A. R. Shaw's Apocalyptic Sampler: Stories of hope when humanity is at its worst

by A. R. Shaw

  “I don’t want to shoot a gun, Mom,” Mae said, her face confused.

  “We all have to learn to defend ourselves, Mae. You’re thirteen. You’re old enough to learn. Guns are dangerous weapons, but they will also save your life or the life of your sister.”

  Her younger daughter still looked perplexed by the notion but seemed to accept the explanation.

  “Okay, let’s get going. We’ll lock up here and sneak over to the Carsons’ to begin our work. Wren, you’ll keep watch while I get whatever I can from the basement. Mae, you’ll put what I find into the first filled tub of water. This may be the only safe water we have for a while, so we’ll use just one of the tubs to clean with for now.”

  3

  Diving the Depths

  She couldn’t guarantee they would go unseen if they sneaked to Trent’s house, so she thought the next best thing was to casually walk up to the door like normal, as if Harper herself stood within her doorway, beckoning them inside like she used to do when they visited. Trying to keep up the illusion that someone was, in fact, home in these houses was a problem she wasn’t sure how to solve yet, but if they were to survive, she must.

  The other houses that lined the street provided easy vantage points to see her every move, and she had no idea who remained home or which houses were abandoned. Since experiencing the chaos of the pandemic and its aftermath, people were a lot less trusting than they used to be—and with good reason. She assumed the first issue for the unprepared would be to rip off abandoned houses for their food stores. She planned to make that a problem for them in any way she could.

  As luck would have it, after the pandemic passed, she had armed herself and stocked her own home with preparedness items. They wouldn’t starve, so that wasn’t an immediate danger for her and the girls; however, her neighbors would come back someday and she wanted them to be as thankful as she was right now for saving her and the girls from Brady.

  They stood in the foyer of their home, each one with a key to the house on a lanyard around their necks.

  “Okay, this is how we’re going to do this from now on,” she said to the girls, hoping they wouldn’t think she was out of her mind. “We have to imagine that all the neighbors are watching; we need them to believe that these houses are occupied, so we’re going to pretend we’re talking to them as we approach.”

  They both looked at her like she was nuts.

  “Seriously?” Wren asked her.

  “Yes. We’re going to smile and wave as if Harper is standing in her doorway, waving back.”

  Mae looked from her to Wren, confused.

  “What? We’re going to walk across the street,” Mae held up her hand, plastered a fake smile onto her face, waved like a princess atop a parade float, and said, “‘Hi Harper, I’ll be right there.’ Are you kidding me? That’ll look nuts.”

  “Then we’ll look nuts. That’s what we have to do to make it look like they’re home. We’ll also leave flashlights on in different rooms, move stuff around, and stage the garage door open at different times of the day, as if they were home.”

  “Well, that’s only going to be a problem for the Carsons’ and the Bakers’ houses. We can sneak around the back to the Millers’ house to do the same, since they’re next door. It won’t be so bad, Mae,” Wren explained.

  “I’m not doing it,” Mae protested and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Then you just walk along with us and stare straight ahead,” Sloane said.

  She opened the front door and peered outside. A wave of steamy air hit her in the face. She knew it was muggy inside, but the outside air was just as bad—if not worse. It was going to be a long, hot summer. After checking to see if the coast was clear, she stepped outside and the girls followed her. She reminded herself to lose the frightened surveillance look in favor of smiling broadly and waving to the stagnant Carson home. She glanced behind her to see an embarrassed Mae looking anywhere but in front of her. Then there was Wren, who raised her brown eyebrows while moving her hand back and forth, doing a poor impersonation of a friendly neighbor coming over to greet them.

  Sloane continued stoically, determined to pull this off. The only thing out of place in the scene was Sloane had her Glock strapped to her thigh. Even still, she was certain that in light of the current circumstances it was actually acceptable—if not a requirement—to be armed these days.

  “Good morning, Harper. Thank you for having us over,” she said loudly as they approached the porch.

  “That’s a little over the top, Mom,” Mae complained in an embarrassed whisper.

  “We do what we have to do,” Sloane whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  She looked around behind her to see if anyone was watching them from the opposing houses. She tried the door handle. It was locked. Then she remembered Trent said he’d leave the shotgun in the garage for her to retrieve and the back sliders were all blown out anyway.

  “Great plan, Mom. How are we supposed to get in with the doors locked?” Mae said.

  “Follow me; we’re going around back. Stay close,” she said. So much for deception. I hope the neighbors don’t see us.

  They walked quickly between the houses and Sloane motioned for the girls to stick to the side of the house while she looked to see if the coast was clear. She peeked around, and other than the expected debris from the disaster strewn all over the backyard, everything was as it should be. Even part of a drape hung over their blown-out sliding glass door.

  “It’s open, Harper. I’ve got it. Thanks,” she said at a normal tone, still pretending.

  Both girls looked at her like she was a loon and couldn’t believe their mom was still trying to keep up the charade. She walked over to the opening and waved to the girls to come along.

  “Get in,” she said. They stepped carefully over the littered flooring and into the living room of the Carsons’ house. Not knowing what she might find inside, Sloane pulled her weapon, keeping her finger along the slide.

  “Garage first,” she said. They went as carefully and soundlessly as possible from the living room to the mudroom, which led to the garage.

  “Ahg! It smells in here,” Mae complained, pinching her nose.

  “It’s the trash. That and probably the stuff rotting in their deep freezer,” Wren said.

  “We’re not going to worry about that yet. Look around for the shotgun.”

  “It’s right there on the workbench, Mom,” Wren said.

  Sloane went to retrieve the gun and found a swimmer’s mask with snorkel, as well as a note from the Carsons that read,

  Dear Sloane,

  Remember, you are welcome to anything you can salvage. Take care, Harper and Trent.

  She stuffed the note into her jeans pocket and then leaned the shotgun out, tilted it to the side, and opened the action to see if it was loaded. There was a round in the chamber, and the tube magazine was loaded, although she didn’t know if it was full. She knew Brady hadn’t fired it, but she wasn’t sure if Trent had left her with the ammo or taken it for himself; she wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.

  “I feel like we’re breaking into their house, Mom. Are you sure about this?” Mae said.

  “Me too. This doesn’t feel right,” Wren agreed.

  “Look. It’s okay. I promise you. You saw me talking to Mr. Carson outside last night, right?”

  They nodded.

  “We agreed to work it this way. He said we were welcome to anything we could salvage, and I promised him we’d look after his house while they were away. We made a deal and that’s like a promise. I keep my promises,” she said, smiling as she swiped Mae’s too long bangs out of her eyes and to the side of her already sweaty forehead.

  “So let’s get started,” she said and handed the shotgun to Wren to carry. She picked up the snorkel and mask and heard something metallic hit the concrete floor. When she looked down, she saw a set of keys on a ring. She knew immediately what they were for and was thankful that the Carsons
remembered to leave them for her, or she’d have a very hard time getting into the locked storage room. She put them into her jeans pocket along with the note.

  After putting the snorkel and mask into her cinch bag, she held her hand on the pistol grip of her weapon and turned from the garage back to the mudroom. Even though they came in directly across the living room and kitchen to the garage without running into anyone, she needed to be sure no one was hiding in the house already. She opened the door a crack and held a finger to her lips to keep the girls silent. She had no idea if someone else had already decided to break into the notorious Carson house. In fact, she figured she had one or two more days until the idea came to some of the neighbors they’d had trouble with four years ago during the pandemic.

  She turned the corner into the kitchen and listened for any sounds of intruders. When nothing came, she motioned for the girls to follow and continued moving forward with her weapon drawn. Looking down, she saw that their flooring was covered in the same mucky pudding as her own. Her practical side told her the mess would be easier to remove while it was still wet, but that wasn’t an immediate priority. Take this one step at a time, Sloane, she reminded herself.

  They entered the living room and scanned the formal dining room. Although there were several expected footprints, each seemed to be at the same state of dull dryness—a clear indication that no one had entered the residence since the Carsons left.

  “Let’s check upstairs,” she whispered. After they cautiously walked up the stairs, they checked the first room on the left. There were two twin beds alongside opposite walls; one was neatly made with the dusty-blue covers pulled down and tucked under the mattress, while the other remained unmade in a hasty morning retreat.

  “This is Chris’s room,” Wren said. “It’s weird. We’ve known them so long but I’ve never seen his room before.”

  Sloane looked at her daughter, who was a few years younger than Trent’s son. “Well, that’s a good thing. He was off at college. I’m sure they planned to track him.”

  They continued on to what both girls knew was Amy’s room, their mutual friend. The girls had played over at the Carsons’ on various occasions, swapping Barbie clothes when they were younger. More recently, they spent their time giggling over boys, listening to music, or complaining about their mothers.

  “Amy’s room,” Sloane said.

  “I really feel like we’re intruding here, Mom,” Wren said.

  “I know, dear; it’s not natural to be here without the Carsons, but think of it as caretaking. We’re the caretakers now. We’ll keep it safe for them until they return.”

  “Okay,” Wren said as they walked into the master suite.

  Sloane felt her friend Harper’s presence the most there; the room still smelled of her. She walked through and peered into the master closet without going in. No need to look. She knew Trent would have already taken the guns he kept in there. They continued to the en suite bathroom, where they saw the tub and twin sinks filled with water. “Good. They filled them too, like we did.”

  On their way out of the room, they stopped by the office and the kids’ bathroom. As with the other bathroom, the double sinks and bathtub held clean water. Sloane grabbed a towel from the linen closet, knowing she’d need it for her swim in the basement.

  “Mae, when you bring up the ammo, I want you to put it in this tub, but don’t open them, okay?”

  Mae nodded.

  “Okay, I think we’re done,” Sloane said.

  “You forgot the attic, Mom,” Mae said.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Sloane replied.

  She found the narrow stairs leading up to the attic-turned-video-game room. They cautiously climbed the steps, and as Sloane poked her head up into the room, she saw movement in her peripheral vision.

  “Oh my God!” she nearly screamed.

  “Mom?” Wren yelled, almost dropping the shotgun.

  With quickened breath and her hand over her pounding heart, she looked down at the girls.

  “It’s… it’s just a cat. It must have come through the open back door. It’s okay. Let’s leave it alone; we’ll shoo it out later,” she said.

  Finding nothing other than the stray cat, they descended the stairs back to the first floor. They kept their voices at a little more than a whisper, confident no one was inside the house.

  “Okay, next step. Wren, I need you to stand watch right here by the basement door. No one can see you from the front here. If you see or hear anyone, you need to walk into the basement stairwell and close the door quietly behind you. Keep the shotgun with you. Then have Mae signal me immediately.

  “Mae, I’m going to reach the gun cabinet. I know where it is because that’s where Trent and Harper taught me how to clean my gun. The rounds are usually in green army canisters. They’re heavy. When I bring them up, you check with Wren to be sure the coast is clear and then quietly bring the first load up and submerge the whole can into the kids’ bathtub full of clean water. Understand?”

  “How are you going to dive into that water, Mom?” Mae asked. “It’s dark and cold down there, with all kinds of stuff in it.”

  Sloane placed her hands on her hips and put on a brave face. “I’m a good swimmer. I can do it. You don’t need to worry about me; that’s my job. Give me a second while I change into my suit, and we’ll get started.”

  Sloane stepped into the darkened basement stairwell. A musty, putrid smell hit her right away. It reminded her of the time she forgot their soaking wet beach towels in the trunk of her old Volvo over a hot weekend—only a hundred times worse. The smell made her gag. She opened the cinch bag, pulled out the flashlight, and turned it on. She shined it onto the blue-gray water level below and shivered at the thought of submersing herself into that murky seawater. Yeah, I want to dive right into that—not! Shake it off, Sloane; you can do this, she told herself. The water level was a few inches from the unfinished ceiling. At least there’s air for the snorkel.

  She undressed quickly and stuffed her clothing into the bag. She placed the keys into the secure left side of her swimsuit and her gun in the holster next to her boots, within quick reach if the need arose.

  “Okay Mae. Come here, please,” she said.

  “See anything?” she asked Wren.

  “No Mom. Coast is clear,” Wren said.

  “Remember, keep it quiet. No running up and down the stairs.”

  Both girls nodded.

  “The sooner we get this done, the better. This house creeps me out without the Carsons,” Wren said.

  Sloane nodded; she felt the same way.

  “You stand right here against the wall and hold the flashlight in this direction.” Sloane shined it to the left of the room, hoping there would be enough ambient light to see through the water. To get to Trent’s gun stash/food storage room, Sloane would have to go around a left corner at the bottom of the stairs and move forward to the end of the far wall. The light wouldn’t reach the entire way, so she would have to feel her way around from memory.

  “If there’s an emergency, turn off the light. I’ll know right away and I’ll will come back quickly.”

  At thirteen years old, Mae wasn’t a baby, but when Sloane looked into her scared face, she only saw a frightened little girl. “It’s going to be fine, Mae. Let’s hurry and get this over with.”

  Expecting the first few steps to be slippery on the unfinished, slime-water-coated stairs, Sloane held onto the stair railing as she descended into the liquid.

  “Is it cold?” Mae asked.

  “Just a little.”

  She cleared a path with her foot, moving the debris that had settled by the entrance. The water wasn’t freezing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was stepping into nothing more than sewage. Once she was waist deep, she had to say goodbye to Mae. She adjusted the mask and snorkel, smiled, and waved.

  Other than keeping the nasty water out of her eyes, the goggles were worthless. The water was so dirty it left her with nea
rly zero visibility. And given the filthy water, Sloan pressed her lips so tight she nearly bit them together to keep the water out.

  She used the unfinished wall studs as a guide, pushing herself with little thrusts along the way and recounting from memory where the room should be. She had to leave the wall several times because of floating rubbish. Her foot brushed against something soft and, for a moment, she thought it might be a body but then remembered they had a couch down there somewhere in that approximate position. She imagined things that were once held down by gravity had floated along and readjusted themselves to their own liking.

  Finally, she reached the end of the studded wall, which was the corner of the room where she knew the locked storage room door stood. She felt down with her leg and knocked her shin into the doorknob. Great! She slipped the keys out of their position and remembered there was one for the deadbolt and one for the doorknob. One of the keys had electrical tape over the head. I have no idea what that might mean, she thought. First, she tried it on the doorknob lock. When that didn’t work, she tried the deadbolt, which it slid into easily. Perfect! She finished unlocking the door with the other key. Mystery solved.

  She tried to pull the door open; it didn’t budge, so she braced one knee to the wall and pulled steadily. The door opened enough for her to get through, and suddenly, there was light pouring in through the basement window wells. While she returned the door keys securely to the thigh material of her suit, she imagined there was thick sludge settled along the floor, blocking the door’s path

  She knew by memory that the black metal gun case was located next to the entrance on the left. She reached her hand above the unfinished ceiling into the rafters, where she knew Trent had hidden the gun case keys and pulled them off the little nail he kept them on, hoping to hell they’d not fallen when the flood waters raced in. She remembered thinking at the time that Trent was a little nutty to keep secret keys stashed everywhere. Now, she was thankful she knew where they were.