by J. Morgan
The door was left open as he continued, now the first one on the left, it opened to what must have been the master bedroom, or possibly the only bedroom; he did not yet know. Once again the door was left open, he felt bad for still wearing his boots inside, a bit shell shocked himself from the experience of watching an uninjured man die of natural causes, the sadness evident in him, the shock of knowing his undead wife had just been shot in the head. Next door was on the right; a small bedroom, perhaps for guests who might come over. Like the bed in the master bedroom, this guest room’s bed also had a crucifix over it. They must have been Catholic. He considered himself Protestant; an Anglican specifically, but was not particularly devout. The crucifixes did not bother him at all, and would not be put off at sleeping in under one.
The final door at the end of the hall on the left, it was a storage room, and for the first time since before discovering just how poorly the old man had been, he smiled. It wasn’t much, but there was some food. Four cans of beans, a can of corn on the cob unlike the can of individual pieces of corn in his pack. A can of SPAM, a box of pancake mix which he doubted he would be able to get the ingredients for; likely it would need milk or eggs or something he thought, which they obviously did not have. Quite a lot of non-edible things like dish detergent, fabric softeners, laundry detergent, soap, and the like. He did not see any laundry machines; there was a small door on the ground floor near the front door; he figured it would have been a linen closet but since it faced where the stairs went up in the living room, perhaps it lead downwards into a basement?
Fuck that, but he knew where to go if for some demented reason he wanted to find some spiders… grabbing a can of beans he went downstairs. “Found you something… there’s more upstairs if you want another can after this.” Passing between the coffee table and TV in front of the couch, his right hand showed the can as he went; she got up and followed. It took a couple drawers, but he found where the cutlery was. A spoon was pulled out, placed on the counter. “Don’t touch the fridge. I doubt these nice people would have kept rotten food in their home, but all the same, opening it might just fill this house with a stink the likes you may never had experienced…”
He said this as he looked for a can opener, checking other drawers. Out came a small white machine, and he knew what it was. An electric can opener; …fat lot of good that’ll do. She looked at it quizzically, having not replied to what he warned her about, and realizing what it was, something cracked in her. So hungry she was, then seeing that food had been found; she can’t bloody get to it. She gave a pathetic sob, shoulders bobbing. It was the straw that broke this camel’s back; after so much that had gone on in such a short amount of time, including last night, now there was no manual can openers that would allow her to eat.
“Hey hey, don’t worry… I’ll get it open. Less than a minute, go sit down, I’ll bring it to you, ok?” The deep voice was soft, left hand coming up to her right shoulder, and she obediently turned and left, holding a hand to her face, drying her eyes. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, and it was clear that all these struggles were piling on. She was limping a little, having finally gotten a break from walking; he imagined her feet must have been quite sore. At least the warmth of the fire place was beginning to spread nicely.
Leaving the electric can opener on the counter, he pulled the pocket knife from his right pocket, flicked it open easily with his thumb, and put it point-down on the outer rim of the top. A couple light taps sent the point of the blade into the metal, and angling the handle of the knife to him, blade facing away; it made the first small cut into the tin. From there, his left hand steadily rotating the can clockwise, always mindful to keep his fingers out from in front of it lest the blade should slip and cut him. The rocking of the knife steadily wrenched the top of the can open bit by bit; a sharp and jagged cut going along its circumference within the rim at the edge of the top of the tin.
It really did take less than a minute, and he was now carefully lifting the round, jagged piece of metal still attached to the can’s body up and out of the way. Pushing the spoon in, he walked to the living room where Tiff had managed to compose herself.
“Careful; it’s sharp…” she quickly accepted the can from Richard, thank God his hand wasn’t in contact of any of that jagged metal or it would have cut him for sure. She gave no thanks as she began to bring spoonfuls of the maple flavoured beans to her mouth, some of the juice dribbling down her chin, some onto her shirt; she clearly didn’t care. It made him hungry as well. Another can was brought down, opened as carefully but efficiently as the first with practiced motions with his knife, and so he sat next to her; digging in just as she put the can down on the coffee table.
“Thanks…” she finally muttered some appreciation, though still not looking at him as he took less savage mouthfuls.
“No problem!” The ‘chef’ replied with a friendly tone. “There’s two rooms upstairs, by the way. Thought you’d be happy to know that not only is there a clean bed, but you’ll get one to yourself.” Another calm spoonful of beans; it would have been better if warmed, but he wasn’t particular. She nodded; it looked like she wanted to ask a question but didn’t know how to go about it. “I’ll take care of… Charlie and Denise…” the man elected.
“Thank you… they should… they deserve… you know…” Still she didn’t look at him, sort of just looking faintly off to the side, slightly in his direction, but green eyes came nowhere near him. He wasn’t offended. “You’re… you did it good… I think. Taking care of her for him, and then…” she trailed off. It was nice of her to say that. In handling these stressful and difficult matters, he did think that he did it relatively well. Respecting Charles’ wishes and then taking care of him when he went. They’re together now, he thought. Together in Heaven at God’s busy gates, side by side, hand in hand, looking forward to an eternity of peace. Richard wondered if Charlie was grateful to him for what he did, or if, knowing that he had shot his wife’s corpse in the head, had mixed feelings for him. It was understandable if it was the latter.
“That’s nice of you to say…” was his mild and quiet gratitude at her uncharacteristically kind words. Damn, he thought… there might be a shovel in the basement… perhaps he could ask Tiffany to go down there instead of himself to check, but thought that wouldn’t be very nice of him. Still, needless to say, for all he has done for her in having saved her life from the horde she brought to him, saved her from hunger by bringing her here; she owed him. That could come later, however. For now, she was no doubt hungrier than he was, so with a little bit left in the can, he held it in front of her, gesturing for her to take it. She nodded and accepted it, now leaning over to rest against him as she took a calm spoonful of beans to her mouth, the dribble on her chin having been wiped away after her first can was finished, which sat empty on the coffee table with her fork sticking out of it, now using his.
There was still plenty of daylight left, and having found this small store of food, along with Tiff clearly needing some rest… and who is he kidding; he could use a good night’s sleep in a real bed as well, instead of just in the bed of a truck. Yes, they would stay the night. First things first… he ought to tend to the previous occupants of this quaint little home. With a grunt he stood, she returned to sitting upright, looking up at him, the second can of beans having been finished.
“Relax, I just have a few things to do…” Scooting between the couch and the coffee table, passing by the empty cans and the open bottle of water, soon he was back to the kitchen and feeling the heat of the fireplace on his left as the open doorway was passed. That bloody basement… he could feel his hairs standing on end just at the thought, goosebumps cropping up on his arms within the hoodie, the hood of which was drawn tight over his head. No… first he wanted to make sure his backpack was somewhere safe while he went to work. Unlocking the back door, he headed out. The day wasn’t as cold as it was this morning, and he knelt down at the man’s body.
“
I’m sorry, Charlie, b’y…” Hands patted the pockets on his overalls; one jingled with keys, the other had a bulge that was likely a wallet. The keys came out first; they were put in his left pocket. Next came the wallet, it was opened, and he checked for an ID. “Charlie Winters… Charlie and Denise Winters…” Richard muttered their names, logically concluding that the woman was his wife and would thus share his last name. “Thank you, Mister and Missus Winters. I’m sorry we couldn’t have had a proper chat… that I couldn’t hear your stories, couldn’t help bring water from the creek there into your home, or helped you folks out for a while before I’d have to leave. Thank you for the food you left behind, this lovely house which I’m looking forward to getting some rest in… and… I’m sorry I had to… shoot you…”
Should have quit while he was ahead; the last few words tumbled out awkwardly, he regretted saying them, though his face didn’t change from the somber look he now held. Mr. Winter’s wallet was returned, placed on his chest. The .303 casing nearby was picked up, also pocketed along with the keys. Tiffany looked at him with soft eyes as he passed her by, heading upstairs, remembering that the master bedroom had a key hole. At the open door, he figured out which key was the one for this bedroom, stuck it in, and turned. The door knob was locked. Good. Testing the key further, he rotated it counter-clockwise, and then removing it, found the door knob to be unlocked.
Alright, great. He didn’t exactly think that she WOULD steal his stuff, or try to kill him, but she was too erratic, not entirely trusted, and so he locked his backpack and rifle in the master bedroom, his bandolier draped over the pack, even leaving a loaded magazine from each butt pocket on the wide dresser to further lighten his load. Two .303 casings were stood up next to them, and then he looked up into the mirror that stood above said dresser. Lived-in clothes, unshaven scruffy face, looking somewhat dirty, unkempt hair… he looked like a hobo, and reminded himself that indeed he basically WAS homeless. This wasn’t his home, it was a temporary stop, he’ll stay here a couple days, and then the two will likely leave when the food is almost all eaten, taking what they can with them.
The bedroom door was locked, and so the day’s new responsibilities began. Tiffany had gone from the couch, the cans and water bottle remained; the 1.14L plastic bottle still a good quarter full. He’ll boil water from the river eventually, let it cool, and then pour it into the bottle, but that was for later. Down into the dreaded basement he went, eyes darting about keen on anything small, black, and eight-legged. It was dark as fuck; his red light barely illuminating his way into the cool, windowless, damp room. Washer and dryer, more cleaning chemicals, a hanging pull-cord for a hanging light bulb made him twitch, thinking it was a large… well… you know.
There they were; a hoe and two shovels, with the latter being one for snow and the other for dirt. The tougher, smaller, metal shovel was grabbed, its point rapped on the rough concrete floor harshly a couple times to tap off any ‘undesirable’ critters that might be on the handle or spade, then retreated quickly upstairs wishing NEVER to go down there again. Hunched over, hoodie drawn forward, one arm held close to him with the other holding the shovel at arm’s length, he must have been an odd sight, but thankfully nobody was there to witness it. Tossing the hoodie back, his body shuddered, now intentionally shaking himself all over as though shooing away countless arachnids.
He did not recall seeing any food down there, but it’s not like he looked particularly hard, almost experiencing tunnel vision in the confined and dank place that so attracted his worst enemy. Out back he went, and the woman was walking towards the house, away from a bush that was to the southeast. He waved with shovel in hand, standing mere feet from the two bodies, she gave a meek little gesture similarly, eyes darting from him to them and quickly then averted her gaze from either, staring in the opposite direction as she walked towards the front door. What she was doing was pretty obvious to him, especially considering she had a roll of toilet paper in hand, and was just glad she knew not to use the toilet upstairs which he doubted could flush.
It didn’t take long to work up a sweat while cutting and lifting the sods of grassy earth. As much respect as he had for these undoubtedly kind and generous people, he was not about to dig down 6’. Only one hole; he was certain they would want to be buried together. Too bad there wasn’t much in the way of large rocks around here; he could just dig them a shallow grave and cover it with rocks to keep scavengers away. Hopefully 3’ will do the trick… all that was really in this large valley was grassland, some bushes, lonesome trees, a road, and this house. Really, considering how horrible the world was right now with all the death, murder, rape, and so on, it was a picturesque little place.
Chapter 4
A good half hour or so of digging later, he knew there was still a long ways to go, but with sweat dripping off him, huffing and puffing, he went inside for a break. This was not easy work. She wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the living room; he went upstairs, trying to calm his breathing. Passing the washroom, he could see through the window in it to the west; there was the road they came in on and the forest beyond. Farther down the hallway he went, and as expected, she was in the guest room; he had quietly and slowly opened the door. Her back was turned to him, but the subtle noise made her stir, and she suddenly sat bolt upright, staring with huge green eyes towards him with a gasp before realization struck her and she visibly relaxed.
“You scared the fuck out of me…” Tiffany said breathily, a trace of anger in her however much calmer than she normally was, and he was already holding his hand up in apology.
“Sorry, was just checking to see where you were to. You can go back to sleep, I’m just taking a br-“ Rich had motioned to back out of the doorway when he was interrupted.
“No, it’s ok…” Her shoes were on the floor beside the bed, and he cursed himself for again walking around inside with boots on, scuffs of dirt left in his wake. What was he, some animal? He kicked them off, and seen that there were spots of blood on her white ankle socks. Her feet were pretty beaten up it would seem, yet she had not complained at all about it. Richard let himself in, closing the door behind him, leaving his smelly boots in the hallway.
The curtain was open, closed window facing south. He sat at the foot of the bed, on the edge, near her feet. She watched as he approached, shifting herself backwards against the south wall next to said window to give him some space on the rather small bed, perhaps twin sized. Turning, he sat Indian style opposite her, facing her. She went to tuck her legs back, but he grabbed a foot; she shuddered at the sudden gesture.
“Lay back. Relax…” He peeled her socks off, they had a potent smell to them, it was clear they hadn’t been washed in a while, though she herself seemed to have bathed more recently than he. Perhaps they could do so again. Gather water from the river, fill the tub in the washroom partially with the cold stuff, boil some water and then pour that in trying to find a happy medium of nice and warm. It would be a nice reprieve; he hasn’t had a warm or hot bath in a good month or two he figured, but when he did, he used the method just described. His last bath was in cold water, as was hers he imagined. Where she got the water, he didn’t know. Perhaps she went to nearby houses, got water from toilets, poured it into her tub, and just used that over and over to bathe herself in. Better than nothing.
Ignoring the smell, of which she was reddening because, he began rubbing her feet, avoiding the sores. “There might be some Polysporin or something in the washroom. Want me to go check?” Her body had tensed up as he began rubbing, but was now visibly looking relaxed, leaning back against the wall behind her.
“N-no… no that’s ok, I can check that later.” She tried to sound confident, strong, but he knew she said that because she didn’t want him to stop. He knew it would be best if she stayed off her feet so it’s likely she would ask him to do it for her later. He smiled, giving a low chuckle.
“Heheh, alright, I’ll have a look later on, don’t worry.” The voice was deep, but sof
t. Far softer than when he was shouting at her in the box of the truck. It seemed like, even though they had only known each other for perhaps 24 hours now, she had learned a lot about how things are now.
“So you took the main bedroom for yourself? This couldn’t have been where they slept…” With a mischievous grin, briefly looking down at the small bed, she now looked over at him, having deduced his greed. By the time she went upstairs for the first time, he had already locked the door to the master bedroom, so Tiff had not yet laid eyes on it.
“Well you know; I’m the one with the penis, so isn’t it only right that I get the bigger, comfier, luxurious, silk, four-poster bed?” First giving the playfully sexist remark that taunted her extreme feminist views, followed by the visual of such an impossibly exquisite place to sleep in such a modest home, at first her little grin had turned to a frown, but then she couldn’t suppressed the smile.
“Haha-hyou prick…” She laughed, covering her mouth, and then gave a subtle moan as his thumb pressed into the arch of her left foot, having transitioned from her right. “… mmm… you’re good at this…”
“Thank you, I do what I can.” She was quiet then, eyes closing, just relaxing at his foot massage. Soon the rubbing came to her ankles, and her eyes shot open rather quickly and alarmingly.
“Um, that… that… doesn’t… bother you?...”
His breathing had normalized by now from the shoveling outside, though his sweat was still drying. She was referring to the hair on her legs. His hands then went up and down her calf muscle. “Oh, this?... Nah, I mean, it would feel better if it were shaved, sure, but this isn’t the end of the world. It’s natural. It isn’t off-putting or anything like that. I mean I don’t have the biggest cock in the world but that doesn’t make it repulsive just because it could perhaps be bigger, does it?”