The Long Way To Reno

by Mix, Michelle

  “Dad!” I called out, my voice a shrill scream in the dark. I winced, hearing it echo – people definitely could hear it, but I doubt they could locate where I was. I waited, listening to the snow fall. Heard Milly from around the house, the cat appearing moments later and hesitating at the sight of snow in front of her.

  I heard nothing.

  Panic welled in me, and I pushed away from the door. Tried slamming it a few times to dislodge the spike, but it didn’t budge. I didn’t want to break the door, and called for my parents once more.

  I heard nothing.

  My throat felt tight, and no matter how many times I swallowed, I couldn’t dislodge the lump there. I pushed away from the door, trying to breathe and think at the same time. The plan to find vaccination papers had just vanished from my thoughts – everything was still in place the day I'd left the house, and this told me, somehow, that the papers were useless. I was on another mission to just find my parents. I looked up at the second story windows, and then rushed down the back stairs, pushing through the snow towards dad’s study.

  The door was slightly ajar once I reached it, and it took only a push to open it. In the darkness, I couldn’t see anything inside, but familiarity told me what I needed to know. There was nothing inside that raised an alarm. It was dead still and quiet – I walked in, smelling the strong, heady scent that was my dad, and could, in my mind’s eye, see every detail of the study as if the lights themselves were on. Book shelves to my left, lining the wall – metal cabinets beyond that, the gun cabinet sitting atop one of those. His desk at the back corner, computer, printer, scanner and other electronics sitting near the back wall. The walls were decorated with awards, his college certifications – a calendar-schedule for last year’s Wolf Pack football was nearest the desk.

  I knew exactly what he kept in the room, and where everything was. I strode forward and went for the desk, pulling open the bottom drawer and withdrawing a flashlight that worked when I prompted it to. I shined it around, looking for indications of his presence and the cone of light fell onto the open gun cabinet atop of one of the sliding cabinets near the door.

  I wasn’t thinking anything as I walked forward to it, nudging the heavy door open and seeing the various types of ammo, weaponry he kept in there. I couldn’t even say what sort he had, couldn’t even conjure up a memory of the items that I knew by heart. All I knew was that a single 9mm was missing, and that was his standard, everyday addition to his job uniform.

  That lump in my throat grew thicker, burning. I turned away from the gun cabinet and found what I was looking for – the closet at the back of the room that kept various items needed for yard maintenance, which included an extending ladder.

  : :

  Metal clacked hard against brick as I set the ladder against the building, and, after making sure it was steady, began the ascent upward to my bedroom window. I’d left it unlocked the night I went to work, but as I climbed up with shaking hands and a shortness of breath, mind racing, I was hoping to God that it was boarded over. As I pressed my palm against the window and fought conflicting feelings of relief and despair, I managed to get it open.

  I hauled myself through the window, over my desk – there were a stack of game cases at the edge, and a few guides that fell to the floor as I climbed in. My room brought intense feelings to me as I steadied myself and became aware of the heavy silence and stillness within. I wanted to call out to my parents, but my voice wasn’t working – that lump was burning so badly that I couldn’t do a thing to dislodge it.

  I walked past some high heels and a leopard print dress I’d worn to Brew Brothers the weekend before I’d gone to work. My bed was unmade, my closet door open – I could still smell the body spray I’d used before leaving this room, and that must’ve been a hallucination of sorts. But my eyes found my dresser top before my flashlight did, and I spotted the spray sitting there at the edge, surrounded by dust and frost. Just beyond that item were other personal things that stood out – my first name carved into a wooden block, a gift from my ex, pictures of friends and special moments in my life that included my parents, tickets from a show at the Knitting Factory.

  I heard absolutely nothing in the house. It was cold…it was silent…it was dark. I was the only person in this house. This was something I knew at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t accept it.

  I ventured towards the hallway, where the smell hit me. But I refused to acknowledge it, because my mind wasn’t working the way it should be. I think at that point, something turned off in me –my body moved independently, away from my mind, and I was walking towards my parents’ room, where the smell was more prominent.

  I didn’t have to worry about bumping into anything, or even bother with the flashlight that was held limply in one hand. My feet knew where to go, and my body knew how to turn around the old vintage dresser that they used. The smell made me cough.

  The bed was made, the pillows indicating nothing of their heads – the bedspread was a Pendleton that my mom had bought downtown, when the Oregon-based wool company was still located on the first floor of the bowling stadium. Their end tables, holding odds and ends of their presence, had the same dust and frost appearance as my room did. Only mom’s had a Cosmo magazine, and dad’s badge and wallet stood on the edge of his.

  I coughed again, unable to rid myself of the persisting lump in my throat. Walked towards the massive master bathroom. The door was ajar. I walked in, nausea hitting me like a punch to the gut – my throat closed. The smell was suffocating me.

  I lifted the flashlight, my wrist weak, forcing me to use both hands to do so. I knew what I was going to find before I even found them, yet I was driven to do so by something I couldn’t explain.

  My journey was over. I’d found my parents.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mom had always been a neat freak. Dad appeased her only because he grew tired of her persistent nagging in picking up after himself. So it made sense to see that they’d shot themselves in the wide bathtub they’d shared. Dad did it, because the 9mm missing from his gun cabinet was still in his right hand, across his upraised chin. In the chipped tile, where candles once stood and mixtures of toiletries were gathered, were pieces of mom.

  I stared at them in silence for the longest time. It felt like I’d just hit a wall after a desperate sprint, with no way of stopping myself from doing so. A punch to the face, to the windpipe – I couldn’t even remember how to breathe, and my eyes stung as I remembered to blink.

  Somehow, I turned away. I dropped the flashlight, but I don’t remember when. I walked out of the bathroom, and sat at the edge of their king-sized bed. It creaked and protested, the wooden base squeaking as the box springs settled under my weight. I wiped my nose and looked around myself. I could smell them – not as they were in death, but when they were alive. Mom’s talc powder, dad’s aftershave. Their personal scents. Mom’s robe was lying at the edge of the bed.

  They were in their pajamas. They were in their pajamas, and deep inside, I knew when they had done it. I wondered what their last conversation was, what it was they said to each other in their last moments. What had made them decide to end it before it even began? They didn’t even try to survive. That was dad’s way of protecting mom.

  I exhaled slowly, and the sound was massive within the silent room. I could taste their death in the back of my throat. Everything that I had previously believed in seemed like an utter lie. Someone had been telling me this entire time that they were alive and waiting for me. Only that person had been me, so…I wasn’t sure how to complete that thought.

  They didn’t even wait for me. They had decided that I was done for, and didn’t even try to -

  My hands were shaking as I picked at my nails. Tore at the cuticles. Stared at mom’s light pink robe and knew that they’d been dead since the First Night. It was a slap to the face.

  No faith in my own survival, no faith in that I’d return to them. They’d left without me. They’d made this
choice, far opposite from the one I’d made that night. I’d chosen to live, to survive Hell to get to them – but they figured me dead from the start and chose suicide as a way to escape.

  It was not fair. It was unexpected. I’d expected them to be here, alive – I made the efforts, why couldn’t they? They didn’t even try.

  I blinked heavy eyes, and then laid down, not feeling the coldness of the blankets, not even registering the creak and groan of the mattress. I stared out at the darkness and felt absolutely betrayed.

  : :

  “Here, we’re going to need this, too,” Harley said, dropping the last of the ammo boxes into the backpack I was holding.

  I blinked as the weight registered, fingers tightening around the black straps of my Sailor Moon backpack, and he emptied the chambers of the SW Revolver that had been given to dad as a gift a few years earlier. It was bright outside, and my eyes ached just looking over my shoulder to see the open door of the study.

  I looked at Harley as he frowned at the .44 Magnum that dad had splurged on one year, spinning the barrel and muttering about green and red sights.

  I could absolutely not recall Harley ever showing up. My hands were adorned with my favorite North Face gloves, and I was dressed in my thickest snow clothing. Jesus, when did I change? I was wearing my own Adidas messenger bag, and from the weight of it, it held things I felt I needed. My Ugg boots, made more for fashion than for strenuous hiking distances, felt comforting and familiar on my feet.

  “Your dad had some pretty toys, Edith,” he said, and I winced at the sound of his voice. It was obviously at low volume. It was only the intensity of the stillness and silence of the area that it seemed so loud.

  He dumped the gun into the bag, checked to make sure he’d had the cabinet cleaned, and I couldn’t even say anything to let him know I’d checked back into reality. My mouth felt clenched tight – teeth locked, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth – I felt like my very ability to interact with life had died the night I’d found my parents. My limbs felt heavy and locked, and I moved stiffly as he zipped up the backpack, and indicated for me to slip it on. I did, my movements uncoordinated, and he helped me adjust it.

  It wasn’t that heavy, but I wanted to collapse from the weight of it. I felt so weak from the inside out. Worse than being in that pantry. I felt weak from the feel of his presence and the sound of his voice as he said something that didn’t even register with me.

  I felt like I was trapped underwater, with how everything then muffled out and my ears rung. I was viewing everything underneath the weight of the water, hearing only the rumbles of sound over my head.

  What day was it? Did things even matter, now?

  Harley told me what day it was, a response to a question I didn’t know I’d asked out loud. In the ringing heaviness of my thoughts, I registered that it had been nearly four days since I’d left Mendive. “C’mon. Daughtry said he would have some supplies to spare after we were done here.”

  I registered the name as belonging to a neighbor across the street – a little old man with a Westie mix that barked at anything that breathed funny. I wanted to laugh at the thought of this stupid old man with a stupid old dog living this long in the middle of some apocalypse, while my capable parents had offed themselves the First Night.

  My mouth didn’t want to move, anyway, incapable of laughing or speaking.

  He took my hand and led me away from the cabinet. I didn’t even register that he did this until I found myself looking at our linked fingers. It felt surprisingly natural. With the sureness of his grip, I realized I needed it. I needed him. I followed him out of my father’s study, to see the brilliance of the neighborhood during the height of afternoon. So much snow everywhere. I looked up at my room, at the ladder I’d fitted against the stark red wall.

  He looked back at me with that squint of his, and I realized vaguely that he was clean-shaven. His face was bright red from the cold, and he looked exhausted again. He was wearing his rifle over one shoulder and the rucksack, and this time equipped with snow boots and a heavier coat with a hood. The knit cap over his boring brown hair didn’t quite control some of the curls that poked out around his neckline. God, he looked like such a dork.

  I wanted to hit him for being so persistent and not giving up on me. It felt unfair that this total stranger could try so hard for me, and my parents, my wonderful, loving parents, had not even tried. My eyes watered, and I had to blink away the hot tears that threatened to leave them. I didn’t want to cry in front of him – I didn’t want to cry at all. I was angry and hurt and I didn’t want to show it to my parents' ghosts.

  “Are you sure you have everything?” he asked me, and I had the feeling he’d asked this before. Did I answer him then?

  “I don’t need anything else,” I heard myself say, but it was an odd feeling to hear my own voice, to acknowledge that it’d left me. It was hard to speak, and my mouth moved stiffly, still tight with my feelings.

  He gave me a skeptical look, but continued on towards the back gate. I pulled my fingers from his and didn’t follow, looking up at my house, at my bedroom and reliving billions of memories of this house without seeing any individually. My parents were still in there, dead in the bathtub. Decomposed and unrecognizable, with parts of each other splayed into the shower walls.

  “Edith?”

  I looked at him as he waited for me to join him outside the open gate. Milly meowed and nearly tripped him as he stepped back from the cat’s persistence.

  He realized I wasn’t about to follow him, so he walked back to where I was standing. That squinty look was back, like he was trying to figure me out and he just couldn’t. He waited to see if I’d say anything, and then gave up on that. He lowered his head, as if by doing so, by peering at me that way, he’d get the answers he wanted. I’m a short person, and though he’s average sized, he’s still taller than I am.

  Then he exhaled with a jerky nod, adjusting the rifle. “I get it. You’re in shock. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” I interrupted, my voice tight. It hurt to talk, but the more I did, the easier it became. “It’s not okay. There’s nothing about this situation that’s okay. My parents are dead up there.”

  “I – I know, I saw – I’m sorry. That – but at least it was, y’know, they weren’t attacked by anything else,” he stammered. “On their own terms, at least.”

  I stared at him for a few moments, then felt myself start to shake. My hands curled and loosened, and I had no idea what to do with them. He reached out to touch me, and I jerked away because I didn’t want his stupid hands anywhere near me. At this moment, I felt only surging anger and his stupid squinty face made me want to punch it. I looked at the house, at the sliding back door I’d tried to open that night. I had no idea what I had been doing between then and since Harley had arrived.

  “Last night,” he answered, and I felt frustrated at the words I must’ve said, but missed because I was so upset. “Only because I went up the wrong street. I was over on the other side of Truckee, near Idlewild? I really have no personal knowledge of this area at all.”

  I kicked the cat when Milly came over to me, and it yowled, ran off through the open gate.

  “My entire purpose was getting to my parents,” I said.

  “And…you did. You’re here. You found them. Unfortunately, not as you – you, y’know, you wanted, but – you found them.”

  “I never expected them to be dead…the first night.” I took a deep breath, struggling to hold back the angry noises that were threatening to erupt. “I went though Hell to get here and find them, and, here, I find out they’d died the first night.”

  “I – I know. No one – no one could have anticipated that. But…” He swallowed hard and gave up on trying to say the right thing.

  I stared at the snow-covered yard both of my parents had spent hours attending to. They were no longer here – I felt cheated.

  “They probably thought I wasn’t going to make it,
anyway,” I said slowly, hugging myself once I registered the cold. I looked at the house again, where I knew the living room was. Could see perfectly in my mind’s eye the set-up of the den, the kitchen, the dining room. The leather couch had my imprint on it, on the middle section where I liked to sprawl and make my parents sit either together on one end of the sectional, or separately around me.

  They were gone, now. Never to surround me with their presence.

  “That’s why they did it,” I finished. “I wasn’t ever the athletic sort, or even the type to do something on my own. I…totally get why they’d think that I wouldn’t even – I’m really mad right now. I don’t know how to accept this.”

  I could tell Harley had no idea what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Just let me ramble on, mainly to myself, deducing the situation out loud in order to understand their actions.

  I swallowed hard.