by A. S. Hames
They get to it while I take the driver’s seat. It’s not much in the way of bouncing but I’m sure what little fuel there is in the tank will be rolling to and fro. And some of it should get through.
Von thinks it’s a game and barks at us.
“Here goes.” I try to start the engine. It struggles. “Keep bouncing!”
I keep trying. And it fires.
“Out of the way!”
I have to do this quick because it will pack up almost straight away. As they move back, I hit the accelerator then the brake. That sloshes more fuel forward toward the pump. I reverse in the same manner, then I turn halfway, and reverse, and turn again, always keeping what little fuel there is sloshing back and forward. Now I’m facing the right way – downhill – and the engine is still running.
“Get in!”
There’s a flurry of action with people joyfully opening doors, jumping inside, and slamming those doors. We’re soon moving on four wheels.
“Amazing,” Zu says.
“Wooo,” Ben says.
“Yeah,” says Taff.
If we weren’t at war, I’m guessing they’d be screeching at the tops of their voices.
“Can we go faster?” Taff says.
“We have to go slow to preserve the fuel,” I tell him.
Von leaps onto Ben’s lap and pokes his nose out to catch all the scents on the breeze. Seeing Ben completely squashed makes us laugh a little. Then our mood is lifted further because we’re setting eyes on the biggest river we’ve seen since we left the Front.
“Wow,” Zu says. “That just has to be full of fish.”
I hope she’s right. The unpredictable way fish breed is always a cause of frustration.
“A house!” Taff says.
It’s about a mile ahead between fields and the river. Could it belong to a farming and fishing family? That would be rare. Or maybe they operate a ferry, because now I see a boat tied up.
“We should find out who lives there,” Ax says. “You never know, they might loan us some fishing gear.”
I already know enough about war to understand he means we don’t start fishing without finding out who owns the land. It’s a good way to avoid getting shot.
“We’ll get past the house then one of us can go see what’s what,” Ax says.
“I’ll go,” I say. I don’t want the others coming. We might frighten whoever lives there. “I have a few cents. I’ll offer to pay to use their equipment.”
We pass the building and pull over. If we need to leave fast, it makes sense to be south of any danger or shooting.
As I get out, I see there’s fresh blood on Taff’s pale green army shirt. It must have been all that bouncing he did.
“Are you okay, Taff?”
“I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn’t look it.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt, Taff.”
“It’s not your fault, Jay.”
He looks pale and it is very much my fault.
“I won’t be long,” I say.
With my gun in my waistband, I head down the path. It’s about a hundred yards to the house and, so far, all seems quiet. I just need to find out if there’s anyone here without starting a fight.
I stop short of the house. I’m okay here, out of sight of any of the windows. I stand still. I listen. It’s so deathly quiet.
A scurrying sound makes me jump. A rodent of some kind in the undergrowth. A rat, I’d guess. It goes and all is quiet again. I try to calm myself by seeing this could be a perfect place on a perfect day. Countless people must have come by in peace and without fear.
I wonder if to call out, but it seems a dangerous thing to do. If they’re hostile, I’d be handing them every single advantage. I just wish I could see the occupiers in the distance, so I could call out to them in a neutral way. Then we’d be able to gauge each other.
I want to be trusting and generous, but I don’t dare. I can’t allow myself to die because I wasn’t ready for trouble. With my gun at the ready, I’m soon up against the flank wall. There’s not a sound. In fact, if it wasn’t for the water lapping against something farther on, the entire landscape would be silent.
Between where I’m standing and an outbuilding, there’s an old tractor. Maybe they own it. Or maybe a place like this has to share something that expensive. It took us ten years to pay off the town loan on ours.
The fuel cap is off. Someone’s dropped it on the ground nearby. You would never leave the cap off. Not unless you were a fuel thief, using a length of rubber hose to suck out the fuel into a can.
I have a bad feeling.
I creep around to the back of the house and take a peek through the kitchen window. All clear. I move to the next window. It’s a dining room and that’s clear too. I wonder if there might be people upstairs.
I try the side door. It’s already open. Sweat makes the gun feel slippery in my hand. I sneak inside. I pause. Motionless. Listening. There’s nothing to hear. Should I call out?
I can hear my pulse beating in my head. I take cautious steps toward the first room. Before I reach it, I see the stairs. There are bloodstains on the whitewashed treads. I try to get a sense of anyone nearby, but my state of anxiety drowns out any ability to feel the subtle vibrations. My stomach feels heavy. Damn, I’m having trouble working out what to do.
My gun raised and ready, I edge to the only room I haven’t looked into from outside. Slowly, I approach. The door is open. A quarter of the room is empty. Good. I edge forward. Gun ready. Half the room is empty. Keep moving. Slowly. My gun is coming around the door frame now. Three-quarters of the room… empty. Now I’m moving inside.
It’s empty.
So…
I retreat back to the hall. I reach the stairs and begin to creep up them. One tread at a time. Avoiding the blood.
What if someone’s up there? What if they’re armed and they think I’m their enemy? Do I call out to assure them I mean no harm? Do I alert them to my presence and trust in their judgment?
I stay silent. Truth is I couldn’t call out if I wanted to. I’m too scared.
The fifth tread squeaks.
I stop moving, breathing, everything.
*****
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“Land of the Dead”
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