Primitive

by J. F. Gonzalez

"I'll be fine. I've got too much on my mind to keep me bored."

  "Okay." I handed Lori the rifle. She checked it, made sure the safety was on, and then rested it gently against the sofa.

  "Tracy and I will be in Emily's room," I said. "You need anything, don't hesitate to roust us up."

  "You can count on it."

  I left Lori in my living room and headed back downstairs. The hallway was empty and as I passed Tracy's office on my right, I saw Martin lying on the sofa and James lying on the floor. I went to Emily's room, noting the door to our bedroom was closed—maybe Heather was finally succumbing to the emotions of the loss of her family. The door to Emily's room had been left open and I entered and sat down on the edge of the bed. I removed the holster from around my waist as Tracy sat up. I passed the .45 to her and she placed it on the floor on her side of the bed. I slipped the Sig out of the holster and placed it on the floor between the nightstand and the bed. Well within easy reach.

  As I settled down on the bed I tried to sleep. My body screamed for it, but my mind was a whirlwind. Emily was deep in slumber while Tracy sniffed and shifted position on the far end. The nightlights we'd placed in the hallway were still on, telling me the power was operational in our section of town. Who knew how long we'd still have juice? For that matter, what could happen tomorrow?

  At some point I fell asleep.

  * * *

  I was awakened shortly after midnight when Lori came down to get Tracy. She was a dark silhouette and her voice, while whispery, bore the strains of fatigue.

  "How is everything?" I asked as Tracy got up.

  "So far, so good," Lori answered.

  Lori had brought the rifle downstairs with her and she handed it to Tracy, like a runner passing the baton. Tracy bent down quickly and retrieved the .45 on the floor at her side of the bed and stuffed it in the front pocket of her sweat pants. Then, with rifle in hand, she left the room. As Tracy left I asked her, "You okay, honey?"

  Tracy paused at the doorway. "I'll be fine. I couldn't sleep anyway. I got maybe an hour."

  "Okay. You feel like you're going to fall asleep, come down and get me."

  "I'll be okay." She turned to Lori. "You're welcome to crash in here, Lori."

  I got up off the bed. "Yeah. Go ahead, crash here. I can sleep on the floor."

  "Don't be ridiculous!" Lori said. She slid into the side of the bed Tracy had occupied and turned on her right side so her back was facing me. Emily slept on, undisturbed by the whole thing.

  I looked at Tracy. "Get me if you need me."

  "I will," Tracy said.

  She went upstairs. This time when I lay back down, sleep claimed me quickly.

  * * *

  I was jostled awake in a flurry. I snapped upright, blinking, taking everything in. "What? What's wrong?"

  Emily was sitting up in bed crying and now I could hear it. How I didn't hear it before, I have no idea. While normally I sleep deep, Emily's crying was clearly audible. Out of the corner of my eye I could see somebody moving in Tracy's office—either James or Martin, I couldn't tell which. Lori was kneeling beside me. It was she who'd woken me.

  "They're outside," Lori said.

  I instinctively pulled Emily close to me. "It's okay, honey. Daddy has you."

  "I'm scared!" Emily cried. Her face felt hot against my chest.

  "Shhh...just quiet down, they don't know we're in here."

  "I'm scared!" This time it was a frightened shriek. The shrillness in her voice took me aback.

  "We're okay, honey, they can't get us in here."

  "I'm scaaarrreedd!"

  Emily's voice rose to a screaming crescendo and I could tell it was only going to get worse. Tracy called down from the top of the stairs. "Is everything okay down there?"

  From outside I heard something worse. The voices of the primitives changed. While they still spoke that gibberish there was a quality in the tone of their voices that suggested they'd heard Emily's last scream. I heard their shuffling footsteps pause outside—it sounded like they were standing directly over Emily's bedroom, which would put them at the west side of the house. Several inquisitive hoots came from outside.

  "Daddy I'm scared!" Emily wailed.

  "Mmmaaaaahhhhh!" Eager hands slapped against the west window that looked out from my office, which was directly over Emily's bedroom.

  "Oh damn!" Lori muttered.

  "Daddddyyyyyy!" Emily wailed again. She was clinging to me so hard, I could feel her fear pouring through her little body.

  "Emily, be quiet!" I said and instinctively clamped my right hand over her mouth.

  "Dadddyyyy!" This last wail was muffled but still audible, though not as loud as before. The damage was already done, though. Footsteps began pounding toward the office window upstairs and the primitives began beating against it, their muffled voices resounding outside. They knew we were in here now.

  "Will you shut her the fuck up!" Heather had exited the master bedroom and was standing out in the hall. "Those things are outside!"

  I snapped at her. I don't remember what it was. Something like, "Get out of my face" or "Fuck off."

  Emily squirmed violently in my grip. She continued shrieking behind my hand, which covered her mouth. If I hadn't had my hand over her mouth to muffle her voice she'd be screaming at the top of her lungs. "Emily, calm down, it's okay," I said, and I was dimly aware of somebody heading up the stairs to the living room and for a minute everything became a blur as Emily grew more agitated.

  Lori and I were telling Emily to calm down, that things were okay. The primitives were outside running around, grunting and growling and pounding against the windows, the walls. I thought I could hear them pounding at the sliding glass door. Before I knew it Tracy was at my side, trying to take care of the situation. "Emily, Mommy's here, it's okay—"

  Tracy basically swooped in. I removed my hand from Emily's mouth and she got the barest hint of a scream out before Tracy turned to Lori. "In the medicine cabinet is a bottle of Valium. If I can cut a quarter off it I can give that to her to calm her down."

  Lori was up and across the hall to the bathroom instantly. I could hear somebody upstairs chamber a round in the rifle. Tracy's eyes met mine briefly. "Martin's upstairs," she said.

  I nodded, the adrenaline running strong in my system.

  "Is there a knife in here?" Lori called out.

  "Shit," Tracy muttered. "Upstairs!"

  Lori ran upstairs. Out in the hall I heard Heather mutter, "Fuck, they're all over the goddamn place. They're gonna fucking get in!"

  Emily squirmed and fought against us. She was absolutely terror-stricken. Despite the fact that her screams were being muffled by Tracy's hand, they were still clearly audible. The pounding against the windows continued as the primitives grew bolder. I heard a tinkling of breaking glass amid excited grunts, heard Martin say, "Shit!", heard Heather outside Emily's room, "Goddammit, why can't you shut her the fuck up?" and then there was another sudden flurry of footsteps heading back down the stairs as Lori swept into the room. "Here!" she said, thrusting a hand out to me. She palmed a portion of the Valium into my hand as Tracy began speaking to Emily again. "We have some medicine we want you to take honey," she began just as there was another tinkling of breaking glass from upstairs and I heard the first blasts of gunfire.

  "Here!" I thrust the Valium at Tracy who took it as I grabbed the Sig Sauer from the floor. I was up the stairs in a flash, brushing past James who was standing in the hallway, looking confused about what to do.

  When I got upstairs the first thing I saw was Martin standing in the center of the living room aiming the rifle toward my corner makeshift office, the stock resting firmly against his right shoulder. Most of the activity from the primitives was at the window in that corner of the house, but I could hear more activity at the front door as well as the rear window, on the back deck of the house. I saw a flurry of movement at the window as the light was suddenly cut off—something was forcing its way through. Martin
and I reacted in unison, aiming our weapons at the window and squeezing off three rounds each. Whatever it was that was trying to climb into my house was stopped cold. It hung there, half inside. What sounded like two primitives tried squeezing past the dead one stuck in the window. They grunted in frustration at their seeming inability to get past it. Meanwhile, the primitives at the other window were beginning to climb inside, and Martin and I opened fire at those targets. There was a squeal of pain as one primitive dropped to the ground outside. One was killed outright and his body was pulled out of the window. I was tracking both our weak spots now, my senses keenly attuned to every point of entry, and I could barely hear what was going on downstairs, only aware of Tracy's voice yelling something in anger and suddenly another primitive was through the window and in the office so fast that if Martin or I had hesitated it would have been on us as swift as a lion. Luckily our adrenaline was so spiked up that we blasted the shit out of it. It collapsed on the floor, just past my makeshift office. Another primitive was making its way through the window and Martin took it down with another staccato of gunfire while I plugged another one that had managed to pull the dead primitive from the living room window and was trying to climb into the house.

  For a moment after that initial onslaught, there was no sound except for the wailing of the wounded primitive outside the side window. There was a loud ringing in my ears from the Sig Sauer and that made it difficult to tell if there were more primitives heading toward our refuge in the hills. There were certainly no footsteps on the deck, and the primitive that had been at the front door could now be heard at the side of the house, just out of range. I heard it hoot in fear, and then it turned and began running away from the house, heading into the neighborhood.

  I stepped toward the sliding glass door. "Keep the windows covered," I told Martin as I sneaked a quick peek through the blinds outside.

  The back deck appeared deserted. While my ears still rang, I didn't detect any sounds from the city below us, or any footsteps. The primitives weren't smart or stealthy. I moved into the kitchen and crouched beneath the window that overlooked the east side of the house. No sounds from there, either.

  From the living room I heard another burst of gunfire followed by Martin's voice. "Die you fucking sonofabitch!"

  I paused in the kitchen. The whining of the wounded primitive had ceased.

  I stepped out of the kitchen and met Martin, who was standing over the body of the dead primitive. I couldn't tell if it was male or female. For the first time I was aware that I was down to only three rounds and that I'd stupidly left the spare magazines for the handgun downstairs. "You okay on ammo?"

  Martin nodded. "Yeah."

  "Be right back," I said. I darted downstairs.

  I shouldered my way past James Goodman, who was standing in the doorway to Emily's room. Lori and Tracy were on the bed, Emily positioned between them. Tracy looked stressed as she held a sobbing Emily. Lori was holding Emily's hands, talking to her in a soothing voice. I knelt down to where I'd stashed the spare magazines and shoved them in my jeans pockets. "How is she?" I asked.

  "I got some Valium in her," Tracy said. Her eyes met mine again and the message was clear. We need to talk. I nodded, and then darted out of the room again. I could barely make out Heather in our room pacing around, muttering in an angry tone as I headed up the stairs. I could have sworn I heard her say "wetback motherfucker" but I didn't have time to question her on it.

  I met Martin upstairs just as he was returning from the front door. "Looks like we're clear," he said.

  "You sure?"

  "There's no movement in the front and no primitives anywhere within the perimeter of the house. And take a listen." He gestured toward the broken window that looked out over the backyard.

  He led me past the dead primitive on my living room floor, where we paused on either side of the window. He looked at me, gesturing out over the San Gabriel valley below. "Hear that?"

  My hearing was temporarily diminished from the gunfire, but I could still hear what Martin was getting at. From the city below rose a mixture of sounds from a dying civilization. Fire alarms brayed, sirens warbled, car alarms honked. All these sounds were scattered across the Los Angeles and San Gabriel valley but they created an uneasy cacophony, mixing together in a soup that spelled out the recipe for the end of civilization. Amid those sounds were others—the occasional hoot of a primitive from blocks, maybe miles away, shouts that were obviously normal humans calling out to each other or engaging in battle with primitives, occasional gunfire. I took a peek outside and saw flickers of orange in the distance. Fires.

  "It's still going on," I said.

  "Yeah," Martin said.

  We stayed by the window for a while and I was pretty certain we were safe. I motioned toward the dead primitive. "Let's get this one out of here," I said.

  I shoved my gun in the front pocket of my jeans and we approached the dead primitive. As we hunkered down over it I saw it was a Caucasian female in her twenties. At one time she'd been pretty, with short auburn hair and high cheekbones. She'd been dressed in a business suit and slacks that hung on her tattered frame. Now she was a mess. She smelled of dirt, sweat, blood and shit. I grabbed her arms, Martin took her legs at the ankles and we carried her out onto the back deck.

  Once back inside behind locked doors I said, "We'll take care of removing the other dead ones in the morning."

  "Unless we leave first thing," Martin said.

  "Yeah." I sighed. Leaving the area was now forefront on my mind.

  "Is your little girl okay?" Martin asked.

  "I think so." I headed toward the stairs. "Be right back."

  "Take your time. It's my shift anyway."

  I made my way downstairs. James was still standing in the hallway, looking lost and confused. I moved past him to Emily's bedroom.

  Tracy was rocking Emily in her arms. Lori was sitting beside her on the bed. Both women looked up at me as I entered the room. "Everything okay?" I whispered.

  "She's asleep," Tracy said, looking down at Emily. She smoothed Emily's hair back from her forehead lovingly.

  "Good." I sat down on the edge of the bed. I gave them a quick update on the situation upstairs and assured them that the primitives that had been attracted to Emily's screams were now dead and the ruckus hadn't attracted others. "We're safe now."

  From the master bedroom across the hall I heard Heather mutter something inaudible. Tracy's face darkened in annoyance. She laid Emily down on the bed gently and then got up and strode to the doorway. "Heather, I'd like a word with you."

  "What?" Sure enough, Heather sounded like the rebellious teenager she'd probably been before the world turned to hell.

  "I understand you were probably frightened by what just happened, but I never want to hear you speak that way about my daughter again! Do you understand me?"

  Curious, I glanced at Lori, who looked troubled. I looked back at the doorway to where Tracy stood waiting for a reply. "Do you hear me?"

  "Yeah, I heard you," Heather said.

  "And?"

  "Fine. Whatever."

  "Thank you."

  Tracy came back into the room and scooted back on the bed beside Emily. "What was that all about?" I asked. We were talking in low tones.

  "When you were upstairs," Tracy said, "and Lori and I were trying to get Emily calmed down, she was ranting and raving about shutting Emily up."

  "I heard that," I said. "She was probably stressed out—"

  "She told me to shut my half-breed mongoloid daughter up or she'd do it for me," Tracy stated. She had that angry look on her face that I knew there was no compromising with. When Tracy has that look, that tone of voice, you have passed the point of no return with her. "We'd just gotten the Valium into her and Lori was trying to get Emily to drink it down with some water. If I hadn't been holding Emily down I would've stormed across the hall and slapped that little bitch myself."

  I didn't know how to react or what to sa
y. At the time I thought the blow-up had been the result of the harrowing situation we'd just experienced. As human beings we tend to behave in a less than exemplary fashion when our backs are against the wall during extreme situations. Surely Heather's behavior was in reaction to what had happened. Emily was hysterical and making noise that was drawing attention to us, that would put us in danger. The primitives were trying to get in the house. Heather telling us to shut Emily up, calling her a derogatory name in doing so, was done out of stress, not malice. It was akin to telling us to "shut that brat up" or "shut that little shit up", only with more colorful language.

  "I know what you're thinking and you're wrong," Lori said. There was something in Lori's face that told me Heather had passed the point of no return with her, too. "That girl meant what she said."

  "Okay," I said. I took a deep breath. Lori and Tracy were sisters united in a cause now. It was them against Heather. The nurturers against the rebellious punk who disdained all traditional feminine roles. I hoped Heather hadn't meant anything she'd said, that calling my daughter a half-breed mongoloid wasn't intended, that it was uttered in a state of fear and extreme stress, but I wasn't going to voice that now. The last thing I needed at that moment was another fight. "Let's deal with it tomorrow, okay?"

  That seemed to be the end of the subject, at least for that evening. As Tracy settled back on the bed, she asked me, "How are you doing?"

  "Okay," I said. "And not in the least bit tired."