behind him. He glanced around and blew a sigh of relief when he found himself alone in a huge kitchen. A gallon jug of water sat on the countertop; he sniffed the contents before deciding it safe to drink.

  An engine rumbled from behind the door to the garage as it pulled inside. Scout searched for a quick hiding place and found the door to the basement. Voices grew louder as they headed towards Scout’s position and someone on the other side rattled the doorknob. Scout took three steps down on the stairs and closed the door.

  “I don’t really care about how tired you are,” a guy said, entering the kitchen. “That’s your one job. Don’t mess it up. I’ll find someone else to circle the house when I’ve got time. Now get out there and keep your eyes open.”

  Scout recognized the cough of the sick kid from outside. He looked downstairs and saw nothing but a black void. His mind wrestled over his next move. Going into the unknown darkness didn’t sound appealing, but right now his options were dwindling.

  “All right, Patrick,” the other kid said over his partner’s hacking. “Could we at least have some water?”

  “Here, you can take this.” The water jug slid over the countertop. “Get out of my sight. I have to talk to Chase.”

  “What do you have to talk to him about?”

  “It doesn’t concern you. Now get the hell outside and don’t let anyone near the house!”

  The kids on patrol slammed the door on their way out. Scout clenched his fist and contemplated the odds of taking Patrick alone. He didn’t know if that course of action would be possible without waking the whole house, but then the choice was made for him when the door swung open and a giant boot stepped on him.

  “What the hell?” Patrick said.

  With desperation lending him strength, Scout grabbed Patrick’s leg and yanked hard, hurling the big kid past him. Patrick’s head bounced off the stairs all the way down, vanishing as he fell to the bottom. Scout leaned against the wall, breathing hard in the silent aftermath. He stared into the darkness for any movement that might precede Patrick rushing back upstairs and dragging him below.

&nb
sp; His imagination scared him to death, but the need to hurry and find Raven rallied enough of his courage to take the next step. Patrick was probably going downstairs to talk to Chase. More than likely, Raven was down there, too. Scout flipped open his shiny Zippo and used the flame to light his way.

  He found Patrick sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs. Blood splattered the last couple of steps. Scout hopped over him to the carpeted floor and looked around. He shined his flame in every corner of the large room, lighting a couple candles next to unoccupied couches and assuring himself that he was alone. A stretch of hallway lay opposite the stairs, but Scout wasn’t prepared to go exploring just yet.

  He tapped his shoe against Patrick’s boot and gained no response from the unconscious giant. Scout placed a lit candle on the bottom step and found a pulse thrumming slowly in Patrick’s wrist. At least Scout hadn’t killed him. He removed twine from his small backpack, and bound Patrick hand and foot. When he rolled him over he found a nasty gash on the back of Patrick’s head and blood seeping into the carpet. Using a clean bandage from his pack, Scout wrapped gauze tightly around the wounded head to stop the bleeding. Finally, he gripped Patrick’s arms and dragged him out of sight behind a couch. As an afterthought, Scout patted down the big kid’s pockets and took a set of car keys.

  There was nothing to be done about the blood on the steps and the carpet. Scout brought a candle, shielded with his hand, and walked halfway down the hallway before reaching a pair of doors on opposite sides. One might lead to Raven. Another probably led to the lion’s den.

  The door on his right was locked when he tried the knob, but the other on his left pushed open and he peeked inside. Sunlight cascaded down a steel window-well into the empty room. Scout left the door ajar for the added light and proceeded to the end of the hallway.

  He entered another large room and lit more candles. Several loaded bookshelves lined the wall to the left. To his right, tall racks contained dusty wine bottles with their corks still intact.