by Nancy Isaak
Ironically, the handwritten instructions had survived the Awakening.
Sadly, its author had not.
It had taken over two weeks for Abby to complete the box—a time-consuming and confusing build for a young woman who had never even picked up a hammer before. Slowly—way too slowly—Abby had gathered her supplies, spread out her instructions—and started measuring…and sawing…and hammering.
And crying…and cursing…
But—eventually—the box was finished.
It wasn’t beautiful, but it was strong—having saved their lives on more than one occasion.
In some ways, it looked like a large wooden coffin—thick planks, both nailed and screwed together—the corners secured with heavy metal brackets. There were a number of round holes along the sides—big enough to allow for air flow, small enough to keep fingers (or claws) from poking inside.
A long, thick chain had been wound around the box—both vertically and horizontally—securing the lid to the base. It was an ingenious design, with the ends of the chain threaded through two holes bored into the top boards, allowing the girls to securely padlock the links together from the inside, where there was just enough room for two young women, their blankets and pillows, a thread-bare lion stuffie and an old doll…and their weapons.
* * * *
This night…there was something outside of the box.
Abby awoke first to the slightest of coughs, followed by a snuffling—and a scritch-scratch of nails testing the thickness of the wood—the scree of a talon being dragged across the metal of one of the corner brackets.
A moment later, the box moved slightly—just a nudge.
Beside Abby, Frankie’s eyes flew open in terror; her nostrils crinkling at the foul odor that was seeping in through the air holes. Before Frankie could make a sound, however, Abby shoved a hand over her younger sister’s mouth.
She leaned in close, whispering into Frankie’s ear. "Skeeter!"
The snuffling continued, accompanied now by a low rumble, the beginnings of a throaty growl from a dangerous predator sensing prey nearby.
Cough...
Frankie squeaked as the box was jostled again, and Abby squeezed her hand even tighter over Frankie’s mouth—a silent urge for her sister to shaddup…shaddup…shaddup!
Outside of the box, meanwhile, the growling grew in intensity, along with the skeeter’s irritation. It began to push at the box—or perhaps it was kicking it. Whatever it was doing, it made the girls’ wooden sanctuary move—little stutters across the living room floor.
ARROOOOO!!!
The girls tensed as the skeeter suddenly howled.
Their arms and legs splayed out, bracing themselves against the wooden boards—knowing full well what would come next.
BAM!!...a vicious kick sent the box sliding across the floor.
BAMBAM!!...the heavy chain jingled as it was pulled up tight, then released as the crate went flying in the opposite direction—the padlock thankfully holding.
BAMBAMBAM!!...even the stalwart Abby was unable to contain the gasp that escaped her lips as their box was suddenly upended—turning over—crashing its way through a full revolution.
With an OOF!...Frankie fell onto Abby, then almost immediately rolled off.
Meanwhile, one of the submachine guns got caught under Abby’s back.
The pain was substantial, but Abby’s only concern was the gun misfiring. She reached underneath her, straining toward the weapon—but the box continued to roll, the submachine gun eluding her grasp, eventually sliding down toward the bottom of the crate.
BAMBAMBAM!!
The skeeter must have been enormous, because it continued its attack—turning the box over and over.
Tucked away inside their sanctuary—the girls had no choice.
They simply endured.
("Anarchy" is available now at your favorite e-book retailer.)
Dear Reader,
I hope that you enjoyed reading “365 Days Alone”.
If you did—and you have the time—please feel free to leave a review at your preferred retailer or online platform.
By the way, if you’ve never written a review before, know that it doesn’t have to be long. It can be as simple as a one-liner—“Loved the book, can’t wait for the movie”—that sort of thing.
Either way, no pressure. Just thank you once again for taking the time to read my story.
Sincerely,
Nancy Isaak
P.S. If you would like to follow me on Twitter, you can find me there at: @nancy_isaak
