by Connor Mccoy
It took much longer to find an appropriate tree this time.
They searched along the edge of the woods, but those birch trees all were well-rooted. Sally stepped in a marshy patch of grass and sank to her knee into muddy water. She almost lost her boot when Mia and Christian pulled her out, and she had to pull a leech off her leg, but that led them to a stream where several suitable trees were growing from the bank.
Once found they made short work of bringing the tree down and no one had to bounce on the trunk and hit the ground hard or fall into the brook. Mia, for one, counted that as a win. They carried it back to the ditch, dropped it into place next to the other trunk and branches, and were over the ditch and away in just a few minutes.
As far as they knew, no one had spotted them.
It didn’t take long to reach the fence, which at this location was a ten-foot-tall stretch of corrugated metal with the bottom edge sunk into the ground. They walked east along the wall until they found what Mia had seen from the top of the tree, an overlap in the fence with a gap big enough to squeeze through.
Squeeze through they did, being careful to peek around the edge that led into the town to make sure no one was watching. There was a stretch of grassy field and then backyards filled with gardens, solar panels, and windmills. The backs of the houses, with their blackened windows, looked as if they were watching, but there were no faces visible, so the three ran for it.
They vaulted a backyard fence, a low three rail fence that was more of a visual delineation than deterrent to entry, and then ran between the two houses. They stopped before emerging out into the front yards and had a whispered argument about what to do next. Mia thought they should go straight to the library, as that was where she had seen Glen last, but Christian and Sally figured they should start right here and search, house by house, all the way across town.
“That will take us forever,” Mia said. “And the longer we are here, the more likely we are to get caught.”
Sally and Christian looked at each other.
“Mia has a point,” Sally said. “How likely are we to find him in a random house?”
“Okay,” Christian said. “Library first, and we’ll see where that leads us.”
“I just hope he’s not where the worst of the fighting is,” Mia said. “That could be a disaster.”
“Do you think you can find the library?” Christian asked.
“It’s not that big of a town,” Mia said, “and also I saw it from the top of the tree. So, I have a good idea where it is. Luckily, most people are hiding from the gunfire. So, we should be undetected. Are you ready?”
Sally and Christian nodded their assent. Mia jogged out from between the houses, around the gardens in the front yard, and out into the street, where she headed to the right. At the first cross street, she took a left. Sally and Christian flanked her. They ran undetected for a couple of more blocks, and then Sally took them to the right again. A block down was the library.
They stood outside the big wooden double doors for what seemed to Mia like hours but was probably less than five minutes. No sound came from within. They pushed open the door on the left and let themselves in, carefully closing the door behind them. Mia led them through the cavernous entry hall to a room on the right that housed some of the books.
There were maps spread on a table, but no sign of Glen nor anyone else. They examined the plans on the table and Mia had a brief and irrational thought that there might be a Post-It note with the words ‘Glen is here,” penned on it. No such luck, and the map didn’t really seem to be of the town anyway.
They made their way back out into the entrance hall, where Sally spotted the blood on the column. They went to look and found blood on the floor as well. Someone must have stepped in it, because there was a trail leading out the back of the library. They followed it to the house next door.
There they found signs of a medical intervention, or at least a quick clean-up and bandaging. There was a damp rag that had been carefully placed on the edge of the kitchen sink to dry. In the trash were the kinds of detritus that comes from cleaning and bandaging a wound, bits of medical tape and the empty packaging from a roll of gauze, as well as a couple of leftover end pieces of the dressing itself.
“So, where to from here?” Christian asked. “Do we start our house to house search here?”
“No,” Mia said thoughtfully. “I think it would be wise to search this house, but then I think we should go to the pharmacy.”
“The pharmacy? Why go there?” Sally asked.
“Because I don’t see any signs of antibiotic cream or painkillers,” Mia said. “And I think with as much blood as was in the library, they probably would want those things. Maybe the general store is where they would go, but I would start at the pharmacy, because I saw both those things when I was there with Glen.”
At first, Mia thought Christian was going to balk. His jaw tightened, and his face looked grim, but then he nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get started with this house then.”
They stuck together, which wasn’t the most efficient way to search, but for Mia at least, felt safer. The first floor was most accessible because it was divided into four rooms, with no closets or places to hide. Kitchen, bathroom, dining room, and living room. There was a basement door, but they left that for last.
They climbed to the second floor, where they found a woman’s bedroom, the closet full of military-style clothing, and uniforms. There were two dress uniforms with skirts instead of pants, but even without that, it was obviously a woman’s room. There were high-heeled boots and shoes on a rack in the closet, hairclips, and scrunchies on the dresser, and decidedly feminine underwear in the top drawer of the chest.
Mia snuck a peek when Sally and Christian were examining the uniforms. They were figuring out the branch of the military they came from, and Mia was snooping in the drawers. Neither would help them find Glen, but it never hurt to have a look. There was a lovely gold and diamond necklace that Mia would have loved to own, but she left it. She had decided she only would steal what she needed to stay alive. Nothing more.
There was a bathroom behind the bedroom, and on the other side of the hall. It looked as though two bedrooms had been joined together to create one long room. It had been turned into what looked like a fitness room/dance studio. At one end was a weight lifting machine with a pile of different-sized weights piled on the floor next to it. On a low shelf, a bunch of free weights were arranged by size.
The rest of the room was empty except for the mirrors lining the interior wall and the dance bar that was fixed to the exterior wall. There were speakers mounted on the walls at the four corners of the room, and Mia wondered what sort of music typically came from them. But whatever device this woman used to store her music, it wasn’t here.
At the back of the hall was a trap door with fold-down stairs into the attic. Christian climbed up and poked his head through the opening. He came down frowning.
“Nothing up there,” he said.
Mia led them down the stairs and back into the kitchen, where they found the door into the basement. “Maybe one of us should stay up top, so we don’t get locked in,” she said. “In case the woman who lives here comes back.”
“I’ll stay,” Sally said. Mia let Christian lead the way down to a typical dirt-floored basement.
It was unlike anything she had ever seen, and so different from the basement apartment in her family’s home. It was a plush in-law suite, where guests at their home had stayed in luxury. Here the furnace and the water heater were set on concrete blocks, but other than a jungle of spider webs there was little else. Mia was happy to get the heck away from the spiders. They left the house unlocked, which is how they found it. Mia would be surprised if anyone locked their home in a town like this. There was no point, really.
She led them out the back of the house and around the library, retracing her steps from when she’d escaped. They were moving toward the gunfire,
which made her nervous. She’d never been fond of the noise firearms made. Where she’d grown up, a gunshot was not an everyday occurrence, and if you were in a place where you heard gunfire, you got the heck out. Here she was moving toward it. It was not a happy feeling.
And the streets reminded her of a ghost town she’d visited as a child. There still were bits and pieces of life scattered about, but no people or pets. She didn’t see one face in a window, not one door opened to ask them what they were doing. She imagined the residents hiding in their panic rooms, or in bathrooms, huddled in their tubs, hoping they were safe from stray bullets.
She wondered how many houses held only children huddled together while both parents fought to save the town. Society here might have reverted to a total patriarchy. That sometimes happened in apocalyptic circumstances. She had read about it in college. The primitive brain insisted on a more straightforward way of life that protected the children, and the women who could produce them.
Personally, she’d run far away from a town like that. She wasn’t cut out to be property.
When they got to Main Street, they stuck close to the buildings, ducking into doorways when they saw movement. They moved more slowly now, carefully assessing each open space, every intersection. As much as they wanted to save Glen, they didn’t want to risk their own lives doing it.
About a block from the pharmacy, they froze in place as the man Mia knew as Terror exited it. He looked both ways, but fortunately didn’t scan the sidewalk. If he had, he couldn’t have helped but see them. Terror turned away and strode toward the Town Hall, not bothering to duck from lamp post to lamp post to avoid bullets. It was as though he was daring the enemy to shoot him. But they didn’t.
Mia noticed that his right hand was wrapped in a bandage, the blood beginning to seep through the white cloth. The fingers didn’t look right to her, and she wondered if the bones had been crushed. Or maybe just broken? A shiver went down her spine, and she hoped her hand never looked like that. It must hurt like hell.
When he turned onto the street next to the grassy mall and disappeared from sight, she led Christian and Sally forward again. Having seen Terror made her think they were headed in the right direction. She would tell the other two what she thought as soon as they were safely inside the pharmacy. Unless someone still was in there. They’d have to do a survey before walking in blindly.
They made it in the pharmacy. Mia flattened herself against the wall and looked through the glass door. Nobody was visible, so she pushed the door open, the bells above the door chimed, and the door rebounded. No one came out to see what was going on. No shots were fired. No one yelled. Mia shrugged and continued inside, followed by Christian and Sally.
It hadn’t changed much since Mia had been here with Glen. The shelves were mostly empty and in disarray. There were more items littering the ground, but that was all. She turned to the others.
“I’ve only ever seen this floor, the store, and the pharmacy room behind it. I’m sure there is a basement and at least one floor above this. We need to search the entire building before we move on. How do you want to do this?” Sally looked from Christian to Sally. “Any suggestions?”
Chapter Seven
Glen followed Angelica and Terror back through town. The shooting had quieted down. There was only the occasional single shot or small volley of gunfire. The invaders must be either dead or retreating. Regular people were beginning to appear on the street, starting the cleanup effort for their town.
They passed the spot where the flower pot had exploded above Glen’s head. There was a man outside the shop grousing about it. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort I put into keeping that flower pot beautiful? Adding aesthetic value to our town? One volley of gunfire and I’m back where I started. I don’t even know if I can get seeds.” He continued complaining as they passed, picking up what was left of the plants.
Glen held his firearm loosely, the barrel pointing at the ground, as they strode through town. Angelica still had her semi-automatic at the ready, but Terror appeared to be unarmed as well as injured. He cradled his gauze-wrapped arm against his body and avoided abrupt movements.
People called out to him as they walked by and he raised his uninjured hand in salute, nodding as they passed. Those same people looked at Glen with curiosity, wanting to know who he was. He nodded at them as well but didn’t bother to raise his hand in a salute. They weren’t looking for approval from a stranger.
They passed the pharmacy on the far side of the street, and he gave it a cursory glance. No one seemed to be guarding it now. He thought for a minute he saw movement, but it must have been his imagination because when he stopped to take a good look, there was nothing. Most of the other shops on Main Street had people in front of them sweeping the sidewalks or washing the windows. Terror naturally ran a tight ship and cleanliness was required.
Terror and Angelica turned a corner in front of him, and he hurried to catch up.
“You’ve got your town folk well trained,” he said, gesturing toward a family repairing a picket fence that had been strafed by bullets. “They aren’t wasting any time cleaning up the mess.”
“That’s not me.” Terror said, shaking his head. “They are proud of their town. Every time some group swoops in and tries to take it from them, they fight back with everything they’ve got, and then they clean up the place. It’s like their motto is ’Nobody fucks with our town.’ They were like that when I got here. It’s nothing I’ve done.”
Glen nodded but wondered if it was true. They may be proud, but they didn’t look particularly happy. In fact, the family they just had passed looked grim. Then again, maybe it was normal to be grim when you’ve been under attack. He wondered how many had been wounded or killed, and who was in charge of cleaning up that mess?
He followed Terror and Angelica to a home just on the other side of the library, where they led him through the back door into the kitchen. Angelica heated water for him while he sorted through her first aid kit. There wasn’t much there. He unwrapped the gauze from Terror’s hand and frowned. He saw braded and broken knuckles and a nasty gash down the back of the man’s hand.
He poured the hot water into a basin and added dishwashing soap. Then he had Terror lower his hand into the soapy water and leave it there. Terror grimaced and worked the muscles in his jaw. It probably was stinging, but too bad. The injury had to be cleaned, and this was by far the least painful method.
“Do you have any ice?” Glen asked, knowing it was improbable.
He was answered by Angelica shaking her head, “We have a lot of things, but ice isn’t one of them.”
“Do you know if you have any finger braces back at the pharmacy? Those would be handy.” He pulled Terror’s hand from the water and looked at it. The gash on the back of it was bleeding again. He splashed some warm water from the pan to rinse the soap away.
“Let me go back to the pharmacy,” he said, gesturing to the hand.
“I need finger splints and butterfly bandages. Unless you think the doctor has sutures at his office?” He’d yet to see the doctor or his office. He somehow doubted the drunken doctor had a state of the art facility.
“Go with him,” Terror motioned to Angelica. “And keep an eye open.”
So, Glen and Angelica jogged back to the pharmacy, double-timing it. Glen kept his eyes open but didn’t see anything new or helpful. Once in the pharmacy, it only took a minute for Glen to find what he needed. He was amazed that there were finger splints and butterfly bandages. The drunk doc must not have needed them.
“Do you have keys to the back room?” he said, motioning to the drug counter. “He’ll probably need some painkillers.”
“Truthfully, I don’t think painkillers are a good idea for him.” She pursed her lips. “He drinks a bit and has mood swings. I wouldn’t want to add a narcotic to that.”
“Mood swings, huh? Why am I not surprised?” He was going to continue with his concerns about Terror’s person
ality issues, but Angelica’s mouth had thinned into a straight line. Clearly, she did not want to discuss it with him.
“Oh well, then he’ll have to make due with OTC meds like ibuprofen. They aren’t as likely to cause problems with alcohol. Well, his stomach may not like it, but at least it won’t cause mood swings.” He thought a moment and amended his statement. “At least the painkiller won’t cause mood swings. The alcohol is very likely to, but unless you want to start an intervention, I don’t think there is much we can do about that.”
She was looking away from him, out the window, so he couldn’t see her face, but he took her silence for agreement.
They jogged back to the house by the library. Terror still was at the table, but now he had a glass of wine in his hand. That surprised Glen. He figured by now it would be all homemade hooch, or maybe some beer or ale if there were brewers in town. He was curious but didn’t ask. The mood in the room had changed, and he didn’t want to stir up things. Alcohol reduced people’s inhibitions, and in some cases, personalities could do a complete backflip. With Terror, though, he was afraid it was something more, and he didn’t want to provoke him.
He smeared antibiotic ointment on the wounds, closed the gash with butterfly bandages and wrapped the knuckles with fresh gauze. Then he splinted the fingers with the knuckle braces, taping the metal to his digits with medical tape. The muscle in Terror’s jaw worked the entire time, and Glen wondered if he should have insisted on something stronger for the pain. Well, it was too late now. He’d just have to hope Terror could tolerate discomfort.
Angelica tidied up the kitchen, washing the bowl and pan, drying them and putting them away. When she was done, they left the house and crossed over to the library. They entered through the back and Glen saw blood on one of the columns. So that was where Terror had injured himself. What had frustrated him so much that he’d felt the need to damage his hand on the marble?