by Ike Hamill
Danielle looked back to Chloe.
Chloe relaxed and lowered the shotgun.
When Danielle looked back to James, he seemed normal again. He looked tired, but it was definitely James. She figured that she must have been fooled by the light the first time.
Chloe motioned for her to back up, and then she pulled the door shut.
They walked back downstairs.
“Get some sleep,” Chloe whispered. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Danielle said. “You’re not going to do anything until we all have a chance to talk, right?” She glanced down at the shotgun while she asked.
“Of course,” Chloe said.
Danielle nodded. She collected her pad with her story. “If you get too tired and you want to talk, let me know. I don’t mind.”
“I’ll be fine. I got plenty of sleep. You know me.”
Danielle nodded once more and then headed for bed.
When she was gone, Chloe finally put the gun down. She leaned it against the chair and lowered herself into the cushions of the big armchair. It was still warm from Danielle. She shook her head, trying to wake up. Without coffee or a shower, her body rejected the notion.
She put a hand on the shotgun and thought about the man who was in the upstairs bedroom. The mere thought of him should be enough to keep anyone awake. He was up there, composing a horrible nightmare of a story. And, according to his own account, if he didn’t write down the nightmare, he would act it out. Allowing him to stay so close was an assault on logic. Life would be simpler if he attacked. She had a gun and she wasn’t afraid to use it. The rules of their society seemed to be on hiatus, so why shouldn’t she defend herself?
A noise snapped her attention to the right and she lifted the shotgun.
It was nothing—maybe a mouse.
Chloe worried about her parents. They were all the way out in California. Who knew what kind of chaos that state was in. Back when the TV stations were still on the air, she’d gotten the impression that California was falling apart fast. Lots of joggers and exercisers had been attacked. The residents had become very territorial in a short period of time. Chloe hoped that her folks had found a safe place to stay out of harm’s way.
Both Danielle and Bo seemed to think that the cultural damage of the previous week would take a long time to repair. Chloe didn’t share their pessimism. People were too accustomed to all their creature comforts. Sooner, rather than later, laziness would overcome fear and people would begin to trust each other and get back to living as they had. She was sure of it.
But, in order to ensure they didn’t end up right back in the same place, Chloe might have to make a hard choice. It might be up to her to eliminate the source of the nightmares. It was just a matter of survival.
She leaned over and checked the clock. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but it looked like she had a couple of hours left on her watch. She decided to make coffee. The grinder might wake up Danielle and Bo, but they would get back to sleep eventually. Once the decision was made, Chloe settled a little deeper into the chair. The hard part—the decision—was done. She could just get up and make it. Any second, she would tap the last of her energy and head for the kitchen. Chloe’s eyes fell shut.
She woke before dawn and blinked. Bo was still asleep. The door to the master bedroom was still closed. There was a little light coming through the window, but not much. Chloe shook her head and stood up. It was time to make that coffee.
In the kitchen, just before she was about to grind the beans, she paused. There had been a noise from upstairs. She crossed the floor quickly, picking up the shotgun on the way. She glanced at Bo on the couch as she passed and then began climbing the stairs. Chloe was on high alert. Her mother always said, “Don’t put your finger on that trigger, unless you’re planning to shoot.”
She was planning. Or, at least she was definitely not planning not to shoot. It would be easier all around if James gave her a reason. She almost hoped that he would spring into view around the corner. Nobody would fault her for reacting when attacked.
At the top of the stairs, she saw that the door to James’s room was open again. Chloe stalked down the hall and pushed the door open with the barrel of the gun.
The hinges creaked.
A candle still burned on the desk, but there was nobody there.
Chloe ducked backwards into the hall and pressed herself against the wall. She swung the gun back and forth, looking for a threat. She stayed there until she verified that there was nobody at the other end of the hall, waiting to pounce on her. With a shaky exhale, she removed her finger from the trigger. With one more little twitch of her finger, the thing would have gone off. Then, once the world was back to normal, she would have had to explain to her parents about the shotgun hole in the wall.
Chloe stood again and moved forward. She checked the corners and slid into the room. With each place she looked—closet, under the bed, behind the desk in the corner—she expected to find James hiding. His papers were gone. She picked up the pen. Chloe decided the room was empty. That left only one other room to check. As she walked down the hall, she comforted herself with the reassurance that he couldn’t have slipped down the stairs unnoticed. The stairs produced a chorus of creaks and groans whenever anyone used them, and she had been right there.
She reached for the handle of the other guest room. The door was locked. There was a metal coat hanger downstairs. With the hooked end straightened, it would open the door’s simple lock. Chloe took a step backwards before she remembered the pen. She held the shotgun with one hand and used her teeth to pull the ink cartridge from the pen. She jammed the plastic butt of the cartridge into the lock and pushed until the lock clicked. It was open.
Wasting no more time, she threw open the door and pushed inside.
The window was open. The room was empty.
CHAPTER 23: THREE
“I WAS PAYING ATTENTION. Who knew he would jump from a second floor window? It must be twelve feet to the ground,” Chloe said.
“It’s not that high,” Danielle said.
“You want to go measure it?” Chloe asked.
They stood in the living room. Bo was on the couch, with a blanket still draped across his legs. Danielle stood there in bare feet. Her hair stuck every direction.
“Guys, stop. That’s counterproductive. Who cares how he got away? The question is, what do we do about it? Do we even care?” Bo asked.
“Of course we care,” Chloe said. “He dangerous. We can’t have him out there just wandering around. The first time he forgets to write a story, he might come for us. Let’s not ignore the fact that his father murdered his mother. His best friend murdered his whole family. This man should be considered very dangerous.”
“We can defend this place,” Bo said.
“You’re both missing the point,” Danielle said. “We need him. We need his ability in order to spread the antidote.”
“The what?” Chloe asked.
“The fix for all this trouble. I think he’s the only one who can take a story and make it come true in real life.”
“And how would a story do that?” Chloe asked.
“Have you been paying attention at all?” Danielle asked.
Chloe threw up her hands and paced away.
“All we need is the right story—one with a truly positive message—and we can turn around this spread of violence. We just get people to read it, the same way they read my blog.”
“First,” Chloe said, bending back one finger as she counted, “you’ll never get anyone to read anything. They’re all terrified. Second, what makes you think one story will do it? Third, James doesn’t even really write. He said he’s just be transcribing the old stories from his father. If the story doesn’t come from either his father or from him, then it might not do any good.”
“Then again,” Bo said. “What’s the risk? There’s slim chance it will work, but I’m not sure there’s a reason we shouldn’t try.�
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“Because we’ll be putting our lives in danger for nothing,” Chloe said.
“Our lives are in constant danger,” Bo said. “Where would he have gone?”
“Nowhere,” Chloe said. “There’s nowhere to go out there but woods. Like I said before, this place is remote. You saw it when we drove in. There’s hardly any development. I bet he’s just waiting out there somewhere. He’s waiting for us to let our guard down.”
Bo walked to the window and looked out across the yard.
“Where are the car keys?” he asked.
“I’ve got them,” Chloe said.
He nodded. “All the doors and windows locked?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Nobody goes outside alone. Personally, I don’t think James is dangerous to us, but I suppose anything is possible, given everything that has happened. So if we’re going to the well, or the spring, or even out to the car to check the radio, let’s always go in pairs. In fact, if we can, all three of us should stay together so that nobody is left alone in the house.”
Danielle nodded.
“Can we heat up water and take a bath or something?” Danielle asked. “Otherwise we’re not going to smell great.”
“There’s no tub,” Chloe said. “This place only has standup showers.”
“I think we can handle a little body odor,” Bo said. “Let’s see what we can find for breakfast.”
He started to move towards the kitchen. Danielle and Chloe followed him.
“I wonder what James is going to eat,” Danielle said. “How long can a person live without food? It’s weeks, right?”
“He’ll find stuff to forage on, I’m sure,” Bo said.
Chloe moved to the pantry and began to sort through the cans. She found some peaches, and a can of hash. To that, she added some crackers and instant oatmeal.
The top half of the side door was glass. Danielle moved to that and looked out. Bo began sorting through the cabinets to come up with a skillet for the hash and a pot for the oatmeal. He found matches and lit the burners on the stove.
“You know, it’s a little chilly, but we could take some soap and get cleaned up in the pond,” Chloe said. “I’ve done it before. It’s brisk, but you’ll get clean.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Bo said.
Danielle turned away from the window. She looked over to Chloe. “Wait a second—didn’t you say there was a hermit who lived on the other side of the pond?”
“He’s not a hermit. He just likes to keep to himself,” Chloe said. “He only lives up here in the summers. I’m sure he’s gone now.”
“Maybe that’s where Jim went,” Danielle said.
“How would he know about that?” Chloe asked.
“You mentioned it yesterday,” Danielle said. “We were all there.”
“You did,” Bo said.
“But you guys don’t even know where the pond is,” Chloe said. “I might have well have said it’s on the other side of the moon for all the good it does you. There are a million trails around here, and only one leads to the pond.”
“Still,” Danielle said. “It might be worth a trip to see if that’s where he’s staying.”
“Maybe the pond isn’t a good idea,” Chloe said. “It might be bad to leave the house for too long. What if he uses the opportunity to sneak in here when we’re out?”
Bo used the can opener on the hash and dumped the contents into the hot skillet. It sizzled and popped.
Danielle shook her head and returned her gaze to the window again.
“You know, you’re automatically opposed to any idea that you didn’t come up with,” Danielle said to Chloe. “You say we need to figure out where James is, and then you shoot down my suggestion on where we might find him.”
“It’s just ludicrous to think he would find the place,” Chloe said. She took the can opener and started on the can of peaches. “I don’t think you understand how sparsely populated these woods are. There are no signs, and none of the roads are marked. We don’t even get mail. They tried to put up street signs a few years ago for 911, but people kept stealing them, so they gave up.”
Danielle looked at a maple tree across the yard. It had started to shed its leaves. Every minute or so, one would release its hold on a branch and it would spiral down to the ground. There was almost no wind.
CRACK!
A spiderweb of cracks radiated from a dime-sized hole in the middle of the window. Danielle jumped back as something fell to the floor at her feet.
“What was that?” Chloe asked.
Danielle couldn’t catch her breath to answer. She dropped to a crouch and saw the object closer. It was a dark green arrow. In small letters on the shaft, it said, “Carbon Force.” Danielle backed away from it, like it was a snake. The metal tip of the arrow was stained with dark mud.
“Look out,” Danielle said. She meant to shout it, but her thin breath made the command come out as a wheeze.
“What?” Chloe asked. She turned. Bo held the spatula above the pan and he turned to look.
He seemed to understand immediately. Bo dropped down to his knees and dragged Chloe down with him.
THUD.
Something hit the side of the cabin.
“Where’s the damn gun?” Chloe asked.
Outside, they heard feet sprint through the leaves.
A high, giggling laugh followed.
CHAPTER 24: HERMIT
JAMES DROPPED TO THE ground and ran. The morning was cool, but he warmed up quickly. He was panting by the time he was deep enough in the woods that he couldn’t see the cabin anymore. He just wanted to be out of the range of that shotgun.
He’d seen Chloe and Danielle when they came up to check on him. He saw the way Chloe held the gun. She held it like she intended to use it. So, as soon as he had finished his writing, he ran. He found plenty of trails leading away from the cabin. Two of them looked like they had seen much more use than the others. One was the trail that led to the spring. James took the other one.
As soon as he could see the morning light twinkling off the pond, it was easy for him to find the way. It wasn’t a huge body of water, but it was bigger than he expected. James picked through the underbrush as he circled the pond. The woods were darker on the other side. The light hadn’t yet penetrated into the shadows of the hill.
James didn’t realize he had found the path until he had followed it for a few minutes. At first, it had just seemed like the easiest course through the woods. Then, he saw a yard.
The house was about the same size as Chloe’s cabin. It didn’t fit the landscape. A little, white, colonial in the middle of the woods didn’t make sense. James hurried across the lawn and looked through the windows. He didn’t need much. An unoccupied bed was his primary objective. His body was so tired, it felt like it would shutdown at any moment.
He surveyed the other windows as well. The place was tidy—no clutter, and no signs of life. He tried the door. It was locked. Around the side, the windows were at ground level. They looked in through the concrete walls of an unfinished basement. James whispered a quiet apology to the owner and kicked the glass. It was tougher than he thought, but he managed to snap off the remaining jagged shards. James brushed away the broken glass and lowered himself to the ground. With nothing to land on, getting through the window hole was a painful mission. He landed on the scattered glass, bruised and scraped.
The basement was clean and dry. A set of rough-framed steps led up to the first floor. James passed a wall of shelves, lined with jars of preserves and pickled vegetables. He didn’t spend any time deliberating, but picked a little jar filled with something orange, and a big one filled with green beans and garlic. He headed up the stairs.
The owner had foreseen his break-in. The door at the top of the stairs was locked. James put his shoulder to the door several times before he gave up. Standing on the stairs, he didn’t have any way to get enough momentum behind his blows. The lock held tight.
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p; James walked back to the bottom step and sat down. He opened the jar with the green beans. The lid was in two pieces. The ring unscrewed, but the lid stayed tight to the top of the jar. After failing to pry it free with his thumbnail, James glanced around for a tool.
It was hard to believe anyone lived here. Aside from the shelf of jars, the basement was practically empty. Where were all the half-completed projects? Where were the tools? The washtub against the wall was stained with a million paint splatters. Perhaps someone cleaned their brushes and rollers. If so, where were the cans of leftover paint and the other supplies one might need?
Eventually, the lid came free with the reassuring release of a vacuum seal. The smell of vinegar and garlic made his mouth water. The first pickled green bean felt cool going down his throat and made his stomach clench when it hit. He stuffed a few more in his mouth and turned his attention to the preserves. The lid came off much easier, and he smiled at the scent of peaches.
His mom never tolerated canned fruit. She always insisted that everything be fresh and ripe. And nothing was allowed to go to waste. If a soft spot formed on the side of a peach, and mold began to whiten the surface, she would cut out the spot, wash the fruit, and someone was going to eat it. His father had been much more of a canned-food aficionado.
He scooped some of the preserves with his finger and tasted. The peaches didn’t blend well with the vinegar, but the sweetness of the preserves won out pretty quick. They were almost too sweet. They tasted of summer excess—days when the sun wastes its energy on an already verdant landscape. Some of that energy should be held back, for winter, but it’s hell-bent on giving everything up. James scooped one more finger of preserves and then retreated to the green beans. He understood those flavors.
As he ate, his eyes kept returning to the corner of the basement. The shadows were deep, but there was something there. It was a handle—probably of a broom, or a shovel. If so, it was the only thing that would pass for a tool in the whole place. James stood and walked towards it. He wiped his sticky fingers on his jeans as he went.