Silent Reaping

by P D Platt

  Without hesitation, Solomon broke down the door, knowing the earlier commotion would have been enough to alert anyone still alive inside. His deduction was confirmed as soon as the wood splintered under his heavy kick—the odor of death was becoming all too familiar.

  Pausing at the doorway, he pulled Emily’s sweater up high on her face, instructing her to keep her mouth and nose covered. Inside, an abundance of bright morning sunshine funneled from every direction; it was a house built around the grand concept of expansive, uncovered windows. This plentiful light and the assured confidence of knowing what he would find propelled him straight toward the bedrooms, from where the pungent odor emanated.

  The house was laid out in a ‘tee’ configuration, with the master bedroom essentially built within its own wing. The great room made up the heart of the floor plan, with spare bedrooms, bathrooms, and a home office configured off a long hall.

  Before going deeper into the home, Solomon rummaged through the bathroom vanity cabinets and dug out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a metal first aid kit, scuffed and scarred with age. After draping his leg over the edge of the tub, he rolled up the torn leg of his pants and poured a generous amount of antiseptic over the slicing gash. It wasn’t deep, but the length of the cut concerned him.

  After this hasty self-aid, he moved to the last remaining area: the master bedroom. Peering into the room, he eyed the body of a man dressed in a suit, posed with arms across his midsection, just as one would expect to see the deceased laid out at a funeral. The shocking scene immediately sent Solomon running back toward the kitchen. Someone had attended to this man after his passing, which meant someone must be here, still alive. He could have kicked himself for his lack of caution; he should have followed his own rules of vigilance and awareness. He’d not been careful, and now his daughter could be in danger.

  “Emily,” he cried out as he sprinted into the kitchen.

  She’d disappeared! A cold sweat broke out all over this body, and he struggled for breath as his throat squeezed tight.

  A ruckus of heavy objects crashing to the floor sounded from the corner of the kitchen before Emily emerged from the pantry, holding what remained of an armful of cans. Startled by his frantic shouts, she must have dropped the rest.

  “I’m right here, Daddy.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” He slid to his knees in front of her and grabbed her in a tight hug, causing even more cans to fall.

  She stepped back, tiny lines forming on her delicate forehead, communicating her confusion at her dad’s panic, but she immediately set about picking up the dropped cans rolling about her feet. “You’re weird sometimes, Daddy.”

  “I know, but you still love me,” Solomon told her as he helped gather the last few cans. He quickly jammed them in the backpack until it was straining at the seams. “I think we have enough—”

  A distant vibrating noise caught his attention; any mechanical sound easily noticeable in this quieter new world. Growing ever louder, the noise moved closer.

  The rhythmic rumble of a heavily tuned engine reverberated off the long windows, causing an instant surge of panic in Solomon. The daughter: Skye! Had she survived and returned to check on her dad? Given that they’d never officially met, if she caught them inside the house, there was no predicting how she’d react.

  The car pulled into the empty spot in the garage, its bright yellow hood visible through the kitchen door. A door he’d visibly damaged when breaking in, meaning she’d instantly be on the defensive.

  Knowing they were in danger, Solomon grabbed the backpack and Emily’s hand before darting toward an alternative exit. He recalled seeing sliding glass doors leading onto a back patio from the master bedroom. Through this, they escaped into the high-walled backyard.

  The clamor of rapid footfalls could be heard from inside. The daughter, undoubtedly alerted by the busted door, was busy searching the house.

  They found themselves in a small landscaped yard, clearly designed as a peaceful retreat, complete with a rock garden and a koi pond centered in the flagstone patio. A number of the fish were already dead, and the water had grown stagnant from lack of filtration.

  Comprehending the potential seriousness of their predicament, Solomon lifted his daughter, not willing to risk a stumble of her young legs. Booting open the ornamental iron gate, he clutched Emily tight as if walking a narrow ledge on a high rooftop. He refused to do anything that might risk her well-being.

  There was no way they could go home yet; that would entail crossing in the line of sight of the house they’d just escaped. Solomon decided to continue heading away, using the intermittent cover of the backyard fences and greenery of the neighbors’ yards. He set Emily back on her feet as soon as they’d rounded the corner of a stockade-style fence surrounding the backyard next door.

  They continued past the end of the tall fence to where it abruptly ended, changing into a chain-link fence surrounding a minimally landscaping yard. Without warning, a large dog charged and jumped at them, nearly clearing the top rail. Its massive body struck the wire with such force that it bounced backward, sending the canine sprawling on the barren ground, where ruts had been cut into the dusty yard by the dog’s incessant pacing.

  Recoiling behind her father, Emily shrieked.

  No doubt due to hunger coupled with the anxiety of missing its owners, the beast was crazed. Thrust into a life without owners, domesticated animals were also experiencing the same flipped-up world, with no one to feed or play with them, or to take them for walks. The animals dealt with their trauma in different ways. This one snarled and salivated, barking and leaping at the fence as if wanting to plow a hole through the stiff metal wires.

  Solomon feared the commotion would attract the unwanted attention of Skye Bisbee, who’d already be on high alert. He scooped Emily back to his chest and darted beyond the fence to take cover behind a shed two houses down.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the dog’s relentless barking eventually subsided. Solomon checked their surroundings, flipping his attention around both corners of the building. After satisfying himself they’d not been followed, he grabbed his daughter’s hand and they skirted around the house to cross the street for added safety.

  “You alright, sweetie?”

  “Yep,” Emily said, peering over her shoulder, “I bet that lady’s mad at us for breaking her door.”

  Her comment struck Solomon with guilt. “We’ll make it right, honey. But maybe tomorrow, after she cools off, okay? Right now, we need to get home.”

  “Good. I’m starving after all this running,” she said.

  Solomon chuckled, admiring his little girl’s courage. “Well then, young lady, let’s go eat!”

  Chapter 10—A New Group

  After their close call and the dog bite, Solomon felt it was best to regroup and stay inside for the rest of the day. As they headed toward home, circling a wide arc around the Bisbees’ place, he heard a persistent barking, intertwined with a faint but distinct and unmistakable wailing. A child?

  It sounded like a frantic child’s calls for help. Or so Solomon thought, but it could have been his guilty conscience after not having found any children yet. A look passed between them, telling him Emily heard it too, before their heads turned in the direction of the pleading screams and mad barking. Without knowing the source, they ran toward the sound. Whoever it was couldn’t be more than a block away; the sounds were too distinct.

  Cutting through a yard filled with pine cones and tall sprouting weeds, they spotted wild movement in a short pin oak that bent and swayed under the weight of the small boy dangling precariously from its branches. A pack of dogs, the same foursome from before, surrounded the helpless child, who looked to be around eight or nine years old. The boy’s arms and legs were wrapped around skinny branches, his back barely out of reach of the pack’s snapping teeth.

  This time, Solomon didn’t aim for the grass. He fired two successive shots, knocking the ragged leader sideways.
After letting out a pained yelp, the dog expired. His third shot struck another hound in the front leg, sending him squealing and limping away. The other two dogs ran off in separate directions.

  As if he could hold on no longer, the boy loosened his grip and fell to his back with a groaning thud.

  “Are you okay?” Solomon ran to help the wiry boy sit up.

  The boy’s dirty face was streaked with tears, his nose and mouth crusted with the remnants of neglect. Littered with grass and bits of leaves, his black hair stood out from his head. At any other time, this would speak of an afternoon spent roughhousing in the yard. But this ragged appearance came from a different era, and it broke Solomon’s heart when he thought of the time this child must have spent alone and terrified.

  His eyes instantly brightening, the young boy looked up at them, then, his face twisting, he threw himself into Solomon’s chest and sobbed. Emily tried to calm the boy by asking his name.

  As his weeping subsided, he responded, “Daveek.”

  “Where do you live, Daveek?” Solomon asked.

  The trembling boy pointed over his shoulder at the two-story brick home behind them. “My parents are…dead. I…I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

  “I’m so sorry, Daveek,” Solomon said. “How about you come with us so we can help you…and get you fed.”

  Daveek nodded, a glint of relief illuminating his eyes.

  “Do you need anything from your house?” Solomon asked.

  “No,” he responded, pointing to a backpack a few yards from the tree. “My stuff’s in there. Those dogs came at me so fast…didn’t know what else to do but climb…”

  “You did great.” Solomon offered.

  Emily pulled the map from her small backpack and sat cross-legged on the ground. Solomon stood back and watched, immediately filled with a warm glow when he saw Emily add Daveek’s house before handing the paper to the boy.

  “You can write your name here,” she said, indicating the new box she’d penciled. Emily showed him where she lived and pointed to the spot that marked her mom’s resting place. Although they were both noticeably saddened by the image, Solomon realized it was a therapeutic experience for them too.

  “Hey!” a ragged voiced yelled from behind them. He turned and saw Skye Bisbee jogging toward them, waving her arms as if she were hailing a taxi. She’d undoubtedly been alerted by all the noise.

  “Don’t I know you?” Squinting her eyes at Solomon, she pointed with a slow shake of her finger. Beads of sweat gleamed above the multiple piercings in her narrow eyebrows, and her chest heaved as she fought to regain her breath.

  “I’m your neigh…your dad’s neighbor…Solomon Parrish.”

  Solomon bent to gather their things. In his haste to help Daveek, he unwittingly dropped his backpack, and some of the canned goods spilled onto the grass.

  “What happened to your leg?” Skye pointed to the torn patch on Solomon’s bloodied jeans.

  Solomon hesitated, attempting to size her up. “Dog bite.”

  Skye stared at the dropped foodstuffs on the ground before reaching down to pick up an item. Rolling a can of Goya beans in her palm, she commented, “Funny. Thought my dad was the only one that ate these things.” She planted the can in Solomon’s reluctant hand.

  “Can’t afford to be too picky anymore,” Solomon responded, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he searched for any clue of where her insinuations might be headed.

  “That’s strange. Because somebody just broke into my dad’s house, stole food from the kitchen, and wait for it—used the first aid kit.” Skye stepped toward Solomon, staring him square in the eyes. Adjusting her long, oversized shirt, she exposed a fixed-blade knife affixed to her black, metal-studded belt. “Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, now, would you?”

  “Nope. We’ve just been looking around the neighborhood, checking if anyone needed help…and lucky we did.” Solomon gestured toward Daveek.

  Skye turned her attention to the disheveled little boy. “You okay, big guy?”

  Moving closer to Emily, Daveek nodded.

  Emily gazed up at her dad with wide, unblinking eyes, looking like he’d committed the unforgivable. Solomon had lied, and his daughter knew it. The weight of her stare made him uncomfortable, but he hoped she’d eventually forgive him. Gripping her shoulder, he tapped his fingers in a secret, unrehearsed signal he prayed she’d understand. Loosening her stare, she focused on the ground instead.

  “Well, I’m glad you were here to help him. Do me a favor and keep your eyes open for any strangers hanging around.”

  Solomon nodded as Skye turned back toward her dad’s house.

  “How about you? How are your parents?” he asked.

  Skye didn’t bother turning around. “Rather not talk about it.”

  “Remember, if you need anything…anything at all. We’re right next door.”

  Skye waved an arm high over her shoulder and continued walking. Solomon understood her misery and desire for solitude.

  “Let’s get off the street, guys.”

  The trio turned toward home, with day three of surviving an apocalyptic world nearly over.

  Part Two

  The Inevitable Collapse

  Chapter 11—Worst Fears

  All through the night, Solomon struggled with guilt; he knew he needed to make things right with Skye. It was too small a world now. Every decent person was important, and his instincts told him Skye was compassionate—her desire to assist with Daveek proved that.

  Solomon set two goals for the following day. Most importantly, the search for children in need must continue, and at a much faster pace. And at some point, he needed to overcome his pride and tell Skye the truth. He had a strong suspicion she already knew and was simply waiting for him to confess.

  The next morning, Daveek contributed to Emily’s ever-growing map by providing them with information of all the neighbors he knew, both with kids and without. Her map was quickly becoming an evolving art project to which details were constantly added.

  Daveek had two friends in the neighborhood, and he marked their locations. He told them he’d already knocked on one friend’s door but had received no answer. After scribbling ‘Lorenzo Richland’ atop a long house on the map, he added two palm trees to the front yard. He’d been on his way to check on Benny, his other friend, when the dogs ambushed him. Benny Freemont lived with his parents and his sister, Mia, in a cul-de-sac on the outer loop of Azalea Drive.

  Before heading out on another search mission, Solomon and the children went next door to check on Emily’s newly adopted cat, which she’d named Fuzzle. She was excited to show her new friend, Daveek, her pet.

  Fuzzle seemed content, although still wary of the strangers invading its house. But as soon as the food hit the bowl, the cat’s timidity diminished, and it allowed Emily to approach. Once Fuzzle had eaten, they left the cat to its day, Emily assuring it they’d be back again tomorrow.

  “Let’s take the car this time,” Solomon suggested as he held the back door open for them. “I need to stay off this leg as much as possible…Besides, there may be more wild dogs running around hungry.”

  “Or cats,” Emily said, eliciting a giggle from Daveek. Solomon grinned down at his little comedian.

  The two kids piled into the back seat and sat pointing at the map they’d spent so much time working on before bedtime.

  Once it grew dark, Solomon normally only burned a candle or two for such activities, insisting on conserving the ones they’d collected. Although most were plain white candles, there were some fragrant, and a few decorative ones, never truly meant for use.

  The rechargeable lanterns and flashlights were usually off-limits; he’d positioned them strategically around the house in places such as the bathroom or the kitchen, for easy emergency access. Flashlights had become a valuable commodity, used only sparingly to save their last remnants of charge.

  But last night, he’d allowed the kids to color an
d draw for as long as they’d wanted, no longer so concerned about batteries now he knew he could get more from neighboring homes. It was encouraging to witness Emily and Daveek’s bonding, each needing the other as a diversion from this dark and lonely new reality.

  As he drove along Azalea Drive at a snail’s pace, he carefully observed each home, checking for any signs of activity. They passed several homes with unique features, which the children were quick to point out and record as nicknames on their map. They assigned names such as ‘Glasshouse’ for the Bisbee home, with its cascading ground-to-ceiling windows, and ‘Tree House’ for one with an elaborate playhouse built in the side yard.

  Benny Freemont lived in a split-level rambler-style home painted a vibrant blue: the shade of still water reflecting an empty sky. A fluorescent green bicycle sat propped against the front steps—presenting a formerly typical neighborhood scene.

  Solomon parked in front of the closed garage door. “How about you and I go to the door?” Solomon said to Daveek, “Since the family knows you.”

  Busy sketching the outline of the house on a new sheet of paper, Emily kept her head down. Inspired by the mapmaking, she’d launched into a new endeavor of drawing houses. “Can I stay in the car, Daddy? I want to finish my picture. Plus…” Emily motioned for her dad to come closer before whispering, “I don’t want to smell any more stinky houses.”

  Solomon’s heart warmed at the purity of her innocence as he watched her toil away on her design, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth. The untainted wholesomeness of the moment made him smile. “Sure, honey. We won’t be long, okay?”

  She nodded without looking up, focusing instead on erasing the angled lines of the roof on her drawing to start over. “Okay.”

  When Daveek’s and Solomon’s loud knocks on the door and windows went unanswered, Solomon rattled the front doorknob; to his surprise, the door was unlocked. After pushing it open, he paused before taking a step. The unpleasant stench that Emily had just mentioned wafted out, striking them full in the face. Daveek turned back and stood at the side of the front stoop, coughing and gagging.