by R. W. Ridley
The door was locked. There was no way I could break it down. I ran into the bathroom and retrieved a bobby pin and straightened it out. I ran back to the door at the end of the hall and stuck it in the hole and jimmied the lock open. Kimball and I burst through the door only to find another flight of stairs. Kimball climbed them with ease. I did not. At the top of the stairs, I found a finished attic that had been turned into a recreation room. It had a pool table, a big screen TV, and a gaming computer.
Kimball's tail was sticking out from behind the big sectional sofa. The screaming had subsided. I walked over to investigate. I found what I was afraid I would find, a baby, and Kimball was licking its poor puckered little face.
I bent down and examined it. It was small, even small for a baby. I estimated it weighed maybe six pounds. It was wearing a diaper and blue shirt. A black crusty stub stuck out where its belly button should've been. I suspected the kid was hungry. A hungry, screaming baby is all I needed to worry about. I stood and scratched my head. I had no idea what a baby eats.
I turned to make my way down to the first floor of the house to find some baby food when I caught a fast moving blob rushing towards me out of the corner of my eye. I didn't even have time to raise my bat before it was on top of me. The weight of it sent me flying over the sofa. I lost my grip on the bat and it sailed over my head. Kimball started barking.
"Keep away from my baby," I heard.
I scrambled back and tried to find the bat. The thing that attacked me stood with the baby in its arms and I saw for the first time that it was Mrs. Chalmers. "It's me, Mrs. Chalmers. It's Oz Griffin."
She looked at me. "Oz?" She moved around the sofa. "Oz Griffin, is that really you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She fell to her knees still holding on tight to her baby. "Thank God. I thought we were the only ones left. Oh, thank the heavens above." She began to cry.
Kimball moved around the sofa and sat beside her. "What's going on, Mrs. Chalmers? I can't find my parents."
She gave me a strange look. "You don't know?"
"No, ma'am. I woke up this morning and nobody was home. Something…" I didn't want to say it.
"Something what?" she asked.
"Something chased me and Kimball at the Mueller's house."
She quickly stood and moved to the window. "It didn't follow you here, did it?"
"No, ma'am, I don't think…"
"Listen, to me, Oz," she interrupted. "This is very important." She was panicked which didn't do much for soothing my already fragile state. "Did you see this… thing that was chasing you?"
"No, ma'am. It was practically breathing down our necks, but I never got a good look at it."
"A good look at it or a look at all?"
"At all, I suppose."
She raced back to my side. "Listen to me, you have to be certain. Did you see it at all?" Her voice was soft but demanding.
"No, ma'am," I said.
She collapsed on the sofa. "Thank God."
"What's going on, Mrs. Chalmers?"
To my surprise, she unbuttoned her blouse and began breast-feeding the baby. "I wish I knew, Oz. I wish I knew." I turned away in embarrassment.
"Where is everybody? Where are my parents? Where's Mr. Chalmers?"
She began to cry again. "I don't know." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "How are you still here?"
"I don't know. I was sick. I don't remember much."
"That's right. You had mono. Your mother was so worried." The baby lay content in her arms. "The last time I saw her was when I went into labor with little Nate."
"How long ago was that?"
"A week ago, I guess. I don't know. It's been hard to keep track of time. The clocks don't work. The baby keeps me up most of the time. I think he's colic. I'm exhausted. I don't know if I'm coming or going half the time." She spoke as if it took all her strength.
"What was chasing me, Mrs. Chalmers?"
She looked at me as if I had asked some horrible state secret. "Oz, you mustn't speak of them. They… they know you when you know them." She said it as if it made perfect sense. "The less you know the better off you are."
"But I have to find my parents…"
"They're gone," she yelled. "Everybody's gone. There is not one single soul left in Tullahoma or in Tennessee or in the world besides us. They got everybody."
"I don't understand," I said.
"You don't need to," she said with a disturbing darkness in her voice. She had the look of someone who had gone completely mad. I remembered her as a beautiful woman, but now her face was a horrid combination of red and gray. She had heavy bluish bags beneath her eyes, and she had broken out with an awful rash on her forehead. Asking her further questions was pointless. She lay back on the sofa with the baby still suckling at her breast. "I have to get some sleep," she said. "You'll watch over me, won't you, Oz?"
"Yes, ma'am, Kimball and me will keep watch."
She almost smiled. "The baby should sleep, too. He won't be any trouble." She barely could finish the sentence before she fell asleep. The baby continued to feed.
I wandered over to the window to see if anything was happening outside. The streets were still deserted. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. Mrs. Chalmers only confused the matter more. She gave me more questions than answers. How could everyone be gone? Where did they go? This entire thing was insane. It occurred to me that this all could be a dream. That maybe the fever had driven me crazy. Maybe I was strapped to a bed in a hospital somewhere and this entire thing was just some demented fantasy of a brain that had been cooked by an abnormally high temperature.
I looked around the room. It was all too real to be a dream. This was happening. I couldn't deny that. I didn't know why or how, but it was real, and wishing it weren't wasn't going to get me anywhere. Mrs. Chalmers may have been right, my Mom and Pop were gone, but that didn't mean I couldn't find them or at the very least find out what happened to them.
I plopped down on a beanbag chair and watched Mrs. Chalmers and the baby. The little guy had zonked out just as she said he would. Kimball lay down beside them on the floor. His ears erect and scanning the immediate area for any unusual sounds. As my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, I struggled to stay awake and keep watch over Mrs. Chalmers and the baby as I had promised, but my desire to sleep grew more intense with each passing moment until finally, I slept.
***
I awoke to the sound of a door slamming. I shot out of the beanbag chair as quickly as I could. Mrs. Chalmers and the baby remained asleep. Kimball was up at the ready. The slam came again. It was coming from outside. I ran to the window and looked out. The door to the Wentleys' house across the street was opening and closing on its own. The trees were not swaying in a strong wind, and the piles of leaves on the side of the street remained intact. There was no wind. It was as calm as I had ever seen it.
Mrs. Chalmers woke up. "What is it?" she whispered. She carefully lifted the baby and gently laid him on the sofa. She stood with some difficulty.
"The Wentleys' front door," I said. "It's opening and closing… on its own."
"Get away from the window," she demanded, running in my direction. I didn't comply quickly enough so she yanked me aside. "They're trying to get you to notice them."
"Who?" I said. This time my voice was raised. I left no room for doubt. I was tired of the cryptic references. I wanted some answers.
"Never you mind," she said. "You have to stop thinking about them."
"Who…" I suddenly remembered the shattered bathroom mirror in the Mueller's house. "The Takers, is that what they're called?"
The gray and red coloring of her face was replaced by a pale shade of white. "How do you know their name?"
The slamming stopped.
She looked out the window. "They know we're here. They're coming." She ran to get her baby.
I turned to see who "they" were. I saw a shadow zip across the tree line in front of the Wentleys' front lawn. I could no
t see what or who cast the shadow, but judging by the trees, it was big, eight or nine feet tall. "What do we do?" I asked.
"Why did you say their name?" Mrs. Chalmers cried. "Why?" She held her baby and paced back and forth. "I won't let them get my baby. I won't let them," she said.
"We need a place to hide," I said. I had the bat back in my hand and nervously tightened my grip on it.
We heard a noise coming from the first floor. Kimball let out a short heavy "woof."
"They're in the house," Mrs. Chalmers said.
"We have to hide," I insisted.
"It's no use." She held out her baby. "Take him." A sudden calm had come over her.
"Mrs. Chalmers…"
"Take him," she said, her voice steady and forceful.
"But I don't know how to hold a baby."
She walked over to me. "Make a cradle with your arm."
I did as she said.
"Now, support his head in the crook of your arm."
He fit in my arm like he was made to go there. "Like this?"
"Perfect." She smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "His name is Nate," she said. "There's formula in the pantry in the kitchen." She backed away. "You stay here. I'll lock the door behind me."
"No, Mrs. Chalmers…" I started to cry. "Don't go down there. I don't want to be alone. I'm scared."
She stopped and smiled again. "Oz, take care of my son. He's your responsibility now."
"No…"
She moved to the stairs. "Once they've taken me, they'll leave. They always do. No matter what you hear, don't open the door." She started down the stairs and stopped. "Oh, and Oz, remember they can't see you if you don't notice them." With that she hurried down the stairs. I heard the door open and shut. Minutes later, all I could hear were the sounds of Mrs. Chalmers screaming.
TWO
Hours passed after Mrs. Chalmers's last scream before I dared to leave the attic. Had it not been for the baby crying and throwing a general fit, I probably would have waited even longer. As it was, he was in desperate need of a diaper change, and I suspected he was hungry again.
With Nate in my left arm, the baseball bat in my right hand, and Kimball at my feet, I descended the stairs as frightened as I have ever been. Mrs. Chalmers said they would leave after they took her, but I couldn't be absolutely sure she knew what she was talking about. She wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders.
Standing in the hallway of the second floor, I knew she was right. I don't know how exactly, but I could sense that they were gone. They brought with them the stench of terror, a sharp sour effervescence that seeps into your bones and sends a horrible sense of doom up and down your spine. If they'd remained in the house, I would have smelled them. Instead all I smelled was the kid's foul and disgusting diaper.
I moved into the Chalmers' master bedroom where they had set up a changing table. I had never changed a diaper before, but I had seen my aunt change my cousin's diaper when we visited them the Christmas before last. Until I woke up from my bout with mono to find that everybody in the world had disappeared, I counted that experience as my most horrible ever.
I set my bat down on the bed and laid Nate down on the flat cushioned top of the changing table. Kimball looked at me as if I were insane to even attempt to change the kid's diaper, but my only other option was to let him keep his soiled diaper on and learn to live with the awful, awful smell. It wasn't an option. I pulled back the adhesive tab on the diaper and lifted Nate's feet to get his hindquarters high enough to slip the diaper out. I was absolutely appalled at the milky green deposit Nate had made. Its consistency defied reason. I quickly wrapped the diaper up tight and tossed it in the nearby trashcan.
Nate kicked and thrashed about on the changing table. His eyes were closed tight. I cleaned his bottom with about a hundred baby wipes, and after several attempts, successfully put a clean diaper on him. Then before picking him up and heading down the stairs to the kitchen, I prayed that I would come across an adult before the kid crapped again. I was through with diaper-changing duty.
The kid gulped down his formula like he hadn't eaten in a month. After he finished the last drop, I soon learned that Nate's favorite thing to do after downing a bottle of formula was vomit. The little brat threw up all over my shirt. I was absolutely convinced he was the most disgusting baby ever born.
As Nate lay on the kitchen floor with Kimball watching over him, I washed my shirt out in the kitchen sink, and watched out the window as the sun sank in the sky. It would be completely dark soon. I decided that I would spend the night in the Chalmers' rather than slink through the neighborhood in the dead of night carrying a squirming baby the short distance to my house.
I raided the pantry for whatever looked edible and stuffed everything into a plastic garbage bag. My appetite was slowly returning to its old form. Much to my delight, the Chalmers were really into junk food. It seemed like they had every kind of chip, chocolate, and soda known to man. There was no dog food, but they did have a lot of canned tuna and chicken. Luckily, they all had pull-up tabs so no can opener would be needed.
The bag full, I scooped up the little kid and headed back up to the master bedroom where I would hole up for the night. I didn't like the attic. It made me feel trapped and boxed in. The master bedroom connected to Mr. Chalmers's office through a large walk-in closet, which gave me two exits. Besides, the baby was set up to sleep in the master bedroom. I figured if he was in familiar surroundings he might have an easier time of it.
By nine o'clock that night (I knew the correct time because I found Mr. Chalmers's watch on the desk in his office), it was obvious I was wrong. The kid howled and wailed from the moment I set foot back in the master bedroom. Mrs. Chalmers said he was colic. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but if it meant an enormous pain in the ass, he was definitely colic.
I paced the floor of the bedroom rocking the kid back and forth so long that my arm went numb. It was then that I found something that was labeled a baby sling. It was a device that hung around my shoulder and across my belly and had a pocket big enough to lay the kid in. As soon as he was inside, Nate went out like a light. From that moment on, that baby sling was always in my sight. As far as I was concerned, it was the most miraculous invention ever made.
I stretched out on the bed and drifted to sleep as Kimball took a spot next to me and closed his eyes.
***
At two in the morning, Nate woke up hungry. I fed him some formula and fought hard to stay awake. He was an annoying little bugger. There was a time when I was five or six years old that I begged my Mom to give me a kid brother. Lying there with one eye open, propped up on the Chalmers' bed feeding a flailing little blob some crap that he was going to throw up about two seconds after he got done, I was glad she didn't listen to me.
Despite my best efforts, I dozed off and let my head drop. I quickly jerked awake and breathed out deeply trying to will myself to stay alert. I stood and immediately froze as I looked out the window and saw a large pair of green eyes staring back at me. They were back.
Nate fed unaware of the danger. Kimball hopped out of the bed and charged the window. The eyes didn't move. Nor did I. We were locked in a stare. Mrs. Chalmers's words came back to me. "They can't see you if you don't notice them."
How could I not notice them? All I could see in the darkness were the eerie green eyes. They were there. I couldn't deny that. A tapping came at the window, then I could hear scratching. I looked closer at the green eyes. The thing turned its head, and they disappeared only to reappear seconds later. Kimball barked. I heard a hiss and a low raspy meow. I let out a sigh of relief. The glowing green eyes belonged to a cat. Kimball lunged at the window and the cat took off. I laid back down and Nate and I were asleep before Kimball returned to the bed.
***
I woke up the next morning thinking about Stevie Dayton. Six months earlier, he was found in his basement with a noose around his neck hanging from some pipes. My Mom told me like she expecte
d me to crumple over in a grief-stricken heap. I could sense her disappointment when my only reply was, "Okay," and I went on about the important task of playing Madden on my Xbox.
Stevie was on my mind at that particular moment because I remembered his stories. He was retarded, or "mentally challenged" as my mother used to correct me, but he had an incredible imagination. He wrote comic books about bizarre worlds where people had three heads and eighty-six toes or potato peelers for fingers. It was crazy stuff that never made any sense. He worked on them constantly at school. His drawings were surprisingly good, but his handwriting was barely legible. The stories meant something to him. We, of course, teased him mercilessly about them. Looking back, it was perhaps the crudest thing we did to him, making fun of his stories. To him, they were the only places he felt real solace, and we set out to destroy them.
There was one story that haunted me this particular morning, a story about a group of creatures that hunted people. The details were vague to me, but I seemed to recall that they were invisible until you could see them. That was Stevie's logic, "invisible until you could see them." At the time, I thought it was the rambling reasoning of a retarded kid, but at that moment, hearing Mrs. Chalmers's voice in my head saying, "they can't see you if you don't notice them," I was beginning to wonder if Stevie knew something the rest of us didn't.
I put a fresh diaper on Nate, and packed up all the baby supplies that would fit in the garbage bag. With a great deal of hesitation, I exited the Chalmers' house with Nate in his sling and Kimball by my side. We made the short trip to my house without incident.
I struggled to come up with a plan for survival. I was thirteen, and I felt like I didn't know anything about anything that was important. Put me in front of a video game and I could tell you how to defeat the invading Xoran army on planet K-Zap and save the Chalathiun race from extinction. But I couldn't tell you squat about how to pack only the most essential food and other items to keep you alive on planet Earth when it appears you and a baby were the only humans left. I say appears because I had made up my mind that Mrs. Chalmers was wrong. Everyone wasn't gone. After all, what were the chances that three people in the same neighborhood were the only ones that survived? Somebody else had to be out there. I could either wait until they came to me, or I could go out and find them. I never was much for waiting.
