by Brandon Dean
I descended the staircase to find that I was in the main sitting room; a record player sat in one corner, with a brown sofa next to it. The elegant area rug below the antique piano looked to be an heirloom and handmade. Potted plants, chairs, chaises, a bust of a horse, and baroque wall décor made up the graceful Southern feel of the room.
I heard light conversation and silverware scraping on dishes coming from the kitchen. I walked through the archway and was greeted by the sight of three women sitting at a breakfast table, engaging in pleasantries. My mom with her back to me, Beverly at her side, and a younger girl—about my age—facing me. I was unable to see the bottom half of the girl’s face because of the book she held in front of it.
“Good morning,” I said to make my arrival known.
Mom turned around with an ear-to-ear smile. “Well, hello there, sleepyhead. I was beginning to think you’d never wake up!” She stood and walked over to me to give me a tight hug; it was good to feel she was getting her strength back, and she looked fresh and rested.
“Why don’t you sit down and join us, young man?” Beverly said, gesturing to the empty chair between my mom and the younger girl.
I sat between them and looked at my breakfast. Two fried eggs, lightly peppered, with the yolks busted, running into a piece of crisp toast that was on the edge of burnt. Mom must’ve told Beverly how I liked it, because this was right on the money.
“Clint, this is Hazel,” Beverly said, nodding at the girl who still hadn’t acknowledged me. “Hazel, why don’t you say hi?” she prompted.
Hazel placed her book spine-down on the breakfast table and turned her head toward me disinterestedly. I had a good look at her now: her long golden-blonde hair draped past her shoulders; her eyes were such a light shade of brown that they almost matched. Her skin was fair, almost a sun-kissed peach, with just a few lone freckles on each side of her button nose. She was pretty—really pretty. So pretty that it was hard to find my voice and introduce myself.
“Hi,” I said, a shy smile stretched across my face.
Hazel took a good look at me, scanning me with her eyes squinted in sharp assessment. “Geez, how are you alive?” she said with a scoff and then an eye roll, redirecting her attention to her book.
Beverly sat in shock, eyes and mouth wide open. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive her,” she said before whispering something in Hazel’s ear.
“It’s okay,” I muttered, digging my fork into my breakfast.
“Beverly says we can stay here until the snow clears and we can make our way to Cincinnati,” Mom said eagerly.
I chewed my food and swallowed, confused. “What’s in Cincinnati?” I asked.
“Safety!” Beverly exclaimed.
“Safety? What do you mean, ‘safety’?”
“Cincinnati is under military control, our military. Not everywhere is a wasteland, you know.”
I was in disbelief. “What else do you know?” I asked, dropping my fork onto my plate and leaning forward in my chair.
“Clint, where are your manners?” Mom said.
“I’m sorry. But, Beverly, if you saw what’s out there—what those monsters have done—you’d understand. My mom and I, we really need some good news right now, at least some information.”
Beverly shook her head, and Hazel stood from the table, storming out of the kitchen. “You’ll have to excuse her. Her little brother and grandfather had gone into Mayfield for some fishing bait when this happened, and they haven’t returned yet. She’s fearing the worst.”
“I understand,” I said. “I know how that feels.”
“She’s taking it really hard. Her grandpa taught her everything. She was Papaw’s little girl . . . And her little brother? Oh, he’s as cute as a button, such a good, well-mannered young man. He has this little teddy bear he carries with him everywhere he goes. Old, weathered thing Hazel used to play with when she was little. Had to patch up the head with a piece of leather from an old saddle.”
My heart skipped a beat as my mind flashed back to the two bodies outside of the pharmacy. My troubled look must’ve been obvious.
“Is something wrong?” Beverly asked.
“No, no, I’m sure they’ll show up,” I said, trying to cover with a fake smile. I felt horrible about lying, but there was nothing I, or anyone, could do for her, and I needed information and cooperation. There would be a time to tell her everything, but until then I would have to keep the information to myself.
“Anyway, you wanted to know what I know?” Beverly asked.
I nodded.
“To be truthful, it’s been about like any other day out in these parts. You know, besides Art and Gabe being gone. And, of course, all this snow. We heard the radio broadcasts coming in for a couple of days after the bombs fell.”
“What did they say?” I asked anxiously.
“We haven’t surrendered yet—at least, not to my knowledge. Apparently, the Germans weren’t the only ones with those big bombs. Next couple of days were spent focusing on dropping what we had on Germany, so I’d imagine it looks a lot like what it does here, over there. One side has gotta surrender one of these days. Everyone’s hanging on by a thread, no matter where they are.”
“But there really is a place for us to go?” I asked.
“That’s the impression I’m getting. After the president was moved to a safe place, Lord knows where, the Department of Defense kept going on for a couple of days with the broadcasts. Apparently, quality checking wasn’t as important to the Germans as mass production. Only half the atom bombs that fell actually detonated; the others were taken in for research and examination. The government thinks we can use those against the Nazis. Our bombs, fortunately, weren’t duds.”
I leaned back in my chair as I felt a surge of hope wash over me. I looked over to Mom, and she reached her hand out to rest on mine.
“We’re going to make it, Clint.”
“Yeah, I guess we are. I just wish Dad could’ve made it, too,” I said before looking back toward Beverly. “Is there anything we can do to help you? It’s going to take a while for all of this snow to melt.”
“Well, yes, there is.”
“Sure, I’ll do it,” I said eagerly. I’d do anything to stay there until we could safely move on to Cincinnati.
Beverly laughed. “Aren’t you just the eager beaver! Nothing major, just chores, really. You know, help gather water and maybe go out to the garden for food on occasion. Help clean up around the house. That kind of stuff.”
“That’s it?” I asked, shocked that the things she’d requested were such basic, everyday tasks.
“Yes, sir, that’s it,” she said.
This had to be a dream, but even so, I sure as hell didn’t want to wake up. I looked around at the faces of the two women next to me. Beverly was sipping a mug of warm tea, having resumed her small talk with Mom. And then my eyes crawled down to Mom’s stomach, which looked as if it might burst at any second. We’re gonna make it. Hang in there, little one, I thought with a smile.
I dismissed myself to the front porch as tears began to well up at the corners of my eyes. It was freezing, of course, but I didn’t care. The thin wool pajamas I wore would be sufficient. My bare feet touched down onto the lightly frosted wooden planks of the deck as I made my way to the rocking chair I had seen swaying when I’d first noticed the house. I took a seat and really, truly enjoyed and appreciated what was around me for the first time.
I was surrounded by life. Life. I heard a few birds chirping, likely snuggled in their nests in distant branches. I watched greenery sway in the wind as snow was knocked loose and fell to the ground with a light thud. I heard rustling in the bushes around me; it sounded like some small critter moving around—a rabbit, probably.
Life. Every day, we take it for granted. Every breath, every blink, wink, laugh, and cry. All of it comes a
nd goes. And all of it is ignored. My dad had had a life, and my mom still had hers, and two lives and two loves had made my life. It made me think of the man I’d had to kill in the pharmacy.
I hadn’t wanted to think of what I’d had to do and, more specifically, who he’d been. What had he done for a living? Had he had a family? Wife and kids, maybe a pet? What had he been doing two weeks ago? Laughing with his loved ones? Grinding away in a world occupied by time clocks? Or maybe he was a big shot, with everyone else doing the grinding for him. What had been his favorite things?
The more I thought about it, the more questions I had—questions neither I nor anyone else could answer. The guilt had really started to settle in. He hadn’t been a pesky rodent I’d had to kill; he’d been a person. A human being, with human emotions. I knew I’d only done what I’d had to do, but I hoped I’d never have to do it again.
I was between a rock and a hard place, both satisfied over having done what needed doing but also terribly overcome with shame. How, and why, did I feel so guilty about killing the man who had ended my father’s life? Because he’d been a human, and so was I. And no matter what happened, no matter the lengths we would go to, we’d always have a little humanity deep inside.
I kept my eyes on the sky, looking past the clouds, focusing on anything beyond. “If you’re up there,” I whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said, what I thought, what I’ve done. I was afraid and angry. Please forgive me. There’s a reason we found this place. There’s a reason we know about Cincinnati. We can make it. Please, help us make it. Please prove that you care.”
I slowed my rocking to a halt and stood from my chair. It was time to go back inside and join everyone.
I had a weird feeling, though. As beautiful and eye-opening as my little front-porch nature retreat had been, I couldn’t help but think that there was something I had seen that morning that was even more beautiful. Something that was actually someone. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something special there.
And she sure was pretty.
Chapter 9
Tweets and chirps piercing the closed bedroom window served as my alarm clock the next morning, and I opened my eyes to see a new set of clothes folded neatly at the end of the bed. They must’ve belonged to Art, who must’ve been a pretty substantial man, judging by the size of the clothes. A gray, long-sleeved, button-up shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans swallowed my body, draping loosely over my frame. Near the footboard of the bed was an old pair of work boots, next to a black leather belt; the first hole was frayed and torn, presumably from a long period of use. The leather around it had softened from repeated flexing.
I walked over to the mirror to examine myself. I looked ridiculous. The shirt was tucked into the pants so far that its bottom hem was gently tickling the top of my kneecaps, and I had to stuff the pant legs inside the boots to avoid tripping over their extra length. I chuckled silently at my reflection. I was the perfect example of what would’ve happened if Goliath had eaten David.
A smile followed my laughter, which froze on my face when I noticed some slack in my head bandage. The lump on my head was shrinking. I gently touched the area and then quickly pulled away. It might have been smaller, but it was still unbearably tender to the touch.
I leaned toward the mirror and examined the swelling around my eye, which also seemed to be improving. I could open it a little wider now—still only about halfway—but even the color was less intense. Instead of a plum shade of purple, it had morphed into a wine-like red. I looked at myself for another few seconds, a half-smile on my face. I was making progress, and I’d be healed soon. Which was good, because I needed to be if I wanted to make it to Cincinnati.
I walked out into the hallway, anxious for breakfast, and was greeted by the faint sound of someone brushing her teeth. Across the hallway from my room was a small half-bathroom, with nothing more than a sink and a toilet. As I peeked in, I could see Hazel, standing in her pajamas—a vibrant blue nightgown—with her face an inch away from the mirror, brushing her teeth briskly. I don’t know how long I stood looking at her, but no length of time would’ve been long enough. I was in a trance, one as deep as any hypnotist could have put me into.
That strange feeling I’d had before came back, but it was a feeling I didn’t mind having. Something was flopping around in the pit of my stomach. I knew I was hungry, but that wasn’t it. This was something else, something new. I broke myself from my reverie; I didn’t want her to notice me staring. I didn’t want her to think I was some kind of goon or something.
For some reason, I was captivated by her.
I turned and began to head downstairs.
As soon as my booted foot made contact with the hardwood on the bottom floor, Beverly shouted, “Hazel, Hazel, honey, is that you?” She poked her head through the kitchen doorway. “Oh, it’s you! Well, good morning to you, Clint!” Beverly said happily.
“Good morning,” I replied cheerfully. “Hazel’s upstairs getting ready. I’m sure she’ll be down in just a minute.”
“That’s good to hear, because I have a little task for both of you,” she said.
“Oh, well, sure. What is it?” I asked curiously.
“I need you to go to the garden out back and pick all of the crops you can. In this cold, all that’ll be left is probably onions and asparagus, but get whatever you can find.”
I nodded. “Sounds fine. Yeah, no problem. I’ll go ahead and do that,” I said.
“It’s probably buried under a foot of snow at this point. It’s right in the backyard, but I don’t think you’ll find it unless you know where to look. Feel free to poke around, but I was thinking Hazel could help you—”
“Yes! Yes, that’s a great idea!” I said with a smile so wide it felt as if the corners of my mouth were going to crack.
Beverly raised an eyebrow, obviously trying not to break out into a grin. “Uh-huh, well, just give her some time. I’m sure she’ll be down in a jiffy.” She walked over to a large metal pot on the stove. “Why don’t you take a seat, young man,” Beverly instructed, taking a wooden spoon in hand and stirring the pot.
I pulled out a chair at the breakfast table and sat down.
“Eat up,” Beverly said, placing a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. “You’ll need your energy if you want to be of any use to me,” she said with a playful wink.
I smiled back at her. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I took a few bites and looked up to see Hazel dragging her feet into the kitchen. She was wearing a snowcap, a pair of thick gloves, and brown coveralls that covered every inch of her besides her head and fingers. It was cold, sure, but she looked as though she planned on spending the night out there.
“Oh, Hazel, finally!” Beverly chirped. “You know, it isn’t polite to keep people waiting.”
Hazel smiled at her. “Sorry, Mamaw. Won’t happen again.”
“I was just telling Clint here that maybe you could show him the garden, and you two could go collecting this morning,” Beverly said.
“Yeah, sure,” Hazel said with a shrug.
“You need to eat something if you’re going to be out there all day,” Beverly said.
“I’m okay. I just want to get this over with, as soon as what’s-his-face here finishes his feast,” Hazel said, gesturing toward me.
My cheeks went hot and red from embarrassment. “My name is Clint,” I said.
Hazel looked over at me with a smirk. “I know.”
“Hazel, be nice,” Beverly said, her voice disapproving.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hazel mumbled, looking back at me. “If you’re finished, we can go now.”
I followed Hazel outside through the back door just past the stairwell. She stopped on the back patio, handing me a small wicker basket while she took another.
“So where’s the garden?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
Ha
zel pointed off to a horse field several hundred feet away; a snow-covered gazebo stood mere feet in front of it. “Over there,” she said.
“I thought Beverly said it was in the backyard.”
Hazel sighed. “Well, I guess this means we have a big backyard, then, doesn’t it?” she snapped, turning to walk off.
I sighed to myself. “Off to a great start, you big idiot,” I mumbled under my breath, but apparently louder than I had intended.
Hazel turned around to face me, looking absolutely disgusted. “What did you just call me?”
“Uh, what?” I asked, flustered.
“Uh, what? Uh, what?” she mimicked, her jaw slack in mock cluelessness. To be honest, if I hadn’t been the target of her disdain, I would’ve probably laughed. It was funny—kinda cute, even. “You called me an idiot!” she insisted.
“Oh, no! No!” I answered.
“Oh, yeah? So who else is here?” she questioned.
“Me! I called myself an idiot!” I said.
Hazel looked at me with blankly. “You called yourself an idiot? Are you crazy or something? You got a screw loose, buddy?”
“No! I’m just nervous. I think you’re really pretty, and I want to get to know you!” I blurted.
Hazel crossed her arms. “So let me get this straight: you called me an idiot because you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes!” I replied.
She uncrossed her arms and made a fist with her right hand. “Excuse me?”
“Wait, no! That’s not what I meant! I saw you brushing your teeth, and I—”
“What?” Hazel yelled. “You were watching me brush my teeth? What are you? Some kind of creep or something?”
“Damn it!” I yelled, covering my face with my hands.
Hazel pointed her index finger at me sharply. “Listen here, pal. I’ve been waiting on that front porch for my brother and my papaw ever since this mess happened. And when I finally see something coming from them woods, it isn’t what I want to see. It’s a pregnant lady with a pencil-necked dork of a son who looks like he just went twelve rounds with a school bus. Now I don’t see why I saved you from all those puppy dogs that gave you such a scare, because apparently all that interests you is calling me names and watching me in the bathroom. So, got any more to say, wise guy?” she growled, looking as though she had every intention of burying my body in the garden.
