State of Grace

by M. Lauryl Lewis

  “Is it getting dark?” I asked.

  “Either that or the smoke from Rainier is getting worse,” answered Sam. “See the building up on the left? That’s a hardware store. Windows are all broken out and it’s been emptied. Another half-mile and we’ll stop at an old farm house we have set up as a safe house.”

  “How much farther is your camp?” asked Gus.

  “A couple hours.”

  “We could be there tonight,” I said with excitement.

  “No. We’ll hole up at the farmhouse for the night, darlin’,” said Gus. “Safest to be off the road after dark.”

  I sighed, but knew he was right. We continued on in silence. Once we passed the hardware store, I broke the silence.

  “Where do you suppose they all are?” I asked.

  “The dead?” asked Sam, looking for clarification.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s making me nervous as shit,” he answered.

  ***

  As darkness grew around us, we finally came upon the farmhouse. It looked like an ancient structure. The front porch had been screened-in at some point in time, but the old metal screens were rusted through and hung in ragged shambles. The screen door was in even worse shape, hanging by an old hinge, the frame twisted backward. The wooden planks of the porch floor were covered in ash dust, but not as heavily as outside. I figured it must have blown in with the wind. A threadbare sofa sat against the far wall and piles of old junk took up each corner: a doll with no head, an ancient tricycle with a flat tire, books, and an old metal wash basin half full of soil and old weeds.

  Sam lifted the wash basin and pulled out a key. A bird of prey screamed in the distance. I shivered. We entered the old house, losing the small amount of light we had left from the setting sun.

  “It’s safe to turn on the flashlights,” said Sam. “The windows are all boarded.”

  Gus thoughtfully took the pack from my back. The relief was instant. The weight of the straps had begun to make my injured shoulder ache. He found one of the flashlights and quickly turned it on. The inside of the home was as aged as the porch. Furniture was sparse: a claw-foot sofa with a brown-and-orange crocheted afghan hung across its back, an old oval rag rug, and a faded green recliner in one corner. A small dog bed sat near the foot of the recliner. Lace curtains still hung in front of the only window in the room. I walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside. The glass pane remained, but like Sam had said the window was boarded over from the other side.

  “Zoe?” Gus called my name.

  I turned to look at him.

  “Do you sense anything?”

  I shook my head side-to-side. “Nothing.”

  “In the back of the house there’s two bedrooms. Just pick one and get some rest while I take watch for a few hours,” suggested Sam. “The hallway’s off the kitchen. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks, brother,” said Gus.

  “Sam? Is there any food stashed here? I’m starving,” I said.

  Sam was crouched near the floor, sorting through my backpack. He looked up and smiled at me. “Yup. Kitchen’s just the next room over. Help yourselves.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bring you something before we crash,” I offered.

  He winked at me.

  I turned and followed Gus across the threshold to the next room. He set the flashlight on the only countertop in the room. The beam danced across an old lath wall with peeling plaster and wallpaper. A faded calendar from 1972 still hung on the wall. Next to the calendar hung a pale blue needlepoint that read home is where the heart is. An old fashioned wood-burning oven and stovetop took up half the length of another wall, and next to it sat a small square table. Another rag rug rested in the middle of the floor.

  “I’ll check the cabinets,” I said quietly.

  “Sounds good, darlin’. I’ll go through some of the boxes over here.”

  I hadn’t noticed the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall, underneath the cloth calendar. My stomach growled with hunger as I opened the first set of cabinet doors. I was surprised to see a variety of canned vegetables neatly stacked. I picked a can of sliced carrots to share with Gus. The next cabinet held single-serve packets of cherry Kool-Aid and bottled water. I opted for two bottles of plain water and skipped the flavoring. While it’d be a nice treat, the supplies didn’t belong to us.

  “Ahhh, look here!” said Gus cheerfully.

  I looked over and saw him grinning back at me. He held out a package of Ritz crackers.

  “That’s not all. There’s peanut butter too.”

  “I found canned carrots, but maybe we can save those for breakfast,” I said.

  “Sounds good. Let’s look for a spreader knife and take these in to share with Sam.”

  Before long, Gus found a butter knife in a drawer and we headed back to the entry room.

  While snacking on peanut butter and crackers, we talked about our plan for the next day. Sam told us the compound was only about a two hour walk from the farmhouse. We’d pack enough water and ammo to make the trek.

  I yawned, exhausted from the long day of walking.

  “I think I’ll head to bed,” I announced.

  Sam stood and stretched, and Gus followed suit.

  “Sam, are you sure you’re up to first watch?” asked Gus.

  “Yeah. It’ll give me a chance to organize more weapons. We keep a stash of guns and knives under the floorboards in the kitchen. Just lift the rug and there’s a metal ring to pull on. You should both check it out. This house may not look like much, but we have it pretty well fortified and stocked for emergencies. Everyone at camp knows it’s here if they need it.”

  “Okay but holler if you need help or if trouble comes a-knockin’, brother.”

  “Will do.”

  “Night,” I said sleepily.

  Gus wrapped an arm around me and we returned to the kitchen. The back wall connected to a hallway, the only way to go. I held the flashlight as we continued to the back of the house where Sam said the bedrooms would be.

  We walked into the closest bedroom and I was glad to see an old iron-framed bed that was neatly made. A small round table sat on one side of the headboard, covered in an eyelet cloth. An old oil lamp and a Bible sat on top, but nothing else. The room was small and the only other piece of furniture, a tall-boy dresser, barely fit into the far corner of the room.

  “We should check the dresser for clothes,” said Gus as he yawned. Both of us could use new things that aren’t falling apart.”

  “When we wake up. I just need to lay down and sleep.”

  We both stripped ourselves of our weapons. Gus set his on the dresser and I set mine on the bedside table. Even though the room was cold and I was shivering, I slipped out of my clothes and down to my under things. The thought of wearing the dirtied clothes in bed, ash and all, was not appealing.

  “I should check your butt cheek, darlin’. How’s it feeling?”

  “It barely hurts anymore. I think it’s okay. It’s my shoulder that’s still kinda stiff.”

  He walked behind me and inched my panties down just far enough to look at my bite wound. My skin felt like it was on fire when he peeled the dressing off.

  “It’s closed up. Just a touch of scabbing and a hint of green like your hip. Looks good. Want me to rub your neck?”

  “As long as you’re careful with my shoulder, that’d be great.”

  He took my hand and led me to the bed. He sat first, the bed frame protesting with a loud squeak. He scooched back and I sat in front of him, creating another squeak of the old-style springs beneath the mattress. I closed my eyes and Gus began kneading the flesh of my neck and shoulders.

  “We’ll see her tomorrow,” he whispered into my left ear.

  I hung my head and sighed softly. “Tomorrow,” I whispered back.

  He stopped massaging, allowed one arm to drape over me while he placed the other around my side. I held onto the arm that was draped over my chest and w
e sat like that for a long moment, in a quiet embrace. His inner thoughts touched my own and our sadness over being apart from Hope mingled together. Eventually we both crawled under the covers. We wrapped ourselves around each other for warmth and quickly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Morning, Sunshine,” said Gus as I rolled over in the bed to face him.

  I blinked my eyes, which were dry. “Hey.”

  Gus had lit the oil lamp beside the bed, making it still feel like night time. With the windows boarded, it very well might have been.

  “I need to go relieve Sam and take watch. Do you want to keep sleeping?”

  I shook my head side-to-side. “I’ll get up with you. What time is it?”

  “About two o’clock, still the middle of the night.”

  I groaned.

  He leaned down and kissed me on the neck. His kiss was hot against my skin and his several-day-shadow was surprisingly soft. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand and began exploring my flesh with the other. As badly as my body wanted to give in and enjoy his touch, my longing for Hope was stronger.

  Sensing my hesitation, he stopped and looked into my eyes. No words needed to be said aloud. He knew instantly why I was unsettled. He simply nodded, kissed me sweetly on the lips, and rolled out of bed.

  I hesitantly climbed out from under the covers, the cold making me instantly regret doing so. I walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer, which was heavy and filled with ammunition. “Christ,” I mumbled.

  “What is it?”

  “Bullets. A lot of them.”

  He approached to see for himself.

  “Fuck. That’s a lot of ammo.”

  He pushed the heavy drawer back in and opened the next one down.

  “Holy shit,” I said under my breath.

  Inside the second drawer sat padded trays that looked similar to egg cartons, filled with grenades. Gus whistled inward.

  “Looks like we came across the right group of people.”

  “I hope so. The last few haven’t turned out so well.”

  The next three drawers were much more benign, offering us exactly what we needed - fresh clothing. They smelled musty but were clean and dry. I found a pair of low-rise jeans that were a size too large so I used the drawstring from a pair of men’s exercise shorts as a belt. A purple v-neck t-shirt with a print of an old fashioned Mickey Mouse was the next best fitting thing I found, but it too was baggy on me. Gus was out of luck as everything but a pair of socks was too small for him. He pulled out a dark green hoodie and tossed it to me. I slipped it over my head and was glad for the warmth it would provide. The only socks were men’s, also too large for me, but once I pulled them up to my knees I managed to get my tennis shoes on and thought about how badly I was in need of a new pair of shoes.

  “We’ll get you some the next time we come across ‘em,” said Gus as he snuffed out the wick of the oil lamp.

  I smiled at him and we left the little bedroom together.

  As soon as we were in the hallway and before I shut the door, Gus called out to Sam.

  “Coming out.”

  “Great,” he called back. “Come on into the dining room.”

  We followed the dim glow from Sam’s lantern, turning the corner to the right. He was sitting at a small desk, cleaning a handgun.

  “You can go sleep,” I said to Sam.

  “Thanks guys. Let me just finish with this gun. The window to my right has a peep door. The glass is broken out, so try to keep it shut as much as you can. Keep an eye on the weather though. Looks like a storm is brewing.”

  “Any issues while we slept?” asked Gus.

  “Nah. Just some wind every now and then. And more ash. It’s the damnedest thing. We almost always have at least a few of the Dead wander through here. But it’s just...wind and ash. No signs of the Deads.”

  “Okay, brother. Go get some sleep.”

  Sam punched the clip into the pistol and stood. He left it on the desk, I assumed in case we needed it during the night.

  “Sleep well,” I called out as he walked down the hallway.

  He raised his hand and waved acknowledgement without looking back.

  “Let’s settle in for a bit. Talk about our next steps.”

  Wind howled outside, knocking something into the side of the house.

  “What if the weather’s too bad to travel?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “We have to trust that Hoot’s taking care of her.”

  The sound of thunder cracked in the distance, shaking the old farmhouse. Once it settled, a deep quiet fell around us. We walked together into the living room and sat on an old gray velveteen sofa. The cushions sagged and the backrest was too firm, but it felt good to be close to Gus. He wrapped a hand around mine and I leaned into him. The little house groaned and creaked as another gust of wind wrapped itself around the structure. A chill crawled up my spine; before it got to the nape of my neck Gus’ hand tightened around mine. I suddenly doubled over from intense and excruciating pain in my hip and abdomen. While I wanted to scream, intolerable buzzing in my head made it impossible. My eyes clenched shut and the world fell away from me. I was aware that Gus stood. Once he let go of my hand I was surrounded by darkness, hunger, and pain. Not just my own pain, but their pain as well. Their darkness. Their insatiable hunger. I could hear Gus and Sam talking loudly, but wasn’t sure what they were saying. There was another noise drowning their words, like a TV channel blaring static. Gus was trying to get into my head, and I fought hard to fight my way out of the virtual pit of despair that the dead created.

  “Zoe, they’re surrounding the house. Do they know we’re in here?” my husband asked as he shook my shoulders.

  I opened my eyes and looked through him. “They’re so hungry. But more than that, they’re in pain. There’s so many of them and they’re hurting each other.”

  “Fuck,” he grumbled.

  “We need to get the hell out of here!” shouted Sam.

  “No, it’s too late. They’re everywhere,” I gasped as I stood, my legs shaky.

  The intensity of the wind increased and the walls threatened to give way. A brief lull preceded a palpable change in air pressure that soon built into a shrill howl.

  “The crawlspace! Back bedroom, now!” Sam shouted, fighting to be heard over the noise outside.

  I didn’t question him. My heart pounding, I held onto his outstretched hand and followed him through the kitchen and down the hallway. I reached my other hand back until Gus found it. The agitation of the storm stirred dust long hidden within the walls, annoyingly surrounding us as it fell to the floor. I coughed as we fought to get to the bedroom. Living in the Pacific Northwest, our only real threat had ever been the big earthquake everyone said was overdue. Even so, I knew what was trying to claim our lives. It wasn’t the eruption of Mt. Rainier. It wasn’t the Roamers that surrounded us. It wasn’t the expected “big one” that was so overdue. At that moment my name may as well have been Dorothy, but I’d be damned if I was going to visit somewhere over the rainbow.

  We rounded the corner and raced to the bedroom that was nearest the end of the hall. Sam had left his battery operated lantern behind while he was trying to sleep, and it now lay on its side on the floor. Sam broke his hold on my hand and rushed to pull back a tattered area rug that sat in the middle of the small room. The screaming outside grew louder, if that was possible. The outer walls of the house were being battered.

  “Hurry! Get in!” yelled Sam as he pulled open a panel in the floor of the closet.

  Long shadows from the tipped-over lantern made the opening in the floor appear warped. Going below the house was not something I wanted to do. I had no idea what was down there, how far down the bottom might be, or how secure it was from the dead. Sam lowered himself down the hole first.

  “Zoe, quick,” Gus said to me calmly. He knew me well. He knew that panic would not go over well.

  I crouched by the opening and hastily l
owered my legs down. Sam’s arms received me and before I had a chance to catch my breath he pulled me away from the opening. The sound of the wind wailing changed to include glass breaking and wood splintering.

  “Gus!” I screamed.

  “He’ll make it down,” Sam yelled as he continued to drag me from the opening.

  On cue, the crawlspace filled with light from the lantern that had moments before been on the floor above us. Gus’ hair was littered with dust and debris and blood poured down his face from a wound at his hairline.

  “We’ve got to get away from the hatch!” screamed Sam.

  The sound of the old farmhouse being ripped apart followed us as we ducked under beams and belly-crawled away from the opening in the floor. I balled my hands into fists and pushed myself forward as far as I could. Sam stopped, preventing me from gaining more than another foot of ground. Gus continued forward, covering my body with his own the best that he could. The weight of his body pressed me against the cold damp soil. I reached up and wrapped my hands around the back of my neck, trying to protect myself from anything that might fall on us. Time seemed to stand still as the horrific sounds of the tornado continued.

  It all stopped as quickly as it had begun. Where floorboards had been moments before, cold water now rushed in at us. In the distance the growling of the tornado gradually faded.

  “Gus?” I called out. I still felt him against me, clinging to me.

  “I’m here. We need to move.” He sounded near panic.

  “Sam? Sam, are you okay?” I called out.

  “Not sure,” he called back. He sounded farther away than I recalled him being.

  Gus pushed himself off of me. The pressure of his hands on my legs was uncomfortable.

  “What does ‘not sure’ mean exactly, brother?”

  “It’s my arm. I think it’s pinned.”

  “Where’s the lantern?” I asked.

  “Hell if I know,” grunted Gus.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “It was a fucking goddamned tornado. A tornado, in fucking Washington State!” replied Gus.