Moss-covered shingles clung to the pitched roof. A lonely brick chimney jutted out at an angle that threatened to pull it over. Weathered wood shakes covered the front and side, their stain long since dissolved. The lone window to the right of the door was glazed with time, the dust giving it an opaque finish. Three steps led up to a door with a single brass knob and no lock.
Chapter 4
Samuel came within five feet of the cabin and stopped. He looked over his shoulder, expecting the occupant to arrive and chastise him for trespassing.
“Major?” he called out.
No response.
“Major, are you in there?”
The surrounding forest swallowed the sounds like a muffling blanket of snow. Samuel strained to hear noise coming from inside the cabin. He was greeted with silence.
He took another step closer, scanning the ground for any sign of activity. A long spider web hung diagonally across the top right corner of the door, and other webs clouded the corners of the front window.
Samuel walked to the right, circling around the cabin. The wood shakes covered the other exterior walls, although some had fallen to the ground in clumps of rotted wood. He bent down and sniffed the crumbling shingle, expecting an earthy, organic scent. He caught the slightest hint of mold and nothing more. Coming around the other side and back to the front, he did not find a cistern, privy or any other evidence of habitation.
He looked up at the gloomy ceiling above and felt as though night was coming again. Though he struggled to find the rhythm of the day, he could not determine whether the night was a few hours off or perhaps minutes away. He saw the leader of the pack in his mind’s eye and decided he was not ready to face the alpha male again. Major said he would be back. Had it been one night or two since the attack? Samuel could not remember. Time was stretched and thin like warm taffy.
The front door looked back at Samuel, unmoving and uncaring. He placed a foot on the first step and heard the wood crack under his weight, the first noise registered by his ears in a long while. He felt a tingling in the bottom of his foot that climbed past his ankle, over his knee, and bolted up to his shoulders. He pulled his foot back instinctively, and the electric buzz faded. When Samuel put his foot back on the step, it returned again like a low-voltage electric current. He looked down and his eyes widened. A crisp, brilliant, blue outlined his foot and extended to the outer edge of the step. The line glowed with an intensity that made Samuel squint. It cut through the drab grey-scape of the forest and the dreary sky. The wood beneath Samuel’s foot felt solid, smooth. He became aware of a scent of fresh paint that reminded him of summers spent painting fences in the neighborhood.
Samuel closed his eyes as the memory rushed back.
He sat on the ground in plush, green grass. An aluminum paint tray cradling a puddle of pure white paint sat next to him, a wood-handled brush resting on the edge. He stared straight ahead at a picket, one half bare, smooth and sanded while the top half sat glistening with a fresh coat.
“Hurry, Sammy. It’s almost time for lunch. If you finish by one, we can head to the pool for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I’m hungry. Whatyer makin’?”
“Grilled cheese and yogurt.”
“I’ll be in soon, Mom.”
Samuel opened his eyes, and the memory dissipated like a balloon carried away on the wind. He looked down and the blue outline flickered. He could see the rotted step fading through the painted one of another time and place. The tingling feeling in his body disappeared until he was left standing with one foot on the step and another on the ground.
The patch of illumination slipped lower in the sky as the darkness pulled it down to force another night. He thought of the wolves again and placed a hand on the doorknob, willing to risk entering the unknown instead of facing the wolves again. He turned the knob and pushed, but the door did not open. The howl of the wolves rose again, as if Samuel’s touch triggered their bloodlust.
The shudder worked its way through Samuel’s body until it triggered the Major’s words in his head.
They will return.
A cold sweat broke out on Samuel’s forehead, and he felt a rumbling in his bowels. The howling ceased for the moment, but he knew the next time it broke the unnatural silence, the pack would be much closer. He tried again, his hand gripping the doorknob with white knuckles. Samuel felt like the Arthur of old, trying with all his might to remove Excalibur from the stone. The knob would not move, so he pushed with one shoulder on the front of the door. The lazy spider webs dangled on his head, but the door did not give. He stepped to the side and used the palm of his hand to wipe the pane of the window. The next burst of howling made him shiver. The pack was closer. Much closer.
Samuel backed away from the window, spinning around and conducting a quick survey of the landscape surrounding the cabin. If he used a rock to break the window, the wolves would follow unless there was something inside the cabin he could use to bar it. He shoved his hands into his pockets but found nothing to help gain him access.
The howl that came next froze Samuel. He turned in the direction of the noise and swore he saw the yellow eyes bouncing between the scant trees of the elevated forest. Samuel placed both hands on the knob and shook as hard as he could. He leaned back, pulling with his body weight. The paws of the wolves rustled the leaves on the forest floor. Samuel looked over his shoulder without releasing his grip. The alpha male was back, and the light in his eyes spoke to Samuel without the need for words.
“Goddammit, open up,” Samuel screamed at the door.
The alpha male growled low, fifty yards from the cabin. The wolf downshifted from a full sprint to a light gallop, ears up and fangs bared. The rest of the pack came into the tight clearing in front of the cabin, the other hunters behind the alpha male. The females and cubs remained safely at the edge of the tree line.
Samuel smelled the wet fur, the odor more pungent than any others since he fell from the noose. He felt the low, moaning growl emanating from the hungry beasts. They spread out until the cabin was surrounded. He turned and placed his back on the front of the door. Samuel pushed his heels into the wooden step and drew a deep breath.
“I’m not giving in,” he said to the alpha male. “I’m not dying without a fight.”
The alpha male’s ears twitched. He strutted closer to Samuel. The others took tentative steps closer, careful not to infringe on the territory of their leader. The wolf snarled with saliva dangling from his fangs. Samuel bent his knees and leaned forward until his rear pressed on the front of the door. He held up his fists in front of his face as if getting ready for a schoolyard brawl. The alpha male ducked his head and lunged forward. He took two bounds and opened his jaw in midair as Samuel closed his eyes and braced for the impact. At the moment he expected to have teeth tearing at his throat, Samuel fell backward into utter and complete darkness.
***
Speckles of dust hung in the air, dancing on thin strings of light that penetrated the cabin through gaps in the shakes. Samuel blinked twice, feeling his eyes burn from lack of moisture. He lifted his head and turned to face the door while his body remained on the floor, the bare planks digging into his shoulder blades. Cobwebs dangled from the corners of the ceiling and stretched from underneath the cracked plaster. A narrow strip of light framed the door, leading Samuel to believe it was day, or the closest thing to daylight in this world.
An image of the alpha male snapped into place. Samuel closed his eyes and saw the feral, yellow eyes coming at him. He looked into the beast’s empty recesses, not believing such a creature could ever possess a soul. He remembered the teeth, bared and hungry, ready to tear at his flesh. Samuel even recalled the alpha male’s scent, which overpowered any lingering odor present.
Samuel shook his head and dispelled the memory. He sat up, stood and surveyed the cabin. A rickety table stood in one corner, the old-fashioned type meant for writing with a quill and inkwell. The wood appeared grey in the darkened
room. A wooden chair with a three-rung back sat tucked beneath the tabletop. A rudimentary bunk hung two feet off the floor, the long side screwed into the wall with rusty hex bolts. A thin, lumpy pad covered the top of the bunk, which was crisscrossed with webs, but no pillow or blanket. The only other item in the room hung from a single nail protruding from the crown molding opposite the door. The frame sat askew in the middle of the wall.
At first, Samuel thought it was a mirror. Ages of dust covered the surface, hiding its identity. An ornately carved frame encapsulated the piece, seemingly out of place with the other basic furniture. Samuel approached it and wiped the length of the frame several times until he stood in front of a portrait.
The darkness and age made it difficult to determine whether it was a painting or a photograph. He could make out the profile of a woman, but not much else. Samuel walked to the desk and pulled the chair out from underneath it. Four dark circles sat on the floor where the dust could not settle. He wondered how many years it would take for the dust to fill those spaces. Samuel placed the chair on the floor in front of the wall and put his right foot on it. He pushed down. Other than a slight creak of the floorboard underneath, the chair felt sturdy. Standing on it brought him eye-level with the fastener and cable holding the portrait on the wall. He reached out and lifted the cable off the nail until the full weight of the portrait rested in both hands. He stepped back down to the ground. Something flickered deep within the recesses of his mind. Something stirred. Something familiar, yet just beyond his reach. Samuel walked toward the lone window and the ambient glow of the anemic sun filtered through the grime. He wiped off more of the age covering the portrait until his eyes met those in the photograph—eyes he knew almost as well as his own.
***
The woman in the photograph stood, positioned in the lower-right corner of the frame. Dark, long curls spilled about her shoulders and rested on her arms. She wore a black top, which combined with her dark hair to frame a pristine, youthful face. Her makeup and eyeliner made her look trendy and hip rather than cheap. Ruby lips pressed together into a thin smile that radiated warmth and good-natured teasing. But it was her eyes that ensnared Samuel, the way they had many years earlier. The woman’s green eyes called to him, made him forget his name. They sat evenly spread on her face, and the eyeliner around them accentuated the contrast between her porcelain skin and emerald irises. Samuel used his finger to remove the dust from her cheekbones to her neck, as if he would somehow feel the warmth of her skin under his touch. He smiled and looked to her long, thin fingers cradled around a set of keys. With her head tilted to the side, he could almost remember what she was saying when the photograph was taken. Almost.
His eyes moved toward the top-right corner of the frame, where another figure stood. The man stood behind her angelic form. He wore his hair slicked back without the creep of a widow’s peak, a white T-shirt beneath a black jacket, and his waist disappeared into the black background of the photo. He appeared to be leaning against a wall, his body behind her but his face turned toward the photographer. The man wore a fuzzy beard, spotty and uneven. Like the woman, he too sealed his lips into a slight smile, as if the photographer told a joke at the moment the camera shutter opened, capturing them before the remark forced them into open laughter. The man’s left arm disappeared behind the woman, while his right hung at his side.
Samuel placed the frame on the ground, leaning it against the wall underneath the window. He sat on the floor and stared at it again. His mind raced, sifting through logic that no longer computed in a world that did not follow the rules of the one he knew.
He shook his head. In one moment, one brief observation of one photograph, a significant portion of his memory returned. That did not bother Samuel. What shook him to his core was how an old photograph of him and his wife made it inside a desolate cabin, abandoned for decades, in a dead world. That troubled him more than not knowing why he descended into this hell in the first place.
***
“She was gorgeous.”
Samuel jumped at the sound of the voice. Even though their conversation wasn’t extensive, he recognized it.
“She still is,” Samuel said. “I didn’t hear the door open.”
He turned from his spot on the floor in front of the photograph to see Major sitting on the chair now pushed back against the far wall. His silvery mane sprawled over his shoulders like the spider webs inside the cabin. The black headband he wore to hold it back was no longer in place, neither was the ponytail. Major’s receding hairline held firm against the encroaching inevitability, even though the man was clearly within his sunset years.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel asked.
“I mean, maybe. She was gorgeous, she is gorgeous, and she is no longer gorgeous. All of that.”
Samuel stood and approached Major. The old man sat, unbothered by the closing of distance between the two.
“Where did you go?” Samuel asked.
“You need to slow down and let your brain catch up with your mouth. You’re asking questions before the answers to the previous ones make it inside your head. We’re safe here. For now. I’m sorry I had to leave you so quickly, but if I hadn’t, the wolves would not have driven you to this place, and that had to happen.”
“What had to happen?” Samuel asked.
“There you go again.”
Samuel stopped and put a hand to his forehead. He ruffled his hair and dropped back to the floor next to the framed photograph. He leaned against the wall and felt the chill leaking through the wood. The light that filled the window earlier now faded into lonely blackness.
Major nodded before speaking. “I can tell you a bit, but when I stop, I have to stop for reasons beyond your understanding. Can you live with that?” he asked.
“No. But I’m going to lie and tell you I can,” Samuel said.
Chapter 5
Samuel sat cross-legged on the bunk while Major remained in the chair. The old man grimaced as he lifted one leg and placed it over the other.
“The ligaments go before everything else, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Remember that.”
Samuel smirked and tapped his fingers on his thigh.
“Give me a second, Samuel. I need to think about how to frame this for you.”
Samuel nodded. The old man stared at the ceiling, one hand rubbing the end of his chin. He opened his mouth, held it for a moment, and then shut it again. He repeated this two more times.
“Are the wolves coming back?” Samuel asked.
Major held a finger up to Samuel, lines creasing his forehead, which drove his eyebrows down in the middle.
“Did you ever play a musical instrument? Like a violin or a guitar?”
Samuel furrowed his brow and thought about the question. So much of himself remained as nebulous as the world outside the cabin.
“I think so.”
“Good enough,” Major said. “Do you know how sound is created on a stringed instrument?”
Samuel shifted again as the stiff base of the bunk dug into his backside. “What does this have to do with anything?”
Major shook his head. He swatted at the air in front of his face and fell back into the chair. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Sorry,” Samuel said. “Tell me.”
Major took a deep breath and continued. “When you pluck a string on a guitar, the vibration creates the sound. The string vibrates quickly, and the sound is not constant. The note is really an infinite series of oscillating sounds.”
Samuel shrugged.
“Let me tell you the parable of the blind wise men and the lion. The blind men are hunting the lion, following its trail. Hearing it run past, they chase after it and grab its tail. Hanging on to the lion’s tail, they feel the one-dimensional form and proclaim, ‘It’s a one. It’s a one.’ But then one blind man climbs up the tail and grabs onto the ear of the lion. Feeling a two-dimensional surface, this blind man proclaims,
‘No, it’s really a two.’ Then another blind man is able to grab the leg of the lion. Sensing a three-dimensional solid, he shouts, ‘No, you’re both wrong. It’s really a three.’ They are all right.”
Samuel held both hands up. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“Just as the tail, ear and leg are different parts of the same lion, this place and the one you’re beginning to remember are different parts of the same world.”
For the first time, Samuel stopped tapping his finger. He looked at Major and then at the floor. He turned to face the framed photograph and then the lonely window on the other wall.
“So how do I get back to the tail, or the ear, or the leg or whatever the hell part of the world is mine?”
“I don’t know,” Major said.
“Why not?”
“Imagine walking on a vast beach, near the ocean. You scoop up a handful of sand. You sift the sand until a single grain sits in your palm. A strong gust sweeps off the water and knocks that single grain out of your hand. Could you bend down and pick it up off the beach? Would you know which grain was yours?”
“Are you trying to say millions of places are part of the same existence?”
Major shrugged. “Maybe billions, maybe an infinite number. I really don’t know.”
“That’s really hopeless,” Samuel said.
“Depends. If your place was healthy and vibrant, it might feel hopeless to leave. On the other hand, if all that you knew was slowly dying, unwinding, coming apart, it might feel like getting into the lifeboat before the ship sinks.”
Samuel nodded.
“There is one more thing you need to know before we lie down for the night, something I want you to think about. Let your mind turn it over while you sleep. Just like grains of sand on a beach, these places exist in the same physical plane and often rub up against each other.”
This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection) Page 100