The Sleep of the Gods

by James Sperl

  “That’s okay,” Catherine said as her feet found the floor. “That’s not the food we’re here for.”

  Alvin and Derrik materialized in the doorway drawing minor jolts from everyone.

  “All clear,” Derrik said.

  Catherine walked across the kitchen toward a breakfast nook. She ignored the scattered and dirty dishes cluttering the tabletop and knelt beside the padded bench which backed up against the wall. Producing the screwdriver, she got to work on a blank electrical wall plate located near the floor. As she aligned the tip of the screwdriver into the top screw, she couldn’t help but wince at the absurdity of it all. All that had happened, all that had traumatized her and her family over the past few days had been a direct result of neglect. Neglect in failing to remember a twenty-seven cent wall plate and the keys to salvation stored beyond it. What should have been the very first thing she collected after Warren’s life-altering phone call turned out to have not even been an echo in the back of her mind.

  She cringed at all the possible outcomes that could’ve taken place. All the potential for harm that could’ve befallen her and her family. But if there was one thing she’d learned over the past days, months, it was that second-guessing and Monday morning quarterbacking served little purpose. Once her family was safely reunited with Warren, she would have plenty of time to reflect on her poor judgments. But until then, she had a job to do.

  Josh stepped forward, watched his mother unscrew the tiny screws from the almond-colored plate. She set them aside carefully as if there were an intention to replace them. The plate removed, Catherine reached inside and withdrew two different keys—one a standard, flat lock key, the other a more complex spoked and rounded key.

  Catherine pocketed the rounded key, then stood, moving to the sliding glass door which looked out on to a surprisingly modest backyard. A combination pool house-wet bar lay on the far side of a kidney shaped pool filled halfway with turbid, algae-green water.

  “We find what we’re looking for?” Janet said impatiently.

  Catherine stared through the dingy glass and fought every temptation to reminisce, to return in her mind back to the day when she would sit by that pool, margarita in hand, and watch her children swim. Warren would take up residence by the bar, usually grilling up something tasty on the nearby Charmglow, a frosty beer not too far out of reach. Tears formed and threatened to spill down Catherine’s face. She choked them back and slid the door open.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “We’re good.”

  Catherine set the key down on the bar with a metallic clank. She circumnavigated the granite surface, sliding around behind it, bottles and broken glass clinking and crunching under her feet.

  Everyone followed her outside without a word spoken. All eyes were on Catherine, her enigmatic journey toward the pool house garnering questionable looks as footsteps clopped mutedly on the concrete apron surrounding the pool.

  Josh approached the bar and took notice of the barren liquor shelf. “Well, at least the booze didn’t go to waste,” he said jovially, earning him a playful sideways glance from his mother.

  Derrik inspected the backyard uneasily, astutely aware that they were all outside again. Janet patted his shoulder in a “take it easy” gesture as she stepped up alongside Josh. She eyed Catherine as she kicked glass shards out of the way.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Janet said.

  Catherine looked up, her face physically unable to conjure a real smile. So she forced one.

  Tamara’s slender form suddenly appeared over the bar counter as she climbed onto one of the barstools still—and to Catherine, most miraculously—clutching Sniffles. Abby maintained her big sister duties, pulling up a stool alongside her little sister.

  “You guys doing all right?” Catherine said.

  They both nodded, Tamara replying, “We’re okay, mom.”

  This brought a smile to Catherine’s lips and no small amount of comfort. Turning away from everyone, Catherine faced the bar back. An oaken monstrosity in her eyes, Warren had argued its size and breadth to justify its purpose. Anything smaller, he had claimed, would be unsuitable and obvious. Catherine had always wondered about the “obvious” part since he was the only one that ever went behind the bar and their backyard was situated in such a way that no bordering property had a line of sight into their business. She could sunbath nude and no one would be the wiser.

  The top half of the cabinet was comprised of glass shelves and a mirrored back. Fluted pillars ran along either side, and unnecessary sunken lights arced along the ceiling, the better to view the cache of liquor, Catherine could only assume. Below was a mini refrigerator with matching faux wood paneling doors. At one time, it housed the bevy of mixers and chilled wines Warren always liked to keep on hand for guests.

  If the knowledge of the key had been a surprise to her children, Catherine could only imagine how what she was about to do would be perceived.

  She walked to the far right of the cabinet where the bar and pool house met and reached around, as if giving it a giant, one-armed bear hug. She remembered the location of the lynch pin being just out of her grasp and always had to resort to standing on her toes to fully grip it. With a strained stretch, Catherine managed to clench the pin between her fingers and wrestle it free from the containing mechanism. A groan sounded from the cabinet, as if weight had suddenly been freed.

  With pin in hand, Catherine stepped back and with two fingers, pushed on the right side of the cabinet across her body to the left. The cabinet glided with ease exposing a tri-rail system behind it to which the cabinet and been mounted.

  A portion of the floor slid with the bar back, the revealed section below it a matte steel surface. An outline of a door became noticeable as the cabinet and floor continued to coast along the rail, finally squeaking to a halt as the entirety of the door was in view.

  “Holy shit,” Josh said, his mouth agape.

  “You cursed,” Tamara said straight-faced to her brother.

  Everyone crowded the bar, peering over as Catherine knelt and inserted the flat key into a small, brass lock. A handle popped up as the lock clicked with Catherine’s turn. She grabbed the handle and twisted, pulling the door open and leaning it against the wall where the cabinet used to be. A stairwell descended into the darkness. Catherine reached into the opening, feeling along the ceiling until she located the object for which she was searching. With a small pop and the fly-like buzz of electricity, a light flickered to life. Catherine stood and faced the stunned group.

  “It’s about the size of a small walk-in closet. Battery powered light,” she began, intercepting everyone’s thoughts before they became actual questions. “If we form a human chain we can have everything moved out within ten minutes.”

  Janet stared in complete awe, unable to hide her amazement at what she’d just witnessed. She glanced around, taking in others’ equally astonished gazes. Then she let out a laugh. But not in a run-of-the-mill, amusing anecdote sort of way. Janet laughed with her entire body, as if she’d just heard the funniest joke of her life.

  The outburst startled everyone at first, but quickly spread like a virus as all joined in the jocularity. The laughter fading, Janet pushed up off her forearms, her face suddenly humor free and, Catherine thought, resentful.

  She looked Catherine straight in the eyes. “What the hell did your husband do?”

  It took just a little over eight minutes to move the supplies from the basement to the kitchen. With Oliver’s final haul of bottled water, the entire contents of Catherine’s emergency cache had been emptied.

  The group had enjoyed breaking into the various foodstuffs from crackers to granola bars, to buffalo jerky to Fruit Loops. There was plenty of water to be had and several palettes of soda and juice to choose from. Seeing the contentment on the faces of the strangers eating in her kitchen, Catherine couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in being able to help such destitute individuals.

  Josh washed down a Ritz
cracker with a 7UP. Catherine ate quietly across from him, sharing cured salami with Abby and Tamara.

  “So how long has that been there?” Josh said, balls of cracker crumbs projecting from his mouth as he spoke.

  “The dungeon, you mean?” Catherine replied.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Since the beginning. When the house was built.”

  “And you’ve kept it full of food all this time?” Abby asked, incredulous.

  Catherine let out a sigh that spoke volumes. “It wasn’t easy. That much I can tell you. But your father...” Catherine appeared ready to launch into a tangential topic, but thought better of it. “There was always an expiration date approaching, a food item to replace, up and down the stairs. And there was always the problem of trying to time it when none of you were home. It...” Catherine exhaled a cleansing breath through her nose. “I’m just glad we were able to use it.”

  “That makes all of us,” Janet said, appearing over Catherine’s shoulder. “You really came through on this. I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say much obliged.”

  “It’s the absolute least we could do for you all,” Catherine said earnestly. “Truly.”

  “So,” Janet said, picking her teeth with the corner of a box top, “What now?”

  Catherine lamented this question. Not so much for the answer she would give, but for the answer she should give. She and Warren had discussed at great length the imperativeness of discretion when it came to the rounded key. It all fell back to his theory on the trickle-down of chaos. That once anyone outside the family knew what the key protected, the information would spread to others and a primal instinct for survival would take over. And as much as she wanted to honor their agreement, she just couldn’t, in good conscience, turn her back on the folks currently filling their bellies in her home. They had now become part of the equation. Whether Warren liked it or not.

  “What now?” Catherine repeated. She dug into her pocket and retrieved the round key. She held it up by the end as if displaying Excalibur. “Now, we go here.”

  A look of pure bewilderment washed over Janet. She glanced in the direction of the food supply room then back. “But I thought we just got the key we came for.”

  Catherine shook her head. “That was just an emergency stash. In case of minor events. Rolling brownouts. Weather. Dirty bombs. You name it. But this...” Catherine said, holding up the key then clutching it firmly in her hand. “This is what we came for. And trust me, you’ll want to see what it unlocks.”

  Janet stared at Catherine’s hand then met her eyes. “I’ll ask you again: What is it your husband does, Catherine Hayesly?”

  Catherine nodded, looked to the floor. “I’ll make you a deal,” Catherine began, “Let’s get this stuff on the bus and I’ll tell you all about it en route.”

  Janet cracked a smile out of the corner of her mouth. “Deal.”

  With little persuasion required, Janet corralled group eleven after they finished lunching and organized another human chain to pile all they had secured from the “dungeon” in the foyer. It was still daylight, roughly two o’clock. The sun was high in the sky. Janet suggested that by organizing everything by the front door, they could do a mad dash between the bus and the house, thus minimizing the amount of time they would be exposed to the neighborhood and vulnerable to a potential attack by the New Humans.

  The logic had been accepted as sound and the fortitude with which everyone moved had proven to be inspirational.

  The last crate of canned fruit was stacked beside an upended Chesapeake Demilune table. Breath was sucked in and spewed back out in rapid pants as everyone prepared for the final push.

  Janet moved to the front door, put her hand on the brushed nickel knob. “Just remember, push hard and fast. We’ll have plenty of time to rest on the bus.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Oliver said, huffing uneasily and sweating profusely. “I push any harder...and you’ll be loading me on the bus.” Nervous laughter rippled through the room.

  Janet checked her watch as she turned the knob and cracked the door. “Okay,” she said, inhaling one large breath. Everyone rose to their feet, snatching up whatever lay in front of them. “Let’s get out of here.” She pulled open the door.

  Tamara’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, the widest smile Catherine had seen in weeks growing exponentially on her face. She tore from Catherine’s grasp and sprinted for the front door.

  “Mrs. Delaway!” she exclaimed.

  14

  Mrs. Delaway

  Janet recoiled, almost falling over at the sight of the old woman standing near the doorway. And maybe that’s what had been so immediately startling about her: she didn’t stand in front of the door, only near it. Perhaps as far away as seven feet.

  “Tamara!” Catherine yelled as her daughter lurched from her grip with every intention of leaping into Mrs. Delaway’s arms.

  On instinct, Oliver dropped his rifle and lunged forward, ensnaring Tamara in his arm then falling to the floor with her.

  “Let go!” Tamara shrieked. “Let go of me! It’s our neighbor, Mrs. Delaway.”

  Catherine ran to Tamara’s side and helped her to her feet. “Stay behind me,” she said curtly.

  “But mom, it’s Mrs.—”

  “Do as I ask, Tamara.”

  Tamara begrudgingly inched behind her mother as Catherine walked toward the door, Janet accompanying her.

  The woman known as Mrs. Delaway stood dead center of the pathway, staring hollowly into the foyer. Her arms lay at her side like two ropes of link sausage, her shoulders slumped and her head protruded forward in a vulturish manner.

  Janet whip-cocked her weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Mrs. Delaway. Catherine reached out and eased the weapon to the floor. She turned to the old woman.

  “Mrs. Delaway?”

  “Hello, dear,” Mrs. Delaway said. Her voice was raspy and unsteady, and in it lacked that intangible quality which aspired to humankind. “How are the children?”

  Catherine forced herself to take a moment before she responded. Mrs. Delaway was the first familiar face Catherine had seen since fleeing this very neighborhood so long ago. And as much as she wanted to accept the woman standing mere feet away as the friendly and affectionate neighbor who had lived only three houses down, every fiber of her being rejected the plausibility of it. And as if to verify her fears, Janet nudged her arm.

  “Look,” she said, nodding in the direction of Mrs. Delaway’s feet.

  Catherine followed Janet’s gaze and confirmed her fears: this was not Mrs. Delaway. The “woman” indeed looked like Mrs. Delaway. It even managed to discover some of Mrs. Delaway’s clothing, right down to the shoes. But it was this observation that led Catherine and Janet to form their verdict. For right off the toes of each foot, simple inches away, really, lay the shadow of the roofline of the house. The thing purporting to be Mrs. Delaway was intentionally avoiding the shade. And the shiver that slithered along Catherine’s spine created goose bumps so prominent a blind man could have read her skin.

  “Mom, can we go say hello to her now?” Tamara asked, surprisingly oblivious to the situation.

  “It’s not Mrs. Delaway, honey,” Catherine replied. “It looks like her, but it’s not.”

  Tamara peeked from around Catherine’s waist. She looked out at the woman smiling blankly on the walk. And as she did, the woman kneeled.

  “Hello, Tamara,” it said. “Oh, I’ve missed you and your brother and sister so much. I’ve been so lonely here without you all.”

  Tamara gazed up at Catherine, her eyes filling with tears, her face wrought with confusion. Catherine placed an arm around her and pulled her close.

  “May I?” Janet asked, indicating her gun with a subtle nod.

  Catherine eased the door closed but left it ajar, Mrs. Delaway’s hollow grin meeting her stare as the opening narrowed. She ushered Janet away from her children, leaving Tamara in the care of her sister.

&n
bsp; “Look,” Catherine began, “I’d like nothing more than to just put that thing down and be on our way, but...”

  “But, what?” Janet queried.

  “But I don’t think my children—particularly, Tamara—could handle it. This woman was our neighbor. My son mowed her grass for Christ’s sake. My kids have been through a lot and I don’t want to risk further traumatizing them by having you or anyone else blow the top of its head off.”

  Janet tilted her head slightly, seemingly disappointed. “So what do you propose then? That we wait until it leaves?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me with this shit.”

  “I don’t like it any better than you. But in another hour the sun will be down far enough that the shadow from the roof will reach the driveway. If it moves with the light, we’ll have a safe passage to the bus and then we can pack up and go.”

  “If,” Janet said. “If it moves with the light.” She rubbed her face vigorously. “This is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Alvin took a peek through a hole in the wood covering the side window. He walked over to the two women. Derrik followed behind him.

  “What’s the game plan, folks?” he said. “People are getting uneasy. And I’m one of ‘em.”

  “Mother Theresa, here, wants to spare her kids from the horrors of the real world and hold up for a bit,” Janet said with biting sarcasm.

  Catherine threw a condemning gaze Janet’s way, but Janet’s eyes were already shut, her head shaking with disapproval.

  “We should get out of here as soon as possible, Catherine.” Alvin said. “Especially in light of recent developments,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

  “I agree wholeheartedly. But I can’t...” Catherine checked to make sure her children were out of earshot. “I won’t subject my children to an execution of the sweetest woman they’ve known. I don’t care if it isn’t really her or not. I’m not sure some of my kids will be able to make the distinction.”