“Think there’s anything inside?” Maria asked.
“Nothing worth taking.” Clarissa replied. “Looks like it’s a bed-breakfast/dinner-and-a-show sort of place. I’m sure it’s been emptied of anything useful by now.”
“I wonder what this place was like two years ago.” Maria pondered aloud.
“Over-priced and overrated,” her mother speculated. “I never cared for places like this.”
Clarissa left the old inn and steered her car back out into the street. She turned south and crossed over a small bridge leading over the same creek she had followed earlier. This led her into the main part of the town. Clarissa, taking note from the last town she was in, was extremely cautious while surveying the city streets. She turned after crossing the bridge and drove onward. Further down the street were two places of interest sitting side by side. They were eateries: a country kitchen and a place that once sold hoagies. The Hannigans searched both places, but nothing of any real use was discovered. They returned to their vehicle and continued their journey. Clarissa passed a short row of pine trees; she was pleased to see that none of them had been skinned.
The Hannigans soon came across another place of interest. It was a collection of campuses and facilities that consisted of elementary, middle, and high school buildings. A lowly preschool set on the opposite side of the street. Clarissa herself didn’t take much interest in these places, but her daughters did. The younger Hannigans watched on in a nostalgic, melancholic reverie as they passed by the school. Clarissa’s scholarly history consisted of Catholic boarding schools in Italy, which she’d had enough of by the age of sixteen. Her daughters were much fonder of their short time in the school system. The bright, beautiful, friendly, and charismatic twins were much adored by students and teachers alike. Unfortunately, the war, followed by the Sayona epidemic and the subsequent societal anomie, prevented the girls from ever reaching high school.
“Why’d those fuckers have to attack us?” Maria snapped as she yearningly watched as the school faded away behind her.
“Maria, come on.” Clarissa chastised on account of Maria’s choice of language.
“I hope their planet burned! I hope their sun exploded or imploded and swallowed the whole damn thing,” Maria continued. “I hope they died in fear.”
“You’re not alone in those thoughts,” her mother added. “And I’m sure many of them did.”
Vita remained silent in the backseat. She heard her mother and sister speaking, but didn’t pay much attention. Her mind and focus remained on the school, and also on her former school and the friends she’d had in years past. She knew her mother was not likely to pay the school any more attention, but Vita silently longed to see and explore its once teeming hallways and classrooms. There was no chance she could ever convince her mother to spend the night there. Clarissa often preached of the foolishness in ever trying to take refuge in a school, a shopping mall, or a prison. It might seem like a good idea initially, but it always tends to turn out badly in the end… according to Clarissa.
As the family continued to drive onward they soon came upon a variety thrift shop not far from the school. The Hannigans searched it over, but again, nothing left inside proved to be of any real use. The street they’d been traveling down continued on, yet traveling any further would lead them out of the town. Instead, Clarissa opted to take a southbound street just across from the thrift store. All along both sides of this street were homes; no former businesses. Clarissa assumed they were more likely to find supplies in homes rather than places of business anyway. However, none of the present homes seemed very promising. Most had their windows broken out and some were also missing their doors, or had insignificant possessions scattered around their unkempt yards.
This street, too, soon came to an end. Clarissa had three options: go back into the town, take a left on a short dirt-trail that circled around to a couple of baseball fields, or go to the right down a gravel road lined with more unoccupied homes. Clarissa chose the last option. Again, none of the houses initially stood out as potentially valuable, but these homes were also more out of the way and less likely to be bothered by impatient plunderers. As this trail, too, neared its end, the Hannigan girls spotted a two story house semi-hidden behind some trees atop a long, rocky driveway. Clarissa wouldn’t have paid it much concern, but she noticed something odd: a heavy duty, utility trailer. She drove up the driveway to get a better look.
The trailer rested on four tires; none of them were flat, which was rare. The Sayona quickly learned that destroying the tires of vehicles made catching humans much easier, so rarely did they leave any tire in working condition, including those on trailers. Having decent tires on anything resembling a working vehicle was tempting fate. Even if the Sayona had never happened across this town, the fact that these tires were in such good condition proved promising to Clarissa, though also worrisome. She looked to the house just across from where the trailer was sitting. It was in need of a little cleaning, but the house appeared to be in good condition overall. None of the windows were broken out; in fact, it appeared as if they were barred from the inside. Clarissa had never seen that before. She pulled up closer to the house and switched off her car. She surmised that, most likely, this place might have been, or might still be, used to store items and that whoever stored them would’ve, hopefully, taken up residence elsewhere. That was what Clarissa would’ve done at least, if she possessed too many items to carry at once.
Clarissa looked over to Maria and spoke, “Have your gun ready. The place looks empty, but someone might’ve been here recently.”
Maria did as she was told. Clarissa retrieved her shotgun from the dashboard and exited the vehicle; her daughters followed her lead. The house was mostly white with a faded, blue roof. The structure was sturdy and of decent size and, as Clarissa had observed, every window had metallic bars implemented from the inside, or was boarded up completely. There was a small, unassuming shed to the right of the house underneath a cluster of trees, and also a structure that looked like a two car garage a little further up the driveway. Clarissa examined her surroundings; everything seemed quiet. This place is perfect for hiding, she thought. It’s close to the town, but still well-hidden from prying eyes… except for hers.
“You think someone’s here, mama?” Vita asked as she and her sister approached the house a few paces behind their mother.
“Probably not,” she replied. “But always be cautious.”
Warily, Clarissa walked up and tried the door. The doorknob did not move; it was well locked. She gave the door a slight shove. It was made of metal and did not yield in the least bit. Clarissa correctly concluded that the door was barred with multiple locks from the other side. There was no chance she was getting in this way; the windows were also not an option.
“Well, we aren’t getting in this way,” Clarissa stated wearily. “Let’s see if the backdoor is any better. If not, we might have to burrow through one of these walls if we ever plan on getting inside.”
“Or you could try knocking,” spoke a male voice from behind Clarissa.
Clarissa whirled around and took aim with her shotgun. Her daughters did the same, Maria with her pistol and Vita with her knife, while also shifting out of the way of their mother’s line-of-sight.
“Where the hell did you come from?!” Clarissa demanding of the mystery person.
“It’s my house.” He replied. The man was Caucasian, twenty-nine years of age, slightly shorter than Clarissa, and not especially intimidating from a physical point of view. He wore a long, drably, grayish-colored overcoat with a hood that was currently covering most of his head. Clarissa had no idea how many weapons he had concealed within that coat, but she was fully aware of the one that he currently had slung over his shoulder. It was an immensely intimidating M14 automatic rifle. The weapon had been modified with a foregrip mounted to the lower handguard; a military-grade reflex scope mounted in place of the rear site; and a fiberglass folding-stock attached t
o the backend of the gun, with another grip just behind the trigger. The magazine in the weapon had an identical clip strapped to it in an inverted direction – to make for a quick reload. All-in-all, it looked to be a very effective killing devise. “Is there something you needed?” The man calmly inquired.
“Drop that weapon now!” Clarissa ordered.
“I’d rather not,” he replied cordially. “If you don’t mind.”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”
“You do what you have to do, ma’am.”
“If you think I’m bluffing I assure you, mister, you are dead wrong!”
“I believe every word you speak, so do what you must. I won’t hold it against you.”
This man was not like Louis Doniphan, whom Clarissa had threatened the day before. Her menacing shotgun and verbal intimidations had no effect on this guy, which was very troubling to Clarissa. Maria noticed this, and not wanting to see this man shot dead in his own driveway by her mother, she spoke up.
“Mister, please, just do what she says; we don’t wanna hurt anyone.” As Maria spoke, Vita looked to her in both bewilderment and concern. She knew their mother would not take kindly to Maria speaking out to a stranger like that.
“Quiet!” Clarissa snapped. “Maria, shut the fuck up!”
The man stood silently for a moment, eyeing Maria and then staring back to her angry mother; he then spoke again. “All right… I’ll compromise.” The man reached down and removed the duel-clips from the weapon. He then turned the weapon on its side and pulled back the bolt – flinging the previously chambered 7.62 round into the air. He caught it in his hand and then pocketed it along with the clips. “Is that sufficient enough, or am I still dead where I stand?”
Clarissa did not reply to him. She circled to his right and then gave instructions to her daughters: “Get in the car, girls.” Both proceeded to do as they were told as the mystery man spoke again.
“Hold on a moment.” He implored. Neither Vita nor Maria listened, but he did get the attention of their mother. “You came here for something, obviously. What do you need?”
“We don’t need anything from you.” Clarissa replied vindictively.
“Then why are you here?”
“We won’t be for long… now if value your life and your wellbeing then I very much suggest that you shut up!”
“I value neither,” the man responded. “Food, water, fuel, weapons, ammo: I have all of these things. You happen to need any of that stuff? If so, then take it. If those girls are your daughters are you seriously going to risk their lives just ‘cause you don’t like the looks of me?”
“You really don’t value your life do you?” Clarissa asked as she approached the man still aiming her gun steadfastly at his face. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve ever killed, or the second, or the third…”
“Then one more wouldn’t hurt, would it?” He replied. “The front door can’t be opened from the outside, but there’s a door in the back. It’s locked, but I have the…”
“Shut up!” Clarissa interrupted. “How many others are in that house waiting for me, huh? You seriously think I’m going to trust you?”
The man began to faintly laugh at Clarissa’s rhetorical inquiries before quickly replying. “No, I’m not under the impression that you will trust me in any way. Nonetheless…” The man removed his rifle from his shoulder and held it out to Clarissa. “Give this to one of your daughters. If they’re half as Diehard as you are, then I’m sure they’ll have no problem using it. You won’t believe me if I tell you there’s nobody in the house, which there isn’t, so why don’t I just show you instead?”
Clarissa grabbed the rifle from the man’s hand and threw it on the ground behind her. Vita and Maria didn’t quite make it to the car as their mother had ordered. The odd and reckless behavior of this strange man disturbingly captivated them. Clarissa herself was confounded; she had no idea what she should do. If this man was the one who’d cleaned out all of the places in this town, then he could very well be in possession of a figurative goldmine.
Seeing that Clarissa was still having trouble processing his plan, the man added more to try and ease her troubled mind: “You and I go first through the backdoor. I show you the house, you behind me with your Super 90 aimed at the back of my head, of course, and if anything spooks you, just pull the trigger – your daughters will hear it. They can either flee, or come to your rescue.”
“And why would you help us?” Clarissa asked him.
“Why shouldn’t I?” He replied.
Clarissa did not answer back; she did not like what this man was saying – mostly because it made sense. Leaving this town with no supplies with nightfall closing in was very dangerous. She gave serious thought to killing him now and just taking whatever he possessed, but her conscience was not quite as atrophied as she’d hoped (at least not while her daughters were watching). Eventually, she made her decision. She took a few steps away from the man and looked back to her daughters.
“Vita,” she called. “Pick up the rifle.”
Vita walked forward and picked up the gun. She had fired small caliber rifles before, but this thing was a monster compared to them; much heavier than anything she had ever shot in her lifetime. She brushed the dust off of it while looking to her mother for further instructions. Clarissa looked back to the weapon’s owner.
“It won’t do her much good without bullets.” Clarissa stated.
“That’s true.” The man procured the clips from his pocket and tossed them to Vita. “Be mindful, little Miss; that thing kicks like a pissed off stud-horse.”
“Well, okay,” Vita stuttered. “Don’t make me use it then.”
“I will do my part.” He replied. The man then raised both of his hands into the air, turned away from Clarissa and her daughters, and then headed towards the house. Clarissa followed close behind with her daughters trailing her.
The man walked to the front of the house and stopped next to an old, green trashcan. He reached one hand into his coat and procured a handgun, which he set atop the trashcan. He did this two more times and retrieved two more firearms. In all, there were two semi-automatic 9mm handguns and one .44 caliber revolver. After removing his weapons he spoke.
“Okay, that’s all I’ve got on me.”
“Nice collection,” Clarissa scathingly commented. “You have any knives?”
“More than a couple.” The man replied. “Shall I lose them, too?”
“Just lose the whole coat.”
“As you wish.”
The man removed his hood, displaying his head of disheveled, brown hair. The rest of the coat followed. Underneath he wore a dark-blue, long-sleeved, thermal-fleece shirt (odd for anyone to wear this time of year). After removing his coat, two knives were instantly visible: one fairly large combat knife was sheathed and attached to his belt, and the other was a short dagger strapped to his left forearm. He reached behind him and obtained another sheathed combat-style blade and placed it with his other weapons. The pants he wore were a military grade with a woodland digital pattern and several pockets which also contained a few more knives. The final count tallied seven in all.
“Damn mister,” Maria remarked. “You expecting another war or something?”
“No, but I do like to be prepared for one.” He replied with an innocuous smirk.
“Or you’re just crazy.” Clarissa noted.
“Don’t worry, I’m not.” He spoke honestly. “In fact, I’m annoyingly sane and irritatingly rational most of the time.”
“Whatever; let’s go.” Clarissa commanded. “Girls, you stay here.”
The now unarmed man and Clarissa continued around the house while Vita and Maria stayed behind. As the man and their mother disappeared behind the house, the girls looked to each other and then hurried over to the man’s arsenal sitting on top of the trashcan. Vita shouldered the M14 and picked up the revolver, a Ruger Redhawk, from out of the pile of weapons.
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��Wow, this thing is totally badass!” She declared as she pointed the gun at a cluster of trees in the distance. “Make my day, bitches!”
“Why the hell would someone need this many knives?” Maria asked looking at the perturbing knife collection. “The guns maybe I can understand, but damn, there’s more than half a dozen knives here.”
“I don’t know; maybe he’s a piss-poor shot.” Vita replied as she returned the revolver to the pile. “Or maybe he was a master, knife-throwing, circus performer in his former life and now he uses his awesome knifing skills to… kill stuff?”
“You think this guy’s crazy?” Maria asked.
“I wouldn’t know.” Vita answered
“Yeah, me neither, I guess.”
“He’s obviously a little crazy; I mean, this guy has no fear of death whatsoever.”
“But is he dangerous?”
“Well, to somebody he is.” Vita answered, waving her hand over the man’s confiscated weapons. “But he does seem really determined to help us for some reason.”
“I believe there’re still good people left – I know there are, somewhere.” Maria asserted. “This guy is strange for sure, but… I don’t know.”
“He did practically dare our mother to shoot him just now.”
“Yeah, but death is scary to us because we have each other and, therefore, something worth living for. But what does this guy have? A pile of guns and knives? Maybe he has nothing to lose.”
Around the back of the house, Clarissa and her willing hostage approached the backdoor by crossing a dusky, brown porch. The man retrieved a set of keys from a front pocket to unlock a deadbolt. He unlocked it and pushed open the heavy door. He entered with Clarissa behind him. The first room was a former laundry room which was now empty except for a few outdoor tools and a dingy-white tarp lying against the wall (it was covering car batteries). As they proceeded onward they entered into the dining room. To the right was an open kitchen. The only remaining appliances were a gas stove and a large freezer-chest which was placed in the location where a refrigerator would normally go. There was also a large pantry door near the front entrance to the dining area with a heavy, sliding lock near the doorknob. To the left of the kitchen was a hallway with two doors on each side – three bedrooms and a bathroom. Continuing ahead, they entered into the living room; a large staircase ascended to their right and the heavily locked front door lay just ahead. Clarissa debated whether or not to open the front door as she had yet to check the downstairs bedrooms or any of the rooms upstairs. Before she could make a decision, the man spoke.
In the Aftermath: Burning of the Dawn Page 6
