Savage

by Jade C. Jamison

  “It’s always possible, right?”

  “I guess.” We stopped talking then, but the seed had been planted in my head. The next drive we hiked up had a large wrought iron gate up in the trees a way, off the road, and a high fence that we assumed surrounded the rest of the property. It was something unexpected and something I’d never seen before up here. The fence seemed to be one that would deter deer from jumping over, but it wasn’t something we could scale either. We could probably cut through it with wire cutters, but we didn’t have any…and we had no way of knowing if there were survivors inside. If we cut through the fence and there were people inside, we’d be viewed as intruders—trespassers. That wouldn’t be a way to win friends, not that we were looking for any. We examined the fence more closely, looking to see if there was a way to open it, but we saw that there was an old speaker of some sort and an electronic lock. If the power had been on, we would have been able to talk with someone if they were inside.

  Kevin said, “We can walk around the perimeter for a while, see if the owners created another way to get out.” I nodded. “If I had a car and wanted to leave, I’d cut down a section of fence, ‘cause you sure as hell aren’t getting through that gate if it’s closed.” No, but maybe there was another way to open it…like Kevin had said about garage doors. We wouldn’t know how, though, especially on the outside, so it wasn’t worth mentioning.

  We began walking, and it wasn’t long before he and I both noticed something chilling.

  Footprints.

  All along the inside of the fence higher up, there were the marks of a person approaching the fence and then standing, moving in the same spot for some time, walking away, and then coming back, often walking a few feet along the fence before moving away once more. It was eerie—creepier than I would have imagined if someone had just been telling me about it. As the realization sunk in, I imagined someone infected pawing at the fence, trying to find a way to get out.

  I shivered, and not because I could see my breath.

  We were surrounded.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Blow Up the Outside World” – Soundgarden

  IF YOU LOOK at history, you can see the perseverance of the human spirit. Even when we should have given up, we didn’t. We’re persistent.

  Stubborn.

  Maybe even a little thick in the head.

  But we’re survivors. It’s what we do. One week, we might be lamenting our existence, ready to throw in the towel, do ourselves in, but push our backs against the wall, pile up all odds against us, and we’ll fight. We won’t take it sitting down.

  That was where I and my group were, I think. In the back of our minds, we knew we were done for. We’d tried just about everything and come up short. We’d been there at least a month, maybe longer, but I had no idea how long. All I knew was that the days continued to get shorter, the air continued to grow colder, and I was growing far too used to this existence.

  The routine was becoming far too easy.

  I’d been more cautious around Larry, though, and far more watchful. Kevin might have been right about him, but I saw no evidence. Still, I trusted Kevin, maybe more than I should have, and I was careful.

  I thought we were about ready to give up on searching every afternoon, because we hadn’t been successful. Larry and Vera had found nothing fruitful and Kevin and I hadn’t discovered much either. We decided to try the other side of the road, though. We’d been focusing on the mountainside, but I knew there were some farms farther up in the valley. They were probably too far, but I knew there were one or two homes. We might be able to reach at least one.

  It was a last-ditch effort. There were, I knew, several other places we could get to by foot, but we were all feeling discouraged, like it wasn’t worth the effort. We didn’t talk about it, but if everyone else was feeling the way I was, they were holding out for spring or summer. We could do more then. We could walk home, carrying a simple tent and sleeping bags, as long as we had water and a little food. That was my plan if we were still here come spring. No fucking way was I going to die here.

  Having done inventory, I knew we had plenty of food to make it till spring if we didn’t gorge ourselves. And we hadn’t been. It was difficult enough making food on a fire without simple means of cleaning up. We made do, but we kept it simple and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d overeaten. It certainly hadn’t been here.

  So, one day, Kevin and I fetched the water earlier than usual. It was bright and sunny, but something in the air told me it wasn’t going to stay that way. We had a plan, though, and that was to try a couple more spots before giving up entirely. I was also starting to wonder if most of the homes around my Aunt Lou were summer homes, if a lot of city folks had places here for when it was warm out but didn’t come near the mountains once the snow arrived. I would have thought that of the wrought-iron fence homestead had we not seen evidence to the contrary. Still, the fact that we never saw or heard vehicles on the main road made me wonder.

  When we got to the main road, we paused, planning to journey far up the road but concentrate on the south side instead of the north. I knew, though, that we’d have to walk a long way to find even one. The first one I could think of belonged to the family who owned all the fields just past the creek, and his homestead was several miles away, farther, I thought, than we’d be able to reach on foot, but I was certain there was at least one home, maybe two, along the way in the forested area just off the road…going east.

  I hoped my memory served me well. If it did, we could be shaking hands with someone helpful within an hour or two. But, first, I had to convince Kevin to go the other way.

  I told him about the family who owned the fields, and how that would likely be a hike we couldn’t make in all this snow, but that I was sure there was at least one house south if we traveled east on the road. I could see it in Kevin’s eyes, but I said, “I know this is supposed to be the area Larry and Vera are scouting, but you heard him yourself. They’re cutting through the woods. I doubt they’ll ever come south.” Kevin’s jaw rippled but he said nothing. “Let’s just check the first one off the road and see.”

  He agreed and we set off down the road heading east, keeping our eyes south. I knew there was a home close by, because I remembered the drive from Chipeta Springs. I’d see that driveway and know Aunt Lou’s drive was the next one but on the other side of the road. As we continued walking, my feet as usual grew cold inside the boots. I had taken to wearing two pairs of socks, but even that didn’t help when we were out walking for hours. It took a few hours in front of the fire at night to thaw them back out. But I’d gone through much worse in my life, and it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I wanted to go home, so I’d walk to hell and back to make it happen.

  We turned down a drive on the right, the one I’d remembered in my mind. The snow was deep on that road, so deep that we almost missed it, although, from the angle, I thought it would be easier to spot if we were walking the other way—to the west instead of the east. Once on the private road, we walked down quite a slope, and I knew we were getting close to the creek. I started to slide and held the shovel out to stop my fall. It was then that I saw the little white house off in the distance.

  It didn’t look like the kind of house you’d find in the woods. It looked like a small house you’d find down a tree-lined lane on the outskirts of Winchester, a home that hadn’t been around forever, but one that had been there long enough to have been loved by a family or two, one full of warm memories.

  A house like this…I had high hopes. I wanted this place to be the home of someone kind, someone who would help us in our time of greatest need.

  In spite of the looks of the house, it seemed to me that underneath the blanket of snow the landscaping seemed pretty basic—no manicured lawn or overly tended bushes but instead a design that gave attention to the vegetation that already grew there, combined with arrangements of rocks and other natural décor. I would have loved to have seen it
in the summertime.

  There appeared to be a path of stepping stones once we got closer to the house as well as two small sections of split-rail fence separating driveway from “yard.” We walked up the path to the house and Kevin opened the screen door, knocking firmly on the inner wooden one.

  There was no answer.

  He tried again and we waited patiently, liked civilized people, but after what felt like several minutes, he said to me, “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

  “What makes you so sure? What if they’re paranoid like the guy Larry and Vera ran into?”

  Kevin frowned and said, “I don’t know. But do you hear anyone inside?” I had been thinking that I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone in there if they were trying to hide, but I didn’t say it. I shook my head as Kevin once more assessed the landscape. He said, “There are no cars here, but what I find really odd is no footprints. At all. You’d think we’d see footprints, even old ones reburied in new snow. You know how they look.” I did. If the wind had taken its toll on them, they were blown away under the dust of snow, but old ones untouched by the gusts could still be discerned by the dent they left in the white stuff.

  I was trying instead to think of a salient argument, because I could feel where he was going, but I couldn’t. He was right. There was no indication that anyone was home. It wasn’t like before the infected crisis, before we got stuck up here, when you’d go to someone’s house and see lights on or smell dinner cooking or hear the TV droning in the living room. Now it was more a sense, based on instinct and experience…and part of me thought he might be right.

  There was more to it, though, and he voiced it. “No car, no garage to hide one. No one’s here.” He looked past the yard area. “And no recent tire tracks.”

  He started moving along the side of the house. If it had been traditionally landscaped, he would have been tromping on flowerbeds, but I didn’t think he was stepping on anything of value…not that those things would mean much if the world had turned to shit, something I was afraid we’d discover once we returned to the land of the living.

  He was putting his hands up to the windows, peering inside to see if anyone was in there. “Look,” he urged. I placed my hands on the glass and peeked in, feeling guilty, like I was snooping where I shouldn’t have been. I allowed myself a good look, though, and then I heard him continue. “Do you see any signs that someone’s been there recently?” I thought of what my aunt’s house looked like—since the power had gone out and I and my three companions had taken up residence. It didn’t look neat as a pin, like this place did. While my aunt’s floor didn’t look filthy, there would be no mistaking that wet boots had tread over it multiple times without a mopping. More than that, though, the buckets of melted snow and blankets and pillows on the furniture would also be a dead giveaway.

  I had to admit that he was right. “No.”

  “I’m pretty sure this place hasn’t seen a person in months.” He walked back over to the door and once more swung the screen open, and then he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. I saw him frown, because the knob didn’t budge. “Locked.” I could see he was thinking of alternate means of letting himself inside, but then he started walking along the side of the house, only he kept going. He didn’t say a word, but I knew he expected me to follow him…so I did.

  We turned the corner and found another door. We weren’t at what I’d consider the “back” of the house; we were instead on the side. There was no screen, and the door had a window in it. When Kevin put his hand on this doorknob and twisted, it responded, turning until he was able to push it open. I’d been imagining looking all over for a key—under the doormat or big rocks around the front of the house—and thought we’d strike out. After all, everything was buried under inches and inches of snow, and finding a tiny key in all of it would have been difficult, especially when we weren’t sure if such a key existed in the first place.

  Kevin walked in first and then, in spite of my hesitation, I followed. It was a cute house and the kitchen had a charm to it that belied its small size. It was rectangular with an island in the middle and, in the light filtering in from outdoors, everything in the white space appeared blue. We walked slowly as though in a museum, unwilling to miss a single piece of art, but we’d only taken a few steps inside when Kevin said, “Do you hear that?”

  I felt my ears prick as they picked up what he was referring to.

  But that…it was impossible. I felt my eyes grow wide as I focused on him again, and then I turned my eye toward the refrigerator, just a couple of feet away from me. My breathing was shallow, but I had to know. I opened the door…and a light shone. Confusion marred my features as I turned my face to Kevin again. “Maybe only one side of the road lost power?”

  “Maybe,” he said, walking back toward the door. “Hold on.” He walked outside but I looked back toward the light in the refrigerator. I hadn’t seen electricity in weeks, and it filled me with wonder at how human beings had figured out how to conquer their environment by harnessing something we couldn’t see—it was something we could sense, something we could feel. This particular something could also kill us, but it powered our lives, changed us, changed how we lived…and I hadn’t fully appreciated it until now, when I no longer had it.

  I noticed that the fridge was almost bare—a bottle of ketchup and a smaller bottle of brown mustard. Some soy sauce. Italian dressing. Mayonnaise.

  Condiment heaven.

  If there were still people living here, they were down to nothing.

  Maybe that was why they were gone.

  I closed the fridge as Kevin walked back inside. “Solar.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Solar power. That’s why everything’s on in here. It’s not that they’re getting power and the homes on that side of the road aren’t.” He walked over to where I stood and slid his gloved index finger over the top of the microwave, dragging a clean spot through the layer of dust. “And I’d guess they’ve been gone for a few months.”

  My nose still felt chilled. “Is that why it’s so damned cold in here?” He nodded. “But it feels lived in.”

  “I think we need to explore a little—find some answers and assure you that no one’s here.”

  I’d never been a thrill seeker or an adrenaline junkie, but I did remember from high school things that would normally rattle other kids not mattering a bit to Kevin. Like one time when he was driving that gorgeous black truck of his and he pulled out into traffic in Colorado Springs in front of the wrong kids, and those damn kids chased us down the freeway at speeds over eighty miles an hour.

  Savage? He never even broke a sweat. Always cool under pressure.

  We got away from those other kids unscathed and enjoyed the rest of our evening. Well, at least I think I did. I couldn’t quite remember. I know I was still pining over Kevin at that point, still clueless.

  I knew Kevin wasn’t thrill seeking any more now than he had been then, but he was still as chill and together now as in the past. I was, once more, feeling paranoid about intruding on someone’s home, but Kevin was convinced that the owners weren’t there. He had evidence to support his theory but I, ever the rule bender without breaking the rules, felt guilty and fearful of being caught.

  Just like then, though, I was happy to follow him down the road to perdition, even when it could mean my ultimate demise. If he was the one leading, I didn’t care if there was a chance of being caught or even killed. I trusted him and, just like years gone by, I was eager and willing to follow wherever he led.

  The living room was connected to the kitchen and the door we’d initially tried to enter through was at the right. In front of us, opposite the kitchen, was a huge window facing a snow-covered landscape. Beautiful evergreens adorned in white were but a mere picture frame to the gorgeous backdrop of peaks, blue blanketed in soft, stark white. I knew it was cold, but it was beautiful, especially now that I was no longer trudging through it. To the right, just past the door, was a sma
ll window and then a fireplace, and under the window were a television, DVD player, and stereo. On the left was a long couch and coffee table. The room was warm and inviting, decorated in earth tones, accented in muted oranges and pinks. It felt almost like a sunset. To the left, between the living room and the kitchen, was a hallway leading to the rest of the house. Kevin walked that way and paused, looking at a dial on the wall, and he touched a couple of buttons. He gave me a look and said, “Heat,” before continuing to move down the hallway. He set down his tire iron on an end table and I took that as a sign that he thought everything was safe, so I propped my shovel against the wall. It looked so out of place in the charm of that house.

  We walked down the hall and the first door on the right was open. It was a master bedroom, complete with a king-size bed, large walk-in closet, big dresser, and another picturesque window. Looking at the view, I almost envied the people who lived here. When the world was right, I could imagine this place being serene yet awe-inspiring. Even though my aunt lived up on a hill and this person lived in the valley, I would argue that this little house had just as lovely a view…if not better.

  Kevin walked over to the closet and peeked in. “Come here,” he said, not ordering me, but I was compelled. He stepped aside, urging me to look inside.

  I shrugged. “So it’s a closet.”

  “Yeah…and how many clothes do you see in there?”

  I looked again. There were lots of hangers but only a few clothes hanging and only two pairs of shoes—both women’s shoes—on the floor. The shelf over the clothes rod only had a couple of board games and one box. I didn’t say anything, wasn’t willing to concede shit, but I stepped back out and opened a couple of dresser drawers. Even though I was flooded with guilt, I saw the same thing—just a tiny tank top, three t-shirts, a couple of pairs of shorts, a flimsy nightie, and a pair of men’s boxer shorts. Lots more than in the closet but not enough for someone residing there full-time to use. I noticed that there were no socks, no panties, necessities for someone who would be living there.