Only the Light We Make

by James Dean

  “Fine, ma’am, and you?” Kyle responded with a smile.

  She returned his smile. “Good, good. Better than some, I guess. Did you hear about Boston?” she asked.

  Kyle stopped and shrugged. “No ma’am. What happened?”

  “Not sure. The news doesn’t know either, but that isn’t saying much. Guess some people started rioting outside a hospital. Crazy stuff these days. People don’t know how good they have it.” She turned and started her long walk back to her house. “You take care of yourself, Kyle.”

  “I will, Mrs. Tamberlake. You too.” Kyle pulled on the leash and Butterscotch followed him.Kyle approached his house and froze.

  Kyle liked everyone in his small, comfortable neighborhood, with the exception of one person. Mr. Saul Attah, who lived directly across the street from Kyle and his mother.

  It wasn’t that Kyle hated the man as much as he feared him. He had actually never even spoken to him. But the presence Mr. Attah gave off was one of dread.

  Mr. Attah stood on his porch, staring at Kyle with his one good eye. His left eye bore a black eyepatch just darker than the man’s skin. The eye covering did little to cover the scars on his face, particularly the large one that started above the eyepatch and ran straight down his face to his chin.

  If those were the only frightening things about Mr. Attah, Kyle may have been able to cope with him as a neighbor. To add to the dark persona of Mr. Attah, he stood over six feet in height, had the shape of a weightlifter, shaved his head bald, and was missing his left arm below the elbow. It didn’t help that Saul Attah never spoke and led a mysterious, reclusive life.

  Kyle knew Mr. Attah was from Africa, and his story was that a lion had attacked and eaten his left arm. Those were just rumors, but a man who could take on a lion and live was a man to be feared.

  Kyle shivered as Mr. Attah walked down the steps of his porch and approached his truck. He entered and started the old, blue Ford F 150. The truck spat out fumes that were beyond the regulations the state had on emissions.

  The truck backed out of the driveway and pulled parallel with Kyle and Butterscotch. Mr. Attah turned his head and glared at Kyle with his only eye.

  Kyle-- who had forgotten to breathe--turned and walked through his yard. He dropped his keys as he tried to unlock his front door to escape the scary man’s chilling gaze.

  The rattle and clanking of Mr. Attah’s truck intensified as he accelerated forward and out of the neighborhood.

  Kyle didn’t breathe again until he was safely behind his front door.

  *****

  June 23rd 12:28 PM

  Kyle finished his morning chores by lunchtime and prepared to take Butterscotch for another walk. Just as he was about to leave, the rattle of Mr. Attah’s truck reverberated through the neighborhood. Kyle decided he would wait until the scary old man had entered his house before he left for his and Butterscotch’s afternoon stroll.

  Kyle peered between the curtains of the bay window to spy on Mr. Attah as he exited his truck.

  Mr. Attah shut the driver side door and grabbed half a dozen bags out of the bed of his truck.

  “Yikes,” Kyle whispered as Mr. Attah looped three of the bags over the stump on his left arm.

  Before the old man reached his door, Kyle’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and saw it was coming from his mom’s cell. He thought that was awkward because his mother would only call him from a work phone while she was at the office.

  “Hello?” Kyle said after answering.

  “Kyle!” his mom sounded desperate. “I’ve been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes!”

  “I swear mom, this is the first time my phone has rang,” Kyle said defensively.

  “I know. The call wasn’t going through. Have you been watching the news?” The elevation in Sarah’s voice hadn’t dissipated. She sounded scared.

  “No Mom, I’ve been doing my chores,” Kyle replied proudly.

  “Kyle, do not leave the house. There are people running around town attacking other people. I’m on my way home now.”

  Kyle was momentarily at a loss for words. What was his mother talking about?

  “Did you hear me?” Sarah demanded.

  “Ye-yeah, Mom, I heard you,” he responded. “What do you mean, people are attacking other people? Does have to do with what Mrs. Tamberlake told me this morning about riots at the hospitals in Boston?”

  Sarah let out a deep breath. “Maybe, I don’t know. Just stay in the house until I get home, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom,” Kyle said, slightly annoyed. He wasn’t sure what was going on but he thought his mother was overreacting. She had a bad habit of being overdramatic. There was a brief silence.“Mom, are you there?”

  “Yes, honey. Listen,” she said, back to her serious tone, “do you remember where the gun is?”

  “You mean the gun you told me never to touch, go near, or tell my friends about?” Kyle replied with a chuckle.

  Sarah was annoyed. “Yes, that gun. Do you remember when I took you to the range? Safety, loading it, only pointing it when you are going to shoot it?”

  Kyle felt the full weight of tension that had been plaguing his mother for the last few minutes. “Yes,” he said, barely audible.

  “I want you to go get it and all the ammo. Load it and keep it on you until I get home, okay?”

  “O-Okay…” Kyle trailed off. “Mom—”

  “Listen to me!” she said, cutting him off. “If I am not home by four, I want you to go to a neighbor’s house. Find an adult and stay with them. Keep the gun on you, and don’t tell them you have it. They may want to take it away.”

  Kyle glanced at the clock on the microwave. It read 12:31. “Why wouldn’t you be home until four? Mom, it’s only—”

  “The roads are packed and people are going crazy. I will make it home to you, I promise. But I don’t want you by yourself after dark. Do you—”

  Kyle heard a buzzing sound followed by two beeps, and then the phone went silent. He checked it and tried to call his mom back.

  “All circuits are busy. Please try again later,” an emotionless female voice said. Kyle tried again and again and still, the call wouldn’t go through. Butterscotch started to whine. Kyle looked curiously at the canine. Butterscotch rarely made noises these days.

  Then Kyle heard a new whine. It was a siren, somewhere off in the distance. The wheels in Kyle’s head started to turn again and he remembered what his mother told him.

  He walked down the hallway to his mother’s bedroom and opened her closet. At only four and a half feet, Kyle was still pretty short and he had to jump up repeatedly to move the black lockbox on the top shelf in the closet.

  Finally, he was able to knock it down and it fell to the floor, rattling loudly.

  Kyle picked up the small but heavy box and brought it to his mother’s bed. She hid the key underneath her mattress, and after a brief search, he retrieved it and opened the box.

  Inside was a small revolver that held six bullets. Kyle didn’t know a lot about guns except the ones he used in his video games. He went to the range twice with his mother and shot the pistol both times. He loved it, but knew better than to play with it.

  Kyle’s grandfather had talked to Sarah into buying the .38 revolver after her husband passed away. He took her shooting a few times so she wouldn’t fear it. She still did, and only taught Kyle how to use it the previous year. Sarah figured that if she were to have it in the house, he should at least understand the weapon.

  It took Kyle a moment to remember how to open the cylinder that housed the bullets. It was empty. Kyle removed six bullets from a small box and loaded the pistol. He took the two boxes of ammunition and put them into the cargo pocket of his shorts.

  The revolver didn’t have a safety, and that worried Kyle. He remembered from his lesson that the trigger had to be pulled pretty far back for the weapon to discharge, but that didn’t calm his nerves. He pulled out the holster from the lockbox an
d slid the pistol into it, and then shoved it into his pocket. It barely fit.

  Kyle walked back out into the living room and sat on the couch. Butterscotch, unable to get onto the couch by herself, lay at his feet. Kyle grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He scrolled through the stations until he found the news.

  The scene was from an aerial viewpoint. A shadow from the helicopter could be seen moving over city blocks below. Tiny figures like slow moving ants meandered in large groups down the streets. Other small figures ran away.

  “It seems as if Boston has been overrun,” the commentator said darkly. “What were reported at first as riots, and then a viral infection is now confirmed to be… well, there is no other way to put it, the dead. The dead are coming back to life and—”

  Just then, there was a long screeching sound from down the street, followed by a loud boom. The room fell into an ominous silence as the power suddenly cut out.

  He spun around on the couch and opened the curtains of the bay window facing his front yard. Mr. Attah Stood on his porch directly across the street. He held something long and shiny in his hand and stared down the road. He backed up and closed the screen door on the front of this house.

  Kyle couldn’t tell, but had the feeling that Mr. Attah stared at him through the screen. Kyle strained to look down the road from the window, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  His mother’s warnings rose up in his memory. He closed the curtains, but left a small gap so he could still see. He was transfixed. A horrible feeling formed in his stomach.

  Minutes passed without so much as a car driving by. Then, right before Kyle’s neck had given up on straining to see out the window, a female figure wearing a green dress came into view. She wasn’t walking, though. She dragged herself across the asphalt road. One of her legs was missing, having been torn violently off. There were strands of sinew and muscle protruding from the bottom of the now blood-soaked dress, dragging behind her.

  Kyle watched in horror as she pulled herself forward with her right arm and pushed with her remaining leg. Her left arm was twisted and broken in multiple places. Bone was visible and though the arm seemed destroyed, it still wiggled and moved uselessly. Her head twisted and turned. Her face was battered, as if someone had smacked her a couple times with a baseball bat. Her mouth would slowly open and then violently shut.

  Kyle ducked, hoping the woman didn’t see him. He knew she couldn't still be alive, but there she was, crawling down the street.

  The last words of the TV reporter came back to him. “The dead are coming back to life.”

  Could it be true? Kyle thought. Zombies? Can’t be!

  Kyle waited a few minutes and then peeked outside. The woman had passed Kyle’s house. A trail of blackish red blood ran down the center of the road.

  Kyle shut the curtains and balled up on the couch, putting his head to his knees. He was alone. His mother wasn’t home yet. His breath shortened as fear crept in and his heart started to pound in his throat.

  Something wet hit his hand and Kyle looked up to see Butterscotch had stood on her own. Her hind legs shook from the stress, but she seemed to ignore the pain and stared at him in concern as she licked him.

  *****

  June 23rd 4:35 PM

  Kyle hadn’t moved from the couch since he saw his first zombie crawling down the middle of his road. Thankfully, the undead woman was long gone.

  Over the past few hours, Kyle heard more sirens and what sounded like fireworks in the distance. The noises seemed well outside of his small neighborhood.

  He checked his phone again. The power was at thirty percent. He worried that it would die and with no way to recharge it, he would be unreachable by his mother. He had tried a hundred times to call his mom, but each time the only sound he heard was the heartless recording informing him to try again later.

  The time was well passed when his mother told him to find an adult. Fear of leaving the house consumed Kyle, but now loneliness crept in.

  Kyle reached down and stroked Butterscotch’s mane. “What do you think, Butter?” he asked as he stared at the blank television. “Should we go before the sun goes down?”

  Butterscotch snorted, annoyed that Kyle had woken her from her comfortable nap on the carpet. Kyle stood, resolute in leaving the house. He didn't want to be alone anymore, not with the dead walking around attacking people.

  Besides, he thought, I will find a neighbor on my street and then I can see when mom comes home.

  Kyle coaxed Butterscotch up and put on her leash. He checked the .38 to make sure he could pull it out quickly and use it if necessary.

  After a quick peek outside the window to make sure the street was clear, Kyle and Butterscotch left the safety of their home. Kyle walked toward the sidewalk, pulling Butterscotch. Once there, he stared down the street and a sense of understanding came over him.

  A hundred feet down the road at an intersection a car had plowed into a telephone pole. The front of the car had been crushed, the windshield blown out. The telephone pole had bent over the car, but was still standing. The transformer box was black and smoldering, as if it had recently been on fire. Kyle saw something moving in the driver seat. Common sense said it was a zombie and even if it wasn’t, he was too scared of what he would see to go closer.

  Butterscotch whined and pulled at her leash, leading Kyle away from the wreck. The teenager mentally agreed he should follow, and the two walked next door to Mrs. Tamberlake’s home. After a few knocks with no answer, Kyle went to the next house. If she wasn’t answering, chances are she wasn’t home…or worse.

  Kyle tried six more houses without any responses. Most people would have been at work when the power went out. If the streets were as busy as his mom told him, chances are they were having the same difficulty getting home that she was.

  Feeling defeated, Kyle and Butterscotch made their way back towards home. He didn’t want to go in there and be alone again. What if a bunch of zombies came? Could he defend against them by himself? He doubted it. Kyle wasn’t particularly athletic or tough.

  Kyle was nearly home when he glanced across the street and saw Mr. Attah staring from his bay window. His gaze fell on Kyle and after a moment, he disappeared from view.

  “Should we try Mr. Attah, Butter?” Kyle asked the canine nervously. She gave him an anxious look. “We’ll try anyways,” he said and took a deep breath. Butterscotch huffed in annoyance. He walked across the street, arguing with himself the whole way.

  Part of him said he would rather be frightened and alone than be with the scary man across the street. The other part of him said that if the man was that terrifying, he could probably scare away the zombies. Kyle walked up the porch, having to give a few tugs on the leash to get Butterscotch to follow him. Right before he knocked on the screen door, the inner door opened and Kyle gasped.

  Saul Attah stood there without his eyepatch. The scar over his eye looked ten times more terrifying, and in the center of that sat a milky white eye devoid of any iris or pupil. In his right hand was a long, shiny machete. The stump on his left forearm rested on the frame of the door. He was shirtless, revealing a barrel chest and a host of scars on his dark brown skin.

  Kyle’s stomach turned into a knot and his chest started pounding.

  “S-sir,” Kyle stammered, “err, Mr. Attah. My mom said… um, she said I should find an adult… if… if she didn’t make it home.”

  Saul Attah stared down at Kyle. There were no feelings or emotions coming from his stony expression. He might as well have been staring at a statue. A mean, lion-ravaged statue.

  Seconds passed without a response.

  “I’m scared,” Kyle blurted out, tears forming on the rims of his eyes. Kyle was scared, though now he wasn’t sure if it was because of zombies or the man in front of him.

  “Go home, child,” Saul said with a thick accent. His voice was deep and dark.

  “But sir—” Kyle glanced back at his house and then turned back
to Mr. Attah.

  “Go home!” Attah said forcibly, and then his voice changed to that of someone who was tired. Very tired. “Leave me in peace,” he said and then shut the door.

  Saul walked to the window and watched as the teenager marched back to his house. He didn’t turn until Kyle had made it through his front door. After he knew the boy was no longer a bother, Saul turned and sat in one of the two pieces of furniture in his living room. He chose an old chair he had purchased when he first bought the house four years before. There was no couch or coffee table. No one ever visited.

  Next to him was an end table with two lit candles on it that cast dancing shadows in the empty room. An old tube television sat next to a dilapidated fireplace nearby.

  Saul picked up a picture that sat on the end table and blankly looked at it, as if he were staring through the frame. A single tear ran down his dark cheek.

  “I will see you soon…” he whispered.

  *****

  June 24th 3:12 AM

  Saul shivered and opened his eyes, but the darkness remained.

  “Brother…” a distant, hollow voice whispered.

  An illuminated mist formed around Saul, moving in waves and strings.

  “Brother…” the same voice whispered, closer this time.

  The mist took shape, forming rounded walls, a doorway, and small furniture. The illumination faded as each object took shape.

  “Brother!” and this time Saul felt breath on his ear. He whirled around, as the room became solid. Nothing was behind him except the thatched wall of a hut. His old hut. His old home back in Africa.

  On the wall were two bloody hand prints, one smaller than the other. Saul began to shake as dread, anger and despair washed over him.

  “Brother,” the voice said again. This time tangent with a small, eerie echo surrounding him.

  Saul slowly turned back around. In front of him stood Kennan Attah, Saul’s brother. He looked strong, handsome, and serene.