by Glen Krisch
"What struggle?" Kylie scoffed.
"Life, little girl. Life is the struggle, and knowing how to control things? That's half the battle." Monique lifted her wine glass and realized it was empty. "Be a lamb and grab me another Merlot from the wine rack, would you? It's going to be a long night."
Kylie went to the kitchen if for no other reason than to put some space between her and Monique. She shifted the bottles in the wine rack next to the pantry until she found a Merlot. She removed the foil wrapper around the neck, and then glanced around the kitchen until she spotted a cork screw on the center island.
As she figured out how to work the contraption, she saw RJ working the grill on the patio. Gray smoke wafted from the coals as he flipped a number of burgers, one after another. She wondered if he knew anything about what Monique had so casually talked about. In some way, she hoped he didn't.
As if sensing he was being watched, RJ looked up and smiled as he wielded the long barbeque spatula like a light saber. She laughed lightly and waved him away. He held up his left hand and mouthed the words: five more minutes. She nodded and he turned back to the grill.
Her mom entered the kitchen on her hands and knees, dusting the floor molding with a rag. Shortly after Kylie's dad left to investigate the plane crash, her mom had resumed her duties cleaning the house. She couldn't vacuum or run the dishwasher, but she could scrub, and she did until she was a frenetic cleaning machine going from room to room, dragging her cleaning caddy behind her.
"You don't have to do that," Kylie said.
"Yes, I do. I'm out of cigarettes and I have to keep my hands busy." Kylie's mom looked up from her drudgery and saw the opened bottle of wine in her grasp. She clucked her tongue in disapproval and then set back to work, shining the molding to a high gloss.
Kylie was tempted to grab a glass of wine for herself just to needle her mom. She imagined getting loaded, just like Monique, and letting her bitterness flow freely. She could, but she knew she wouldn't; she wasn't a vindictive person. And she had never had alcohol and didn't know how it would impact her. She couldn't let her guard down, not with her dad still out in the middle of the woods.
Her mother took hold of the leg of her wheeled cleaning caddy and pulled it behind her as she crawled along the perimeter of the kitchen and dining area, polishing molding that didn't need it. Her knees would be terribly stiff by now, but she continued on, unperturbed. Kylie left her to it.
"I found a bottle. Hope it's the right one," Kylie said as she entered the living room.
Monique didn't seem to hear her; she was far too busy running an index finger around the rim of the wine glass, producing a haunting hum. Dusk had overtaken the expansive room, so much so that Kylie felt a reflexive urge to turn on the lights.
"This is what we'll have to do for music. No more cds. No more mp3s. No more Beyoncé, no more Jackson 5 reissues." Monique, still captivated by the sound created by her finger, was now just an outline of shifting shadows in the quickly advancing night.
"I don't think it'll be that bad," Kylie said, but with nothing on which to base her conclusion. If anything, she placed her faith in common decency and basic humanity. Sure, humanity could destroy. Humanity so often sought the easiest path, even when that path caused otherwise escapable harm. But people could also be inordinately charitable and caring. She had to believe that the good in humanity would prevail.
"This world is gonna chew you up and spit you out, girl. Like a fatty piece of gristle." Monique noticed the bottle in Kylie's hand and ended her haunted tune by holding the wine glass out to her. When Kylie poured until it was halfway full, Monique said, "You see a cutoff line on that glass?"
Kylie topped off the glass and then set the bottle on the end table within easy reach of Monique. She then went to the front windows and pushed the curtains open as far as they would go to let in the last of the sunlight. "We need candles. And flashlights…" she said aloud, mostly for her own benefit. "Batteries… do we know if batteries work?"
"Don't matter." Monique's words were now slurring together. She tipped her glass and took a long gulp, only stopping to wipe dribble from her chin with the back of her hand. "It's over. Batteries gonna save the world now? That what you think, girl?"
Kylie watched the final vestiges of daylight, taking in long, slow breaths and exhaling with almost painful deliberation. She remembered a long ago argument with her mother about attending church one Sunday morning. Kylie had demanded some sort of proof of her mother's faith, something beyond words. Linda had replied so easily and without hesitation that she must have had her response memorized and at the ready. "Belief in the absence of evidence is the basis of faith. Belief stands on its own without evidence." Exasperated, Kylie had given in and gone to church that morning even though she hadn't understood her mother's words. Despite their clashes today, she thought she was starting to understand. Kylie had no reason to believe that humanity would be reasonable and compassionate in this time of disorder, but she couldn't imagine a world—this world here and now—without it. She just had to believe.
"I'm sorry you feel that way." Kylie needed to voice her feelings even if Monique might not remember them in the morning. "I'm sorry you're so bitter. I'm sorry you were made so bitter."
"Such a lamb…" Monique tilted her head back, easing into the comforting embrace of the leather sofa, until she was staring at the ceiling.
Kylie didn't want to argue. Monique was beyond feeling, beyond caring. Kylie watched long enough to see Monique's eyes close to half-mast before fluttering shut completely.
"Can't have Mrs. Thompson staining her new couch." Kylie's mom swept into the room and eased the wine glass from Monique's fingers before it could do any damage. Monique muttered wetly and then shifted onto her side, pulling her legs up until her knees almost reached her chin.
The sliding door off the kitchen opened and RJ called out, "Dinner's on! Can you tell my harebrained sister?"
"I'll set the table!" Linda seemed happy to add to her domestic duties, comforted by the familiar.
Kylie passed through the living room and a short hallway before turning a corner to head upstairs. She hadn't been in this part of the main house since RJ moved to the pool house. She felt like she was traipsing through a stranger's home. Again, she could see Monique's influence in the updated artwork and décor; once inviting, every room now exuded a cold, almost clinical atmosphere. She didn't climb more than a couple of stairs before she heard a door open upstairs and then close again.
"Dawn? That you?" she said in an unsteady voice.
"You expecting someone else?"
"Well… dinner's ready. RJ grilled some burgers and there's some potato salad we need to eat before it goes bad."
"Good. I'm starving."
In the windowless stairwell, Kylie could barely see the petite girl as she leaped down the steps two at a time. When she did, she was surprised to see Dawn now dressed in hunter's camo from her straight-legged pants and button-up shirt down to her baseball cap with a ponytail threaded through the back. Rugged-looking green hiking boots completed the ensemble. Dawn looked like a completely different person than the scoffing teenager who arrived home from her shopping spree earlier this afternoon. She'd been a crying mess in her expensive chunky-heeled sandals, flowing pink blouse, and a face streaked with sweat-ruined makeup.
Now, she was fresh-faced and somehow happy, reminding Kylie of the Dawn from years ago—eager and ready to leave before sunrise to stalk deer with her dad. RJ had never enjoyed hunting, and for a short while, Dawn had filled the void with her dad.
Kylie smirked and turned in stunned silence. Dawn followed her down the stairs and through the living room.
"I see Monique is dealing in typical Monique fashion," Dawn said when she saw her stepmom sprawled on the sofa.
"I shouldn't have opened that second bottle. She's going to have such a hangover."
"If you didn't open it, she would've figured it out, trust me. Don't worry yourself. Let's just go eat."
"So what's with the get-up?" Kylie eyed her outfit.
"Didn't RJ tell you we dress for dinner here at the big house?" Dimples dotted her cheeks as she chuckled.
"Sorry, didn't bring my camo."
"I thought it was best to change… to, I don't know, prepare myself."
"Prepare for what?"
"Well, anything, I guess. I know Concord's a tiny backwater town, but who knows what people are thinking? We live in the 'big mansion on the hill.' With no power, no alarms, people might start thinking about taking advantage of things until the power comes back on."
"And camo is going to help protect us, from who… looters and thieves?"
They passed through the kitchen to the dining room, walking shoulder to shoulder, talking more intimately than they had in years. The table had been set and the food brought out. Kylie's mom sat on one end of the table and RJ the other. Candlelight illuminated the room; at least a dozen lit candles had been placed on the table and spread along the kitchen counters and center island. It gave the room an inviting warmth Kylie didn't quite feel.
"Camo won't protect us, but guns sure will." Dawn pulled out a chair and sat down. "And Daddy has a whole arsenal downstairs."
"Dawn, are you crazy?" RJ raised one eyebrow as he ladled potato salad onto his plate.
"It's like I told Kylie. We don't know what's going on. We don't know what people are thinking. We're alone in the most expensive home for probably a hundred miles or more. Gotta face facts—we are targets. Our valuables, our food." Dawn pointed to herself and then to Kylie. "Us."
"And you want to break into Dad's gun room and arm ourselves to the hilt?" RJ's voice shifted an octave higher on the last word.
"Pretty much." Dawn reached into one of the pockets in her camo shirt. "Except, I won't need to break into anything. Not with these." She held aloft a ring of keys and jingled them.
"Where'd you get those? How did you know…?" RJ stammered.
"Sometimes it pays to play the tomboy."
RJ's lip curled into a sneer, which made Dawn's smile only widen. Her head swiveled from side to side in triumph as she returned the key ring to her pocket.
"Shall I say grace?" Linda Dwyer asked.
All four bowed their heads and Kylie's mom began a rambling prayer that recalled the creation of the universe and the Earth, the animals and man. Feeling her mom staring at her, Kylie looked up to meet her gaze.
Linda said, "Oh Lord, please look down on us with Your gracious heart, for as we sit here about to partake in the bounty that You have provided—three inheritors of Eve's cursed womb, and one man-child fated to fall to temptation and sin—we need Your shining light, Your gentle hand, Your never ending love… Amen."
Both RJ and Dawn responded with their own Amens even though they weren't religious. Linda smiled at them and then glared at Kylie. No one moved to eat.
What's the big deal? she thought, really not wanting to start another argument. One word to get her off my back?
"Amen," she whispered and looked down at her plate.
RJ placed a dollop of potato salad on her plate. "Just mustard and pickle on your burger, right?"
She looked up and offered him a weak smile. "How'd you know?"
"That's what you always have."
Her smile widened, but only briefly. As she watched him expertly assemble her burger order she felt a sudden pang of guilt. Her dad still hadn't returned and here she was relaxing to a home-cooked meal. This very moment he could be overwhelmed with the amount of people who needed aid. He could be injured, or possibly worse. She should've insisted on going with him.
RJ placed the burger on her plate and frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Anxiety had her in its grip and her chest began to tighten. "I just… I need some air." She stood quickly before anyone could protest and then rushed to the front door, hoping… no, praying, yes, actually praying in the literal Linda Dwyer sense of the word, that her dad would be standing on the front steps when she opened the door.
Please, God, please let him be…
But as she pulled the door open, the threshold was empty, and the surrounding skies were an all-encompassing black void unalterable in the given circumstances. She wanted to cry, but instead, she stepped into the void, leaving the dim candlelight behind. Every sound seemed to be amplified in her near-blindness. Crickets by the dozens fighting to be heard. Rustling in the underbrush—an opossum or raccoon most likely. And the wind filtering through the broad, peak-of-summer leaves, the branches swaying together at the edge of the woods like drunken affable giants.
She inhaled until she thought her chest would burst, letting the air fester and her lungs begin to convulse, before finally allowing a thin trail of depleted air to seep from her nostrils. She felt light-headed and woozy. She probably should've just stayed inside and eaten since she hadn't had a decent meal since this morning. When her lungs were clear, her next breath came more easily, and by the time she exhaled again, she was close to the tree line, moving as if drawn by some invisible force.
Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Pinpricks of starlight glimmered above, eliciting memories of the explosion from earlier today. Kylie stepped into the woods, pushing a low hanging branch from her path, desperately trying not to run in the direction of the plane crash. She wanted to find her dad, wanted more than anything to see his weary yet reassuring smile. That smile meant that everything would be all right. He promised to be gone for a couple of hours. How could he say that? How could he possibly know? A flash of anger toward him crossed her mind, but it quickly vanished.
After she walked a short distance, she glanced back and saw the soft glow of candlelight from the Thompsons' mansion. She reached a rocky plateau where only a few scrub trees grew among the predominant wild grasses. She again saw a clear path to the cloudless sky and could no longer see the stars. A golden luminescence lit the horizon, and as she wondered about its origin, she heard what sounded like a thousand or more far off trees crackling from an intense blaze.
Fire.
Like the largest campfire imaginable.
Heat. Yes, she felt heat warming her skin, and she took another step. And another.
And the air itself felt warmer in her lungs. Almost too warm.
She took another step, realizing that whatever had caused the blaze was also in the direction that her dad had gone. This only punctuated the fact that he hadn't returned. She was now suddenly scared out of her mind. As she turned in a full circle to try to reestablish her bearings, she could no longer see the warm candlelight from the Thompsons' estate.
She was alone, most likely the only person in the entire world who knew that the forest was on fire. She took a couple of wild strides toward the heat, the flames, the glowing yellow halo hovering above it all.
A stampede of harried strides charged at her from the edge of the woods, stopping her short.
A startled family of deer?
No. Too ungraceful.
She took another stride or two, felt footsteps closing on her.
A wolf pack circling on its prey? Circling me?
It seemed like the most logical conclusion, yet wolves weren't in the area. But that's how it felt, like quarry being stalked.
Kylie felt an arm wrap around her from behind, grasping her chin. Another arm gripped her waist like a fevered lover, groping, taking hold of her hip. And then her legs went out from under her and she was falling to the thick mat of wild grasses, taking the weight of her attacker down with her.
When she struck the ground the wind rushed from her lungs and didn't return, overwhelming her with the sensation of panicked drowning.
Grimy fingers flailed for her mouth to silence her screams, but she couldn't speak, couldn't imagine trying to do anything else besides take her next breath. As she struggled and gasped, the world filled with the almost inaudible snapping of damp tree trunks, the crazed, stale breath of her assailant upon her ear, the blood pumping through her limbs; the acidic
fear-laced blood of a victim succumbing to a brutal world.
Chapter 11
Drenched in sweat and with little energy left with which to fight, Marcus Grant pushed the pace at the front of his group as they hiked to the summit of the steep hills leading out of downtown Concord. They were now down to a ragtag bunch of seven survivors, and most everyone had suffered wounds as they fought their way out of town. Most everyone had also killed. No one remained innocent, including his brother, Jason.
Night was approaching quickly, and they'd only escaped with a few backpacks and their assorted weapons. With the town swarming with armed survivors, they'd had to abandon the idea of reaching their cache of supplies. Almost everyone carried sheathed hunting knives and an AR-15 provided by the Arkadium in preparation for today.
Any sense of planning or organization within this new world—a world of their own creation—had been sent to the wind to scatter. This thought both scared him to death and thrilled him to no end. He had to suppress a grin as he glanced back at the others following in his strides.
Next in line, Delaney hiked her pack higher on her shoulders and beamed at him with utter devotion. Only the dried spray of arterial blood across her flushed cheeks ruined the illusion of a child about to step foot inside Disney World for the first time. She'd always been a novelty to him, an energetic plaything. But seeing her now, having seen how beautifully she had performed as they retreated from the downtown firefight, he was starting to think that she could become more than that to him.
Dead on his feet and with dried blood and mud pressed into his shirt and pants, Jason shifted into his field of view, pulling up next to Delaney. He'd tucked his snub-nose .38, a revolver he picked up during the melee, into the waistband of his jeans. He still bore a look of utter disbelief, even though he had witnessed every unfolding moment of the unmaking of civilization. He was in shock, no doubt, as all of them would be to a certain extent. But while everyone else seemed to be completely on board with the arrangements of the group, whenever Jason looked him in the eye, Marcus saw only his own murder reflecting back at him.