Empty World

by Zach Bohannon

  Glancing out the nearby window, she noted that the clear sky allowed the moon to truly illuminate the yard. Though it was dark, from where she sat, she could see the silhouettes of the vegetable garden and the barn.

  As her mind continued to wander over the next hour, she knew there was only one way to turn it off. She stood up and put out the fire before heading upstairs to her bedroom.

  There were four bedrooms upstairs, and Shell’s looked out over the front yard, giving her a clear view of the vegetable garden and the barn. She mounted her bow to the hooks above her chest of drawers, then set the quiver of arrows on top of that next to her knife. Then she cracked the window on the far wall enough to where she would hear the boy if he returned. Breathing in the fresh air, she looked out over the garden, the chicken shack, and the barn. If the boy came back, she would know it.

  Shell crawled on top of the mattress, remaining in her clothes so that she’d be prepared to run outside if she had to.

  Her gaze fell upon the wall across the room as she lay down. Ever since the day Lewis had died, Shell had made a mark on the wall each morning to keep track of how long she had been alone. The marks covered most of the wall now. They made her think of the boy again, wondering if he were alone as well.

  Her mind continued to race as she lay on her side, focusing her attention out the window.

  But her exhaustion soon caught up with her, and then Shell slept.

  3

  Shell awoke when she heard the bells ringing in the meadow. She rolled from her bed and looked outside. Near the vegetable garden, she saw the silhouette of a figure standing under the moon’s light.

  She grabbed her bow and ran down the stairs and out the front door.

  As she hurried down the porch stairs and into the front yard, she looked toward the garden to see that it wasn’t just one figure standing there, but two. Neither was the size of the boy—they were closer to her height. She drew an arrow from the quiver on her back and nocked it into the bow’s rest. Slowly, she moved toward the two shadows.

  “Don’t move. I swear, I’ll shoot. Put your hands in the air.”

  Neither figure did as she asked, instead remaining still. Shell continued toward them.

  “Don’t test me!”

  “You’re not going to shoot.”

  Shell stopped. The string of the bow pulled taut, she tilted her head as she recognized the male voice.

  The shadow moved toward her, but she remained where she was with the arrow pointed at him. Shell’s attention turned only when the light above the barn doors came on bright enough to illuminate much of her yard. She had never seen the light work. She’d never seen any lightbulb work. And when she turned back to the shadow, she saw that the light shone upon a familiar face.

  “Dad?”

  Shell’s father smiled as he looked back at his daughter. “Hi, Bear.”

  Hearing the nickname her father had called her until the day he’d passed, Shell felt tears fill her eyes. She lowered the bow, dumbfounded that her father stood before her.

  She froze in disbelief, before muttering, “Daddy?” Then she ran into his open arms, clenching her eyes shut as he ran his hands up and down her back, holding her tight.

  “Hello, Shell.”

  Shell opened her eyes to see her mother standing several feet behind her father. She pulled away from him and her father stepped aside.

  She ran to her mother next, hugging her as she had her father.

  After several moments embracing them, Shell pulled away. “I’m dreaming.”

  Her mother nodded.

  A sudden disappointment passed over Shell. “But it feels so real.” She looked back to her father. “The hugs. Your faces. It’s all so real.”

  “Do you remember the last thing I said to you, Bear?” her father asked.

  Shell nodded. “I think of it every single day, Dad. You said, ‘Glance into the sky, put your hand over your heart, and your mother and I will always be here.’”

  Her father smiled. “And here we are.”

  “But I want this to be real.”

  “Our spirits live inside of you,” her mother said. “I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of the woman you have become.”

  Shell lowered her head. “I want us to be together.”

  A hand grabbed onto her shoulder then and she looked up to see her father. “And we will be. But not anytime soon. You have to live on. To survive. There will be an eternity to spend with us, Bear.”

  With tears flowing now, Shell lowered her head and nodded. The grip left her shoulder, and she looked up to see her father and mother walking away from her.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “We have to, sweetie,” her mother said. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

  “I don’t want to wake up. Ever.”

  Her father looked back. “Just remember.” He looked to the sky, then placed his hand over his heart. Smiling at her one last time, he turned around.

  She watched her parents walk into the barn’s light and disappear, as the white light then expanded to fill the space all around her.

  Shell shot up off the pillow, gasping for air. Beads of sweat slid down her cheeks and her entire body felt hot. She’d perspired through her clothing, her faded gray t-shirt sticking to her. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she wiped her brow. Then, resting her elbows on her knees, she drew in deep breaths.

  The dream had felt so real. Her hands trembled as she tried to shake it off. She brought her face out of her palms and looked into the mirror across the room. Her face was flush of any color, and the bags under her eyes made her appear as if she hadn’t slept in days. She had tossed and turned all night before dreaming of her parents. It was early morning now, the sun peeking over the horizon.

  She still sat reflecting on the dream when the bells went off outside.

  Shell hurried to the window.

  It was the boy.

  He stood near the garden, frozen. He looked toward the house and Shell ducked out of the window, throwing her back against the adjacent wall.

  When she looked outside again, the boy was running away.

  This time, he wouldn’t escape.

  Shell grabbed her bow, arrows, and knife, then headed down the stairs.

  By the time Shell made it out the front door, the boy had run out of sight. Assuming he would flee the same way he had the last time, Shell ran for the road again.

  By the time she made it there, the boy had already mounted his bike. He looked back as Shell ran onto the road, and he sped up at the sight of her.

  “Stop!”

  Determined not to allow the boy to evade her again, Shell took chase. He started down the hill again, but she came after him this time, running down the hill as he pulled away.

  The boy kept glancing back to make sure he was distancing himself from Shell. He was, but she breathed heavily and tried to gain ground.

  The boy was looking back when he rounded a corner. Shell saw the figure ahead of him before he did and she called out to warn him. The boy turned around just in time to swerve away from the lumbering Dead coming down the street. He fell off the bike, crying out and sliding on the pavement for a moment before coming to a stop. The boy took hold of his skinned knee, and Shell saw that he had the creature’s attention now—it had turned to go for the boy.

  Shell came within fifteen yards of the Dead before she stopped, drew an arrow from her quiver, and nocked it. Pulling back on the bowstring, she aimed, steadying her breathing so that her hands didn’t shake. She drew in a deep breath then, puffing her chest before she exhaled. As she pushed the breath out of her lungs, Shell let go.

  The arrow flew through the air, whistling along with the boy’s scream. It caught the Dead in the skull, running through the top of its earlobe, and the creature toppled to the pavement.

  With wide eyes, the boy looked at the creature, then back up at Shell. He fought to stand up, but one of his legs had gotten tangled in the frame of hi
s bike. Shell hurried over to him as he worked to free himself.

  When Shell reached him, the boy froze, trembling and staring into her face.

  “Stay still.”

  Shell lifted the bike for him then, maneuvering it to where he could pull his leg out.

  “Can you move it?”

  The boy nodded, then grimaced as he moved his leg, bending it at the knee to remove it from the spaces between the bike’s frame. When he was loose, he returned his hands to his skinned knee.

  “Let me see,” Shell said, urging the boy to move his hands.

  He did, revealing severe scrapes on both legs. His knees had matching wounds, and his left shin had a three-inch cut that bled.

  “We’ve got to clean this up. What’s your name?”

  The boy didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her, keeping his eyes focused on his legs.

  “All right, well, are you going to stay here while I run back to the house and grab some supplies to patch you up with?”

  Again, the boy said nothing.

  Shell sighed. “Well, all I want to do is help you, if that isn’t apparent from me taking that Dead down before it killed you. So, hopefully you’ll stay here.” She stood up.

  Reaching to her waist, she took hold of her knife. She pulled it out and looked at it. Flipping it in her hand, she gripped it by the blade and then extended it toward the boy.

  Confusion crossed his face.

  “In case another one of those things shows up. I want you to be able to defend yourself.” She also wanted to show the boy that she was no threat to him.

  The boy waited a moment, then accepted the weapon with a trembling hand.

  Shell went to the Dead, removing the arrow from its skull. Returning it to her quiver, she turned back to the boy.

  “I’ll be back.”

  4

  Shell busted through her front door and hurried up the stairs. She entered the room at the end of the hall and opened the closet door. Not long after Lewis died, she’d moved the first-aid supplies upstairs into the bedroom closet, converting it into a large medical cabinet. She regularly slept on the top floor, and she’d wanted the first aid to be nearby. Aside from her animals, they were her most prized possessions.

  She reached for the designated shelf and found gauze, bandages of an appropriate size to cover the boy’s wounds, and peroxide. Downstairs, she grabbed some rags out of her kitchen. Then, with the items cupped in her arms, Shell headed back outside.

  When she reached the road, the boy hadn’t moved. He’d remained seated next to his bike, leaning back on his hands. He bit his lip, keeping a stern stare at Shell.

  Ignoring the boy’s scowl, Shell kneeled down next to him. She set her first aid items down, then picked up one of the rags from the stack of supplies. She wiped the blood away that had run down his legs, applying enough pressure to clean away any residue. When she arrived at the wounds, she let up some of the pressure. Still, the boy grimaced as the dry rag made contact with the open cuts.

  “Sorry.”

  The boy was, again, unresponsive, but Shell continued to wipe away the blood. When she’d cleared away as much as she could, she reached over and grabbed the bottle of peroxide. The boy stared at the brown bottle, and she could see it wasn’t anything he recognized. Shell shook it, finding that it was half-full. Thinking back to the closet, she remembered seeing two unopened bottles.

  As she unscrewed the top, Shell shook her head. “This isn’t going to feel good, but we have to make sure these cuts don’t get infected.” She grabbed one of the clean rags and extended it toward the boy. “Bite down on this.”

  The boy’s stare was unfazed. Shell simply shrugged.

  “Suit yourself.”

  When the liquid hit the open wound, the boy jumped and cried out. He swiped the rag from Shell’s hand and bit down on it, gritting his teeth so hard that a vein in his forehead bulged.

  “Take deep breaths,” Shell said. “This’ll only take a minute.”

  When she finished cleaning out the cuts with the peroxide, Shell began the task of covering each cut. She wrapped the more serious wounds with gauze, using tape to keep them in place. Then she covered the more minor cuts with small bandages.

  When Shell finished, she leaned back and observed her work. Her eyes met the boy’s, and she smiled at him.

  “You did a great job. You’re tough.”

  The boy looked away from her, but Shell noticed that with the dirt on his face, she could see him blushing. Shell maneuvered her head so that he was forced to look at her. She smiled again.

  “I see you blushing. Don’t try and hide it.”

  The boy’s face got redder.

  “Now, will you tell me your name?”

  As if the question were a knife, the boy’s smile disappeared. He dropped his eyes to the ground again, his hair draping over his face, but shook his head this time.

  “You don’t have a name?”

  Again, he shook his head.

  “Where are your parents?”

  His head shook again.

  “Can you talk?”

  No response. The boy refused to look at her now.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll stop asking questions.”

  The boy lifted his eyes to Shell’s, apparently satisfied by the gesture.

  “What do you say we get you back to my house? I would assume you have to be hungry since you’ve been stealing from my garden.”

  The boy nodded, and Shell smiled. She stood up, then offered the boy a hand in getting to his feet.

  “Are we invited to this party?”

  Shell had been looking down when the gruff voice spoke behind her. She whipped her head around to see a group of seven men on the road. They all rode on horses.

  One horse stood in front of the others, and the man riding on top of it hopped off the animal. He had olive skin and wore a scraggly beard on his face that matched the consistency of his stringy hair. His hair came to his shoulder and blended with the unkempt beard.

  Shell moved to stand in front of the boy, shielding him from the men. The apparent leader of the group smiled.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Just tell me what you want,” Shell said.

  He laughed. “Want? We just want to be friends.”

  “I don’t need any friends.”

  He pointed to the boy. “Seems like you were being awfully friendly to the boy there. How about we start with names? I’m Ray.”

  Shell backed up and took the boy by the hand.

  “We don’t want to hurt you, do we, fellas?”

  The men behind Ray shook their heads, wide grins spread across their faces.

  “Then tell me what you want.”

  Ray narrowed his eyes and stuck his arms out, letting them fall to his sides as he shrugged. “I thought I told you. I want us to be friends. And I thought that maybe if we were friends, you’d allow us to come have a look at your place.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The gang all laughed along with Ray.

  Fed up with the men, Shell reached down and snatched the knife back from the boy. Ray moved back a few steps, chuckling still. He put his palms out toward her.

  “Whoa, easy.”

  Shell held the boy behind her as she aimed the knife at the men. Then she watched as each of the men behind Ray pulled out their own weapons. One man pulled out a sword. Another an ax. The other two held baseball bats. Ray remained standing in front of the men, a grin stretched across his face.

  “I don’t see that you have much choice in the matter. Now, put down the knife and the bow. That is, if you don’t want us to hurt the boy.”

  Shell glanced down at the boy. His face remained stoic, focused on the gang, and he still held onto her hand.

  With no other choice, Shell exhaled and tossed the knife near Ray’s feet.

  “Good,” Ray said. “Now the bow.”

  Shell pulled the bow around and dropped it to the ground. Shrugging her shou
lder, she allowed the quiver to drop off her shoulder and fall to the pavement next.

  “Very good,” Ray said. He then looked over his shoulder and gestured to his men. The other men dismounted their horses. One grabbed Shell by the arm, and another took hold of the boy, while the other four men took the reins of the horses.

  “Let me go!” Shell said.

  Ray leaned toward her face. “Not until you’ve given me my tour.”

  5

  “Just look at this fucking place, boys.”

  The men continued to hold onto Shell as Ray stood near the house, looking out into the meadow. He glanced back at her.

  “There’s no way it’s only a pretty girl like yourself out here with all this land.”

  Shell averted her eyes.

  “Damn,” Ray said, laughing. “I mean, you’ve grown food, and you’ve got goats and chickens. You’ve been busy.” He looked up toward the house, then out into the field again, using his hands as a visor to shield his eyes from the risen sun. “I know there’s some nice houses in this town, but the rest of the boys are gonna have to fight me over this place.”

  Shell’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re just a little girl. You think we’re going to let you live out here in this town by yourself?”

  “This is my home,” Shell said. “And I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-three.”

  “Young and feisty. Just how I like ‘em.”

  “Screw you.” Shell spit, and it hit Ray in the cheek.

  As he wiped it away, one of the nearby men reached over and backhanded her across the face. He had to have at least a hundred pounds on Shell, and his large hand felt like a rock slamming into her cheek.

  Ray marched toward his man and pushed him away from Shell. “What the fuck are you doing?”