by A. R. Shaw
With anticipation of what she might find inside, she opened the case door. Even though it was lighter in this room, she had to feel around for anything of value to take. On the top shelf, she felt the weight of some kind of small ammo box, the thin cardboard already disintegrating in her hand. She pulled it out and then realized she had nothing to carry any of the loose items she might find. She turned her head and spotted a bright orange Home Depot bucket bobbing in the water near the surface between the rafters. There was no way to empty it of water in the air space available so she grabbed the edge underwater and turned it upright, freeing the air trapped inside. She then lowered the small cardboard ammo box inside the bucket while she looped the wire handle over her left forearm like an underwater shopping basket.
She swept her hand along the next shelf and when it touched something that felt like metal, she recoiled automatically. She mentally shook herself and reached for it again. It was some kind of pistol, though she had no idea what make and model. She lifted it over the opened bucket and dropped it gently inside. It landed with a soft thunk when it met the plastic bottom.
She swept her hand through the larger cavity of the case again; on one end, she felt the barrel end of a rifle. It leaned forward when Sloane tugged it free and she lifted the whole thing away easily with the water’s buoyancy. After transferring the barrel end to her left hand along with the bucket over her arm, she again felt around.
Even though this was already a treasure trove, she was hoping for more. When using her right arm to feel lower in the case turned up nothing, she gave up and instead used her right foot. When she reached the bottom there was, in fact, something else. It felt like a sealed ammo canister with a loose handle that had collapsed; she slipped her toes under the handle and was surprised at the heavy weight when she lifted it up for her hand to reach.
She slipped the ammo can into the bucket with the other finds, adding a significant amount of weight to her arm. She pulled the bucket and rifle close to her side, retrieved the keys with her right hand, and then, instead of locking an empty gun case, she reached up and looped the key ring around the nail in the rafter again.
Something touched her right arm and then the top of her head as she was leaving the key on the nail. She brushed whatever it was away behind her, barely seeing above the water level.
It touched her again and Sloane turned with a start to see blackish brown serpent scales slithering into the water right behind her back. She panicked and screamed through the snorkel, sending bubbles rapidly through the water, and swam to the exit. The rifle and heavy orange bucket delayed her efforts, but she knew she couldn’t lose them, not even in terror. As she passed through the doorway and attempted to close the door, she saw the snake slithering toward her. She pulled the awkward load out of the way quickly and pushed the door closed. She wasn’t certain if the snake remained on the other side, but she told herself that it did. Even though she shook from fear, she again pulled out the double key ring and locked both the deadbolt and doorknob again. When she turned toward the stairs, her stomach knotted. The light that Mae was supposed to be holding as she stood vigil was out.
4
A Surprise
No, no, no… Sloane hastily made her way to the stairwell and surfaced out of the water. Mae was nowhere. Please no!
She crept up the slimy wooden stairs, hauling the bucket up to stow nearby in the dark interior. She tried to limit the splashing of the water, but she was panicking now and couldn’t avoid it. She laid the rifle across the water-filled bucket. Where Mae should have been standing, Sloane instead found the turned-off flashlight. She turned it on and listened for any sounds to detect where the girls might be but only heard silence. She flashed the light onto the pile of her clothing on the ground.
Her Glock still remained inside her holster atop the pile. She grabbed the towel, dried her hands, and snatched the gun out of its strap. She crept up the stairs; as the light filtered in a line under the door, a shadow passed by, and she stopped in her tracks.
“Wren?” she finally whispered. The door opened.
“Hi Mom.”
“Is everything okay? Where’s Mae?”
“She’s right here, with Nicole,” Wren said in a tone trying to convey the situation at hand without saying it out loud.
“Nicole?” Suddenly Sloane went from fright back to worry. “Is… her dad here, too?” she asked in a light tone.
“No. Only Nicole,” Wren said.
She loved eleven-year-old Nicole, who came to visit many times over the years since the pandemic, but her father was another story.
With the exception of his daughter Nicole, who was only five at the time, Doug had lost his entire family to the pandemic. Doug was never prepared for the deadly disease; in fact, they lived paycheck to paycheck then, never saving or preparing for a rainy day. He’d once broken into her house to steal her food while she and the girls were away and had also tried to break into Larry’s house while they were home. If it weren’t for Trent Carson, he would have succeeded. He’d also played a part in Trent’s near death, causing everyone who made it through the crisis to keep their distance from Doug’s house. After the pandemic, Doug and his daughter remained in the same house at the end of Horseshoe Lane. That left poor Nicole to grow up on her own, cast out from most of the neighborhood kids.
Over the years, Doug grew mentally unstable and obese. He was prone to outbursts aimed toward his daughter and seldom left home. He hoarded food and supplies so much that his garage was packed to the gills, quite visible to passersby whenever he’d left it opened. His truck remained in the driveway, abandoned to the elements. The house fell into disrepair and little Nicole grew quiet, rail thin, unkempt, and often wandered the neighborhood in search of kindness. It was a heartbreaking transformation she and the other neighbors witnessed over the years. Everyone helped out where they could, but Doug wouldn’t allow help from any of them where Nicole was concerned.
She slipped the gun behind her and approached the landing. Nicole and Mae sat on the stairs leading to the second floor, talking quietly and petting the stray cat that had scared her to death earlier. Noting mentally, Sloane thought it was best not to tell them about the snake in the basement.
“Hi Nicole,” Sloane said. This was not good. She must have wandered over here because either her father sent her or the girls were making too much noise and she sought them out.
“Hi Sloane,” Nicole said while petting the cat. Sloane saw curiosity in the child’s eyes when they swept over Sloane’s wet swimsuit and hand behind her back.
“What are you doing down there?” Nicole asked.
Sloane noticed something alarming about Nicole, as well; her face, though dirty from the lack of proper washing, was bruised on the left side and her lip was split. She deflected the question. “Honey, what happened to your face?” she said with concern.
Her expression immediately took on a blank stare as she lifted her hand from the cat’s fur. “Ah, nothing. I fell on the slippery stairs.”
Okay, that might have happened but I doubt it. I’ll kill him if he’s now beating her, too. Now I have to convince her that the Carsons are home with me swimming in their basement. How do I do that?
“Well, please be more careful, Nicole. There’s not a lot of doctors around. Listen, the Carsons are going to be home later tonight and we needed to get our spare keys to our shed out of their basement. They told us to go ahead and get them on our own.” She pulled the keys from her suit and jingled them in front of the girl.
Both of her daughters had gone stone quiet with widened eyes as their mother spun the tale. She hated to lie, but she needed to maintain the deception so Doug wouldn’t find out about the empty houses.
“Oh, I thought they were gone. The Bakers are gone, too,” Nicole said.
“Actually, I saw Mr. Baker checking the mailbox this morning. They’re home,” Wren interjected, cutting her eyes at her mother at the end of her lie.
“Amy, too.
She came over early this morning for her phone that she’d left at our house,” Mae said.
Sloane thought that was perhaps going over the line a little too far. Great. Now I’ve turned my children into liars as well. It was the beginning of a life of survival and she knew she’d have to give up on many of the ethics she’d instilled in them when life was normal.
Nicole looked a little confused. “Oh, it was so quiet this morning. I thought they’d all left. A lot of people have left the neighborhood.”
“Well, we’re here and so are the Carsons, the Bakers, and the Millers.” She said it specifically that way in case her father questioned the girl.
Nicole stood up and brushed off her shorts.
Sloane was aghast at the girl’s condition. When she stood, she saw the outline of her ribs through her muddied purple t-shirt. Her legs reminded her of those horrid, emaciated teen models: too thin and scrawny.
“Nicole, have you eaten anything today?” Sloane had to ask the question.
She visibly swallowed.
Sloane watched as her neck muscles flexed. “Dad says we only get one meal a day now. He doesn’t want to run out.”
Sloane absorbed this piece of news and nodded because the last time she saw Doug, he definitely wasn’t missing any meals. This left Sloane in a difficult situation. She couldn’t tell the girl to come around later and have dinner. Nicole would likely tell her father, which, in their past experience, ensured a nighttime break-in. No, she couldn’t do that and endanger them all. It was a problem—one she didn’t have an answer to. For now, she’d have to let Nicole go and keep an eye on her condition as the days went on.
“Well, why don’t you take that kitty along and bring him outside, Nicole. We’ll lock up the house for the Carsons and get back to our own place. Mr. Baker said he wanted to take a look at our gas lines later, so we should get back to the house,” she continued the ruse.
Nicole walked out the front door with the heavy cat limp over her arm and waved goodbye. Nicole even struggled with the weight of the cat in her arms.
“Bye Nicole. See you around,” the girls called after her.
“Quickly, lock the door,” Sloane whispered to Wren. “How did this happen? How did she get in?” she asked them.
Wren began to explain, “Mom, I was watching the front door and then all of a sudden I turned around and there was Nicole, standing in the kitchen. She came through the busted-out back door. She scared me to death, but there was nothing I could do. I called down for Mae to come up and visit with her until you were done because I didn’t want to tell her to leave so she could run off and tell her dad that we were here.”
“Okay, well, let’s hurry up and get out of here. Give me a second to change. I’ll be right back,” Sloane said and went back into the stairwell. She set the rifle aside and drained the water from the bucket as much as possible. It was very heavy now with the ammo cartridge inside, along with the pistol and waterlogged ammo box. Then she quickly dried off and redressed. Lugging the bucket and rifle through water was much easier. She wasn’t sure how she was going to disguise this heavy load as they walked across the street. She now viewed boarding up the Carsons’ back door as more a priority than her own, knowing that Doug would certainly take advantage of the food cache he had down there. They’d have to think of something quick.
She resurfaced from the basement dressed and burdened with the bulky items.
“So we’re just going to walk across the street with that waving like lunatics?” Mae said.
“I don’t see us having much choice. Instead of hiding it, we’ll pretend that’s why we came over—to get the guns and the bucket of stuff. If we’re seen with the weapons, people will think twice about bothering us, and if we make it seem like we got them from the Carsons, they’ll know the people living here are armed too because they didn’t need these. Get it?”
Both girls nodded that they did.
“So we’re lying our heads off so no one will think we’re alone. Got it,” Mae said.
Sloane wasn’t sure if she really did or if that was her sarcasm working overtime.
“Are we going to rinse those here, like you said earlier?” Wren asked, pointing to the stash.
“No, we’re going to do it at home. We’d better get out of here before we attract any more attention.”
After locking the doors that could be locked, they stepped back through the busted opening, and Sloane wondered if Nicole came in looking for food. It wasn’t like the girl to sneak into people’s backyards, especially the Carsons’ backyard. Hunger had a way of making you do things you normally wouldn’t.
As they approached the street, Nicole was nowhere in sight but the cat was. The cat made a beeline from one end of the neighborhood to the other with a black, shaggy dog on its tail. The prey zigged and zagged back and forth, trying to lose its hunter.
“Oh Mom! We have to do something!” Wren gasped.
Sloane spoke low. “No. There’s nothing we can do for it. Don’t look. Come on, let’s go,” she said and waved back at the Carsons’ house. “Thank you, Trent. We’ll see you soon. Have Amy come over later.”
5
Trickery
Once inside the house, Sloane quickly checked the windows on the second floor to observe the neighbors. She didn’t hear the cat anymore and could only imagine the dog caught his lunch.
Hungry dogs. That will be a problem in the days to come.
No one else was visible up or down the road. She eyed Doug’s ramshackle house for any sign of Nicole at the far end but saw none. She worried for the girl, but there was little she could do for her now.
“Should we put this stuff in our own tub?” Mae asked.
“Yes, but first, Wren, come here,” she said and opened the windows of her room to let out the stifling air. “One of us must always keep watch while the others work. You scan these windows for anyone or anything. That’s your job. You’re my eyes. You’re our sentry. You can walk from room to room, but let me know if anything moves.”
“Okay Mom, I’ve got it,” Wren said.
“All right, Mae. Let’s get this stuff rinsed off and dried.”
They took the rifle and submerged it in the girls’ bathroom tub to rinse out the saltwater. Then they carefully pulled out the ammo canister and the pistol and submerged them, as well. Finally, Sloane pulled up the sodden cardboard ammo box that remained at the bottom and easily peeled off the top layer. She dragged out the plastic cartridge that held copper rounds all in neat rows. The smeared writing on the box said the rounds were .45 ACP. She hoped they went to the pistol at the bottom of the tub. She also hoped the ammo in the box went to the larger, gnarly looking rifle.
“What’s in that heavy box, Mom?” Mae asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s get some towels down and find out.”
They laid out a layer of dry towels on the tiled floor next to the tub and then Sloane called out to Wren with just the right tone to carry without shouting. “Status, Wren?”
“A crow landed in the street and picked up something but other than that it’s all clear.”
“Good, that’s what I want to hear.”
She and Mae sat on the floor, lifted the sealed ammo box out of the water, and placed it on the towels. They both picked up the ends of the towel and dried every crevice of the box until it went from shiny, wet, army green metal to a dull metallic. Sloane opened the latch and inside lay a jumble of large, pointy rounds.
“I’m assuming these go to that big gun,” Mae said.
“Yeah… you and me both. We have to make sure they’re completely dry,” Sloane said. She recognized the rifle as an AR-10 and now understood why Trent might have opted to leave it behind. Due to the rifle’s weight and the larger rounds, they were probably too cumbersome to carry around when he had lighter options at hand.
She ensured her fingers were free of all moisture and reached into the box and down to the bottom. Not one drop of water appeared inside.
“Whew, I think we’re in luck. The seal held up. That’s great news.”
“Mom,” Wren called, short and direct.
Sloane hopped up from her knees to standing. She peered around the corner to see Wren standing back from the window, scared as she pointed out.
“What is it?” Sloane whispered.
Her daughter waved her over, too afraid to speak. It was something she wanted Sloane to see for herself.
She sidled over to the window frame and as she looked out, she saw what had alarmed her daughter. It was Doug, standing at the foot of the Carsons’ driveway, and he had obviously dragged Nicole behind him by her thin arm as well. By the distressed look on Nicole’s face, he was hurting her arm in his beefy grasp and she wasn’t there of her own free will.
That bastard!
She took out her Glock, her finger held with an itch along the slide.
“Mom, no. You might hit Nicole,” Wren warned.
“I’m not going to hit either of them,” Sloane said and aimed ten feet to the right of their position. She’d meant to scare him away, but before she began to squeeze the trigger back, the cat-eating dog appeared to their left and growled ferociously at the pair. Nicole screamed. Doug began to yell at the beast as it continued to approach them with its ominous growl.
“Mom, do something! I don’t want it to get Nicole,” Wren begged.
There wasn’t enough time at that moment to shake her head in frustration, let alone stop it. Suddenly, the dog lunged at Doug and Nicole broke free of his grasp. She ran home while Doug’s shrill voice screamed in pain as the dog’s sharp teeth embedded into the man’s thigh.
The panicked man kicked at the dog with his other leg in an attempt to pry him loose. All the while, his arms flailed about and his dirty green, ripped t-shirt rode up over his swollen belly, exposing him for the gluttonous pig he’d become.