The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  Emily opened the door on the other side of the mud room and was met by a funk so powerful she questioned whether she could continue. Not only was the stench repugnant, she was not keen on the prospect of stumbling into rotting corpses. She stood in the doorway for a moment. The smell was different than decomposition. She smelled bodies in her travels during the last month. Rotting corpse was an easy smell for her to recognize. The mansion smell was more a combination of rotting food and poop. Emily imagined a huge diaper pail left overflowing during the evacuation.

  A refrigerator left open or food left out would account for half of the smell. While hard to believe rotting food would continue to smell for the three months since the mansion was abandoned, Emily guessed it was possible.

  The poop smell was a mystery. “A sewer backup?” She asked herself.

  “I’m here. I can’t let a little odor stop me. If nothing else, I’ll open a few windows as I go.” She pressed onward, walking into the sitting room on her right. It was decorated in uncomfortable Victorian furniture, leaning heavily on style over substance. “I wouldn’t want to sit in this room too long, or try to enjoy a movie or television on the furniture.” She mumbled. It was beautiful furniture, but the straight backs and high arms were unwelcoming. The first floor was designed for State dinners and receptions not comfort. If the first family of North Carolina wanted to host a Super Bowl party, they would have a room full of sectionals rather than ottomans and ornate sofas.

  Emily spent several minutes touching the furniture, sitting on the couches and chairs, examining the lamps and artwork, but her tour was rushed. She could not ignore the stench. She walked to a window, pulled the pane open, and stuck her head outside for fresh air.

  “Maybe I can get a crosswind.” She thought. She pulled her head back inside and walked towards the dining room on the other side of the hall. She was between the sitting room and the dining room when she heard the scratch.

  She froze, standing motionless in the hall for what felt like an hour before she heard it again, another scratch. The sound was nearby.

  It came again from the left side of the house, and appeared to emanate from the dining room. Emily unslung her pack and took out her mace. She looked at the gun sitting at the bottom of the open cavity next to a bottle of water, as if it were natural to carry water, mace, and a gun for a tour of a governor’s mansion. She was staring at the gun when she heard the scratch again. She pulled the pistol out and held it in her left hand. The mace was in her outstretched right hand for immediate use.

  She took a step into the dining room. It was magnificent. A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling over the most beautiful table and chairs Emily had ever seen. The dining set was probably made by one of the many furniture artisans of North Carolina. There was an enormous fireplace on the left wall. Emily imagined heating the room on cold winter nights in 1895 with a roaring fire. Between the portico Emily was standing under and the fireplace in the far corner was a door. It was a swinging door. Emily could tell from the hinges. Emily heard the scratch again and saw the bottom of the door move towards her ever so slightly. The smell was stronger as she stepped in the room and towards the door. She looked at the top of the door and saw a bolt locking it shut from her side. Whatever was making the scratching sound was prevented from getting through the door by the bolt.

  “Okay, what should I do?” She thought to herself. “It can’t be a person. A person would break a window or get out some other way. If it’s a raccoon or squirrel or whatever, well, I don’t feel like getting rabies and dying myself. The best thing to do is probably leave the house.” Her right hand remained straight in front of her with the pepper spray pointed at the door.

  She heard a whimper and another scratch. It was not the hiss of a raccoon or opossum. It was the whimper of an animal that needed help and knew the sound of human feet.

  Emily hesitated. She placed the pepper spray on the table, took her pack off, and returned the gun. She picked the spray up as another scratch hit the door. “Whatever it is, the pepper spray will work.” She told herself. “I’ll slide the door open and see what’s back there. Bad animal? Pepper spray. Nice animal? Well, I’ll figure it out.”

  Emily pulled a chair from the table, positioning it for a quick jump up. If the mace did not work, she would leap onto the chair and then the table.

  She put her hand on the bolt at the top of the door and slid it down.

  A final scratch pushed the door open slightly. Emily grabbed the edge and pulled the swinging door towards her.

  The smell was incredible. Feces and rancid food flooded her nose. She was almost knocked back, but she kept her eyes open and the pepper spray at the ready. Lying on the ground was a dog. It was almost dead, its ribs showing as it breathed shallowly. It lay on its side inches from the swinging door. Emily knelt down and looked at the poor creature. It was a white bulldog. She guessed it was a beautiful specimen before being locked in a room for months. She looked into the kitchen and saw a once majestic room completely destroyed. Animal excrement covered everything. The dog managed to pry open a pantry door left slightly ajar. It pawed cupboards and ate all the food it could find.

  Emily stepped over the dog to find a bowl. The kitchen’s cabinets were glass front. “How can people keep their shelves this orderly?” She mused as she found a pasta bowl. She walked back to the poor animal and stroked its head. “It’s okay,“ She paused and looked between the dogs legs “boy. Here is some water. You’re okay now. You’re okay.” She went to her pack for a bottle of water and poured some on the dog’s mouth. It licked the air. She moved the dish towards the licking tongue. The dog caught on quickly. It was too weak to sit up, but it lifted its head slightly to drink.

  “That’s right, drink the water. I’ll find you some food.” She looked for canned food fit for a dog. The smell was beginning to get to her, and she frantically opened doors looking for the pantry. She found two cans of salmon, and after flipping open three drawers she found a can opener. Emily grabbed several bowls from the cabinet before walking out the dining room. The bulldog stopped drinking and lay on its side.

  Emily went outside. She breathed in deeply. The fresh fall air cleared her nose and rid her mouth of the horrendous taste associated with the kitchen. She regained her senses, opened the can of salmon, and dumped it into a bowl. She filled a second bowl with water.

  She took a deep breath of the fresh air before walking back into the mansion to the dog. Its eyes were closed and it panted slowly. “You’re okay big fella, don’t worry, you’re okay.” She stroked its head. Emily had to pick up the dog and take him to the food. It needed to be out of the foul air and in the sunshine and fresh fall day. The problem was the dog was covered in crap. It was literally covered in its own feces and rotten food. Emily was not a priss, nor did she want to pick up a poop covered dog, soiling her clothes and hands in the process.

  She looked for a tablecloth or towels, something that she could wrap the poor dog in and shield her hands from the gook that covered him. Nothing was in sight.

  She walked back to the Victorian sitting room and spied a throw. She grabbed what was probably a priceless cashmere blanket and returned to the dog. His eyes were still closed. She gently put the edge of the blanket against its back, grabbed its legs, and rolled him on the blanket. Emily pulled the blanket across the hardwood, sliding the dog gently out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She shut the swinging door to block the smell. She leaned over and picked up the blanket wrapped dog, taking him to the food and water bowls. The dog opened his eyes and did not struggle.

  She gently placed the dog on a mat by the backdoor. She pulled the bowl of salmon next to his face, pinching a piece of fish in her fingers and placing it next to the dog’s mouth. The dog opened his mouth and chewed weakly. Once the fish was in his mouth his eyes opened wide. He put his face in the bowl of food and ate quickly. The fish was gone in a few seconds. Emily was afraid another can would make the dog sick, particularly on h
is empty stomach. She pushed the water bowl into the salmon bowls place and the dog drank. He finished the bowl of water before looking up at Emily.

  “That’s enough for now buddy. Let’s get you over to the museum, see if they have water pressure and maybe we can get you another drink. You are definitely taking a bath to get that funkiness off of you.” The dog tried to get up, but he was too weak. It lay back down. His legs wobbled as he tried to stand again before collapsing a second time.

  “I got you big guy, don’t worry, I got you.” Emily reached down and picked up the dog. It should have weighed fifty pounds or more, but he was at most twenty five. The fish gave the dog some energy, not enough strength to walk, but the salmon put a light in his eyes. Bulldogs do not have tails. This dog had a little nub that Emily could see moving back and forth. The dog was happy.

  She slipped the water bowl into her pack, put the pack on her back, and leaned over to pick up the dog. She kept the throw between herself and the nastiness.

  “It’s not far, I can carry you.” Emily said to the dog’s face, “and even if that water is cold, you are getting a bath. Marbles has water stations where kids play. They are perfect for washing a little doggie like you.” Emily spent a lot of time at the Marbles Kids Museum with her two boys. She knew the layout inside and out. She hoped she could find soap.

  She made her way down the four blocks to the kids’ museum, talking to her new pet along the way. She went to the corner of the museum that faced the park and the arranged meeting place with Todd and the boys. Emily put the dog on the sidewalk and turned to face the museum. She had little hope of finding an open door. The museum was locked up tightly. Emily contemplated which door to break and how to break it. The museum had glass doorways on three of its sides. The door in front of her, the main entrance, passed through a gift shop. Emily remembered the gift shop had a chain link door separating it from the rest of the museum. She and Todd attended a fundraiser at the museum, the gift shop was sealed off. She walked to the door, cupping her hands against the glass to peer into the shop. She saw the chain mesh on the other side. “I can’t get through that.” She said over her shoulder to the dog.

  She decided to try a door on the side of the building next to the museum’s garden. Not only was the door near the water stations and kitchen Emily needed to wash the dog, but there was a slight chance the door might be unlocked.

  “Okay, I’m going to pick you up again, lil’ buddy. One more time before your bath.” Even in the fresh air the dog smelled. She bent down and picked him up, walking quickly around the building to the garden area. She held the dog away from her face, and walked through the dead garden to the side door. Emily saw the giant wooden pirate ship and submarine on the other side of the glass. She tried the door. It was locked.

  Emily’s other reason for selecting this door was the large rocks the garden staff used as decorative bordering. Emily put the dog down several feet from the door, “it’s going to be loud, but it’s okay.”

  She picked up a rock and threw it at the door. It did not go through the safety enforced glass, but it made a small hole and spider webbed the door. She picked the rock up and threw it again. This time the rock went through. Emily kicked the glass away from the frame.

  “I’ll find a broom and sweep that away from the pirate ship, don’t worry.” She said to the dog. She went through the door by ducking under the handle bar that went across the middle. She kicked the large pieces of safety glass out of her way and walked to the water stations she hoped to use for a dog bath. She could not find a knob or valve to turn on the water. “Damn it,” she muttered. After a few minutes of futility, she opted for plan B, a kitchen sink. The kitchen was next to the pirate ship. It was an interior room, windowless, and pitch black.

  She opened the kitchen door, and tested her flashlight to see if it gave her enough light to work. “Well, it’s not ideal, but it will have to do.” She was pleased to see the sink was a large enough for the dog. The sink’s faucet sputtered, coughed built up air, and flowed.

  “I win.” She said softly. Emily looked in the cabinet under the sink and found dish soap. “And it’s lemon.” She put a stopper in the bottom of the sink, squirted soap, and walked outside to her new friend. She examined the glass door for a knob to open the lock, but it required a key on both sides. She ducked under the handle.

  “Okay buddy.” The dog had not moved. He was asleep and snoring. “This is going to be a harsh wake up.” She picked him up, maneuvered through the door and under the handle, walked into the kitchen, and put the dog, blanket and all, into the sink of cold water. Emily rolled up her sleeves to minimize how dirty she would get, and rubbed the soapy water all over the dog. The dog was too weak to fight. He stayed in the sink and took the abuse.

  There was a collar around his neck Emily refused to touch until now. It slid over the dog’s head easily, a testament to how much weight the poor animal lost during his imprisonment.

  Emily washed him three times, draining the sink with each bath. After the third bath she was happy with the condition of the dog. He was clean and almost fit to be in their car. He just needed to get dry.

  She picked the wet and disgusting cashmere blanket off the floor and threw it into the trash. She sighed. “Your last use was a noble one, expensive cashmere blanket.” Emily moved the flashlight around the kitchen and saw a metal storage closet in the corner.

  “Bingo” she said as she opened the locker and found stacks of towels. She grabbed an armful and went back to the sink. The dog was asleep in the bottom. “You don’t let a little adventure get in the way of your nap time, do you?” Emily whispered to him. She used two towels to dry him off in the sink. She spread other towels on the ground, gently picked the dog up from the sink and setting him on the ground. He slept as she rubbed him dry.

  Emily let him sleep on the pile of towels. “Grab it while you can,” she told him. “You’re about to meet two young boys who will not leave you alone for the rest of your life.” She looked back at the sink and picked up the dog’s collar. She did not touch it directly. She used a towel to avoid the grime. The tag read: “Hubba; First Dog of North Carolina.”

  “I would have thought Georgia’s first dog would be a bulldog, not North Carolina’s. Shouldn’t ours be a hound of some kind? Whatever, Hubba it is.” She looked down at the snoring beast. “So, Hubba, my name is Emily, welcome to our family.” Hubba continued to nap.

  “That seems about right.” Emily responded. “While you get some well deserved rest, I am going to see if there is some sort of stroller or cart I can use to move you around until we get home. You are a little heavy and damp to carry. Stay here.” She chuckled at the idea of him moving. “I’ll be back.”

  Emily took the flashlight and headed off to the rest of the museum. She needed options for transporting Hubba. There were toys in a big play area of the museum, a canvas postal bin her kids used for toy packages in a mailroom area, or toy shopping carts used in the supermarket area. Neither option was ideal, but both could work.

  Emily hoped to find a better solution. She bypassed the play area for the front desk. She looked for strollers, but she could not remember if the museum rented umbrella strollers to parents. She was out of luck.

  Emily peered through the metal door of the gift shop for anything that might be useful. There were a lot of toys, some snack foods and drinks, but nothing that would help her transport an enfeebled dog.

  She went to the play area, resigned to the idea of the postal cart. The toy shopping carts were too low to the ground. Emily did not want to bend over as she pushed.

  The first floor play space was enclosed by a four foot high wall used to keep children from wandering away. The entry door had a clasp at the top accessible to ‘tall’ people. Next to the entry gate was a short school bus. The bus was complete with a steering wheel and three rows of seats. The back was open and a slide flowed into the play space. Kids entered the bus door on one side of the wall, and slid into the pla
y area.

  “What the hell.” Emily said. She walked onto the bus and slid into the large fun room. The walled area was enormous. There was a fire truck, a flat bottomed boat, a kitchen, a dress up area with a stage. Her two boys loved playing in the space for hours. The postal station was in the far corner from her. Emily walked through, stopping briefly to examine the once beautiful fish tank littered with algae and fish bones.

  The mock postal room had a conveyor belt with rollers and fake packages. Children could fill a canvas bin with boxes by sliding the packages along the conveyor. Emily looked at the cart. It was deep and the bottom looked uncomfortable, but if she put blankets or towels in the bottom, it would work to transport Hubba. She grabbed the cart and rolled it towards one of the play space exits. She passed a puppet station. She stopped and put all the puppets into the bottom of the cart. She found stuffed animals from the story room and put them in the bottom. She ripped down the thick velvet curtains used on a small stage to lay across the top. The cart looked like a rolling royal purple pillow.

  “A bed fit for the First Dog of North Carolina.” Emily said as she approached the kitchen. Hubba was out of the kitchen and sleeping on the blue “ocean” carpet of the pirate ship. He snored in the sunlight.

  “You seem to be doing okay for a dog that I found half dead an hour ago.” Hubba opened one eye and lifted his head. He looked like he was happy. He put his head back down and started snoring again. Emily rolled the royal bed over to him, picked him up, and placed him onto the purple velvet. He didn’t have the strength to stand up on the pillows. He stayed on his side, looking at Emily with his big brown eyes.

  She checked her watch. It was 11:55. She walked to the kitchen to get her backpack. When she got back to the cart Hubba was laying on his stomach, arms stretched out in a Sphinx pose. He looked ready for the ride.