Rise Once More

by D. Henbane

  “I'm sorry. I'm being nosy.” She says sheepishly, her hand withdrawn to her side. “We have both lost so much, I was just caught up in the moment, and if you don't wanna talk about it. That's fine, I can respect that.”

  Haus bites his lip, and stands up straight, looking directly at her. “My sister...” The words rolled off his tongue, some inner force put them there, as he knew subconsciously that it was fabricated. As if he was at war with himself, his mind betraying his soul, and the tongue a guilty accomplice of the crime. I can't even trust myself, what the hell is going on here?

  “Oh god! Now I feel like an ass. I am so sorry!” Amy says as she lunges forward embracing him in a bear hug. Haus wasn't anticipating her actions, at first stood rigid, and unresponsive. Her grip took hold of his body, firm at first, but finding no response only caused her to cling tighter, the pressure increasing until he lifted his arms and embraced her back.

  Her breasts pressed into his chest, he could feel every contour of her young body, and her hardened nipples answered the very question he had pondered before the accident. Medium... Round... His mind drifts back to when he was wishing for just another bump in the road. Then his mind is filled with the images of Cox's crushed skull, and he pushes Amy away.

  “I can't do this.” He says apologetically.

  “It's okay! I totally understand. I'm sorry for your loss.” Amy says.

  “I am sorry too. I'm thirsty, I'm hungry, and I'm bitchy. Please explain to me why you are so excited about this fucking sign.” Haus says angrily, more angry at himself than anything, insulted that the treason committed was done by his own mind, against his wishes, and the mutineers were of the majority.

  “Well. We have gas, fishing, and camping just ahead! That means freshwater, maybe a store, and a lake to catch some fish. Food, Shelter, and Water. What else can you ask for? I think it is a sign.” Amy says.

  Haus looks back at the sign. 3.7 miles. Are you fucking kidding me? In 3.7 miles I could die. “3.7 miles, and it's almost dark. That will take an hour easily, assuming we know where to go.”

  “I know how to fish.” Amy says.

  “Where is your fishing pole?” Haus asks.

  “Don't need one. I can noodle.” Amy says.

  “Noodle?” Haus says confused.

  “Noodlin'. You never heard of it?” Amy says.

  “I am drawing a blank here.” Haus says.

  “Lets get walking, and I will explain as we go.” Haus follows behind Amy, listening attentively to her words at first, but his mind begins to wander. He tries to hear what she has to say, something has caught his attention, and he can't shake free from it. He can't help but admire her; her strength, common sense, and most of all her upbeat approach to challenges.

  “That is how we do it.” Amy says victoriously.

  “Do what?” Haus says, clearly not paying attention.

  “Noodlin'” Amy says.

  “I can noodle all night.” Haus says.

  “You didn't hear a word I said did you?” Amy swats Haus's shoulder to grab his attention. “I can teach you later, we're here.” She says taking in a deep breathe through her nose. The smell of warm pond water might repulse some, but for her it was true bliss. The scent triggers a million neurons inside her brain, each one connected to loved memory, and she exhales quickly. “There are tons of Catfish in this lake. I can smell 'em.” Amy says.

  A calm breeze wafts about them, surrounded by darkness, and over grown vegetation. “I am glad you can smell them, because I can barely see a thing.” The moon had barely formed a waxing crescent that evening, and the light wasn't sufficient to see clearly.

  “Too bad tonight wasn't a new or full moon.” Amy says.

  “A full moon would be nice, at least we could see what is around us. I don't like being this out in the open, makes me uncomfortable.” Haus says.

  Amy places her hand to her ear, cocking her head slightly, and turns in a complete circle. “I don't hear anything but frogs.” She says playfully, her attitude had changed since they arrived at the lake. She seemed calm, yet excited, even a bit too relaxed. As if just being near the water made her feel at home.

  The humidity was low, the night sky was filled with stars, and the cloud of the milky way was directly over head. Fire flies dance around the brush, a faint outline of the lake ahead of them, they were standing just a few feet from the bank.

  Amy spots a clearing in the weeds, a few yards away, near a thick line of trees. She walks slowly towards the water's edge, her eyes fixed on the cresting small waves crashing into the beach. She stops suddenly, her body becoming rigid like a stone effigy.

  Haus's apprehension about coming here seemed to be correct, and he retrieved the shotgun from his bag. Careful not to make much noise, he pulls the forearm of the shotgun back halfway, confirming it was loaded, he slides it forward. Click.

  Amy motions in the night air for Haus to move forward, the shotgun ready for anything that might pierce the darkness. Amy points into trees, she kneels down to the ground, and whispers in a hushed tone. “Do you see that light over there?”

  Haus sees nothing at first, and repositions himself directly in front Amy. His eyes focused at the end of the barrel, detect a faint glow of light, hidden mostly by the thick foliage of the trees. Too weak to be a camp fire, too yellow in color to be a flashlight, it had to be an artificial light source. From this position he couldn't be sure, and decides to leave Amy behind while he investigates.

  “Stay here. I will check it out. Take the bag, if anything happens, just run like hell and don't look back.” Haus says in a hushed whisper, placing the bag at her feet, the shotgun still rose into a firing position.

  “You're not leaving me here alone. We both go.” Amy says sternly. Haus annoyed by her overly-confident bravado, lowers the shotgun, turning to face her. She is standing behind him, fully upright, one hand on her hips, and the other holding the bag. One of her eyebrows were raised with an unimpressed look upon her face. “Don't pull the hero crap with me.” Amy says.

  Haus looks at her dumbfounded, impressed with her resilience, but angry that she would so easily defy him. The plan made sense to him; he would forge ahead, armed if something were to happen, if he got over taken she could at least survive. It seemed like a selfless act, and limited the chances of losses. She obviously would have none of it, and was insistent on hedging everything on a chance.

  “Fine we both go, but at least stay behind me.” Haus says his voice no longer a whisper, but still quietly below normal talking. He draws the shotgun back up, rising to his feet, and advances in a slow deliberate pace while stepping lightly, one foot in front of the other trying to be as covert as possible.

  After a few feet he pauses, listening to the sounds around him, finding nothing he pushes forward. The light becomes more evident with each step, again confirming his suspicions. It was an artificial light source, but from what he still cannot tell.

  He places another foot in front of him, but a tree blocks his direct path. He steps to the right, and his foot lands on a dry twig. The snapping noise resonates around them, the sound waves bouncing of each tree, announcing their presence to everything in the area. Shit! He thinks to himself, as he stands frozen, afraid that any other sound might alert an unwelcome guest.

  He places his full weight onto his foot, this time there is no sound, and he advances a little further, yet another foot step, ever closer to the light, and an answer to what was the source. Amy is within an arm's reach directly behind him, her pulse starting to race, she places her foot down. SNAP.

  The two of them hold perfectly still. The same branch that had betrayed him, had exposed her as well, both of their hearts are racing. Silence hangs in the air, for a few moments, they stand there frozen, expecting that at any time their decisions would come back to haunt them.

  Amy reaches out, and grips Haus's free hand. Not as a means to steady herself physically, but to balance herself mentally. The warmth of his hand locked with hers
was comforting, the fact he wasn't shaking calmed her fears, and she felt as if she could trust him. She could hold her own, but at times like this even her foundations start to crumble.

  Haus releases her hand, raising his index finger up, motioning for her to stay put. His eyes lock with hers, and she can tell now is not a time for acts of defiance. She complies, leaning with her back against the tree, her arms wrapped around the trunk for support. Haus raises the shotgun to the firing position and walks forward.

  His gate is steady, filled with confidence, and for the first time the brush gives way. Haus walks into a small clearing in the trees; the source of the light is directly in front of him, no longer camouflaged by dense foliage.

  A 70's era pickup truck, rusting in spots, but showing signs that it has had a long and well cared for life. Resting in the back of the truck was a box over camper, the curtains drawn shut, windows open, and door closed. Light seeped out from gaps, radiating outward, with a homely glow. The sound of an FM radio hummed into the open air, once broadcasting music, it was eerily silent, and static is all it produced.

  A few feet from the door, there were several logs; all cut to form make shift chairs, surrounding a fire pit. The fire had long since died out, as not a single whiff of smoke emanated from the ashes. Haus scans the area, looking for any movements, but found nothing but the sound of static.

  He positions himself to the side of the door, his back against the metal siding, and with his remaining hand twists the door handle. He thrusts the door open, stepping back and to the side, while raising the shotgun to his shoulder. He waits for someone or something to rush outside, a few moments pass, and he is greeted with nothing but the radio static.

  He turns, sidestepping his way in front of the door, and sets his gaze upon the inside. The interior is clean and orderly. A tiny dining room table set for two, a single candle in the middle, and a bottle of wine. The small gas stove was clear except for an old fashioned metal coffee pot seated on the rear burner. On the opposite side were a single basin sink, and a TV radio.

  Looking towards the back, he could see the twin bed, neatly made, a green afghan spread across the foot. He steps inside, the shocks of the truck squeak under his body weight, and reaches forward turning off the radio.

  He opens a cabinet, it is stocked with food, mostly canned but a few dry goods as well. He glances over at the bottle of wine, sitting inside a small metal pale, the remains of melted ice cover the label. He opens another cabinet door, dishes and spices fill every available inch of space. Satisfied, he walks back out and motions to Amy that it was safe.

  Amy sits down at the table, the vinyl covering squeals as her exposed skin slides across it. Haus closes the door behind them, securing the lock, and testing to make sure it holds. “At least the lock works.”

  “Look at this place! It's so cozy and warm. So simple yet beautiful.” Amy says as she looks around the humble camper. Haus grabs a match from the box and strikes it, lighting the candle on the table. He turns, reaching over head and pulls the metal chain, the single electric light goes dark.

  The candle lights the small dwelling surprisingly well, the comforting glow casting small shadows as it flickers in the slight breeze. “Have to save energy you know. Hopefully there is enough battery left to turn the engine over.” Haus says.

  “Does it even run?” Amy says.

  “It has too. How else did it end up here? I don't think anyone would tow this thing to a camping spot. Even if it doesn't we at least have a place to sleep. We're out of sight and hopefully out of harms way.” Haus says.

  A gurgling noise interrupts them, and Haus looks around frantically. He peels back the curtain corner and looks outside. Amy looks down bashfully before speaking. “That was me.” Amy says. Haus releases the curtain and lets out a chuckle, a smile cresting his face as he sets down the shotgun on the counter.

  “That's the first time I've seen you smile.” Amy says her face slightly red out of embarrassment.

  “Not a lot to smile about these days.” Haus says coldly.

  “Sit down, you're making me nervous.” Amy says, the candle light bouncing off her young cheeks. She reaches over patting her hand on the opposite side seat. “I saved you a spot.” Haus sits down, and again the vinyl makes the sound reminiscent to a fart. “Gotta love vinyl.” Amy says sarcastically as she giggles.

  “Where's the bag, I am starving.” Haus says.

  “Just sit down, I will take care of dinner, there has to be something edible in here. You have had a long enough day, just relax and let me handle it for once.” Amy says, sitting up and walking over to the cabinets. She rummages for a bit, and returns to grab the wine bottle. She examines it, and places it on the counter.

  “A fine Merlot from the ten dollar rack, a true vintage. We shall dine like kings tonight!” She says sarcastically. She opens the backpack, removes two water bottles, and carefully pours the contents of the ice bucket into each bottle. “Waste not, want not.” She says.

  Amy continues to rummage through the cabinets contents looking for something to prepare. “Ahh yes! Pancakes! Just add water, and a little heat.” She grabs the premix box, and searches for a bowl to mix it with. She places the bowl on the counter, fills it with the dry ingredients, taking the appropriate amount of water from the water bottles. She grabs a fork from a lower drawer, as if she knew exactly where to look.

  Mixing the entire concoction took a matter of minutes, the batter lay before her in the bowl, the only thing remaining was fire. She found the knob for the gas to the griddle, and twisted it open. She strikes a match and ignites the flame. She waits a few minutes before pouring the batter out, ensuring that it was up to temperature.

  One by one, each pancake was finished cooking, she gathered them on a separate plate, and once the batter was exhausted she shut off the flame. She placed the stack in the middle in front of them; she even managed to find a bottle of maple syrup.

  “Thank you. It looks delicious.” Haus says his belly empty and ready to dig in.

  “Sorry. No butter.” Amy says.

  “It's the first cooked meal I have had in ages.” Haus says.

  That was the extent of their conversation, as hunger had gripped them long ago, and they ate quickly in silence. Once they were finished Amy sat up and collected the dishes. She turned to the sink and twists on the faucet. A few dribbles of water trickle out, then nothing at all.

  “No water.” Amy says.

  “Don't worry about it. Time to get some sleep, we can worry about it in the morning.” Haus says, looking up ahead at the twin bed in the loft. “There is only one bed, you can sleep up there I will sleep at the table.” He says with a chivalrous tone.

  “Don't be silly. Both of us can sleep up there, as long as your feet don't stink. Besides you're not going to get much sleep sitting upright.” Amy says, crawling over into the loft, and pulling back the afghan. She nestles it around her and fluffs a pillow.

  Haus removes his shoes, blows out the candle, and crawls towards the bed. The darkness was unforgiving, and he uses his hands to feel around, inching forward in the darkness, never fully aware of his body's position. He reaches out again; his hand rests on something soft and warm. “That's my butt.” Amy says, her voice resonating from the darkness in front of him.

  “Sorry.” Haus says and he lifts his hand and spins to his left. He places his hand against the wall, feeling downward until he discovers the pillow. He lays his head on the soft pillow staring directly in front of him at the ceiling. “For the record... My feet don’t stink.”

  “Haus?” Amy says.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think happened to the owners of this camper?” Amy asks.

  “Probably dead. Six months ago, I would assume they were in town getting groceries. So I'M Pretty sure they are dead, or worse, one of them.” Haus says.

  “If they were attacked, wouldn't there be signs of a struggle? I mean this place is clean. No blood, no bodies, not even trash
. Maybe they are alive? Here we are, eating their food, and sleeping in their bed.” Amy is interrupted by Haus giggling. “What? I'm serious. What if they come back? I know I would be pissed.” Haus cracks up even harder.

  “Relax Goldilocks...” again Haus lets out a chuckle. “Seriously. If they come back we can just explain to them what happened. I am sure they will understand. I still think they are dead.” Haus says, shuffling around to get comfortable.

  “Haus?”

  “What?” he says quickly.

  “Promise me, that if it gets bad, you won't hesitate to shoot me.” Amy says in a somber voice.

  “I am not going to let it get that far, trust me, neither of us are going to die that way.” Haus says.

  “OK.” Amy says softly.

  “Get some sleep Amy. Good night.” Haus says. Thinking of having to shoot her was unsettling to him. He couldn’t help but think about how it would go down, completely surrounded by them, no chance to escape. Would I have the balls to pull the trigger? Knowing that I could save her from being one of them. Also knowing by doing that, I would doom myself to becoming one, or starving to death on a roof somewhere. I seriously need to develop a backup plan.

  “Haus?”

  “What??” The tone of his voice darkening, as he starts to lose his patience. Seriously this chick needs to learn to stop talking. Like I am penned up with a small child who refuses to go to sleep! If she is going to be this annoying at night, I will definitely pull the trigger.

  “Thank you.” Amy says, her voice growing weaker by the moment. “Can you do one last thing for me?” She says.

  “Yeah sure, what do you need?”

  “Could you stay awake a little longer? Long enough for me to fall asleep first? I would feel safer that way.” She says.