by Meyer, Tim
Tina and Sam exchanged glances.
“Not particularly,” Sam said. “Why? You have one?”
“I don't know what I had.”
“What was it about?”
“Couldn't even make sense of it. It was too weird.”
“Have you had these... dreams before?” Tina asked.
“Wasn't a dream,” he said, lettuce hanging from his mouth.
“Oh, right. Premonition.”
“Dreams are... I dunno. Phony. Fantastic. This was... real. It was too real.”
“Well, it was probably nothing, Brian,” Sam said, sounding unsure. “I wouldn't worry about it too much. The stress of it all. Surprised I haven't had some myself.”
Brian shook his head like he agreed. His face told them something different.
Mouth rushed into the room, the chub in his face rippling like small waves.
“Sam...” he said, breathless.
“What is it, Mouth?”
“It's Soren.”
Sam's eyes immediately found Tina's.
“Christ, what now?”
“He's having a little campfire of his own. And it ain't lookin' good.”
Sam nodded. “Thanks for telling me.” He remained still, leaning against the cabinets and sipping from his cup of coffee.
“Ain't you gonna do something about it?” Mouth asked. “He's really riling them up this time.”
“I'll be down in a minute, Mouth. First, I want to enjoy my coffee.” A vein in his neck twitched. Blood bubbled beneath his face. His chest did something funny.
“Sam...” Tina said, her tone pleading. “Remember what I told you.”
“I remember,” Sam said, downing the rest of his hot beverage. “I'm just going to observe.” Sam followed Mouth through the door, disappearing into the hallway.
“This is going to be bad, isn't it?” Brian asked.
Tina said nothing. Instead, she scrambled after them, leaving behind the empty walkie-talkie package on the table.
-6-
Standing in front of the house, seeing it for the first time in months, sent chills down Becky's spine. In the pale moonlight, it looked haunted. Her imagination conjured visions of ghosts (Bob and Brenda) stalking the long hallway outside her room, floating through the air like dying leaves. She quickly dismissed these notions and turned to Chris, who stood beside her, eager to enter.
“Nice house,” Lilah said, walking next to them.
Becky ignored her.
“You okay?” Chris asked.
“I'll let you know when we're out of here,” Becky replied, unable to avert her gaze from Bob's mansion.
“Do you think they're in there?” Matty asked, reaching for his sister's hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I don't know. But there's only one way to find out.”
Becky started up the walkway first, Chris following immediately after. Matty and Lilah followed their trail, putting the Charger in the distance. Once they reached the porch, Becky's heart took off, beating rapidly. She felt lightheaded, like she had entered a dream and was no longer in control of her bodily functions. Her stomach slid back and forth, rumbling with fear. A phantom lump lodged itself in her throat.
Chris tried the doorknob. Locked. He pushed the doorbell. In the silence of the apocalyptic evening, they heard nothing.
Looking around, Matty noticed the streetlights were dead. He figured the grid must have lost power some time ago. After thirty seconds passed and no one answered, Chris reared back and kicked in the door. It took two attempts, but the jamb finally splintered and the door swung inward. The overwhelming stench of rotten food hit them immediately. At least, they hoped it was food. Becky backed away, placing her fingers over her mouth and nose. Chris entered the house first, turning on the flashlight he had stolen from Sam's office. Once deeming it safe, free from squatters and other survivors, he waved them in.
The foyer was trashed. Papers and random objects that used to belong to Robert Gaines littered the oak floors. The chandelier that once hung from the ceiling now rested on the ground, scattered into a billion shards. The glass crunched beneath their feet as they made their way across the foyer and into the kitchen, which was in worse condition. Spoiled food rested on the counters, flies and other insects buzzing joyously around it. The refrigerator stood open, its shelves gutted except for a few jars of jam, which had been knocked over, its contents spilled throughout.
“Someone was definitely here,” Chris said, examining the fridge. “Not recently though.”
“That's reassuring,” Becky said. “Mom!” she shouted. “Bob!”
“Becky, maybe you shouldn't,” Chris suggested. He pointed above them, shrugging.
Becky glared at him, waiting for the sounds of people moving, footsteps on the floorboards. They heard nothing but the flies hovering over rancid meat.
“Mom! Bob!” she continued.
No answer.
Lilah tugged on Matty's hand.
“What's the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Matty replied hastily.
“You're shaking.” Lilah squinted. “You scared of what we'll find?”
“Sort of.” He looked at the bruises on her arms. “Aren't you?”
She shrugged. “Those monsters that attacked me weren't anywhere near these parts.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, I don't think they were.”
“How do you know?”
She avoided his stare. “I don't. Just trying to stay optimistic.”
“I'm really not scared of that. I'm worried about Mom.” He glanced around the room, his eyes finding the window above the sink. “If they died during The Burn, they'd probably be near the tennis courts, out back. I know they were going to play with the Robinsons after Dad picked us up.”
“Should we check?” Lilah asked.
“You two go,” Chris said. “Becky and I will search the house.”
“You think that's a good idea, Chris?” Becky asked. “Splitting up?”
“Matty can handle it. Can't you, All-Star?”
Matty's throat constricted. “Sure,” he said, barely choking out the word.
“Good. Come on, babe. Let's head upstairs.”
-7-
“The moon is pretty,” Lilah said.
They walked down a small dirt path leading to the tennis court. Long, untamed branches brushed against their faces. It was hard to see in front of them, even though the glow of the moon was strong. Matty glanced up, peering into the bright satellite's fullness.
“Sure is.” Matty grinned, remembering what he had told his father about the moon and the sun and their relation. “You know...” He stopped himself, figuring that divulging geeky factoids wasn't going to earn him a trip out of the friend-zone.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. It's dumb.”
“Stop,” she said. “Don't do that. You were going to say something, so say it.”
Matty shrugged. Here we go. Super nerd alert.
“You know why the moon is super bright sometimes?”
Lilah shrugged. “No. Wasn't big on science in school.”
“Well, it depends on the position of the sun. See, whichever way the moon faces—”
Something moved in the bushes to Matty's right. He jumped back, his stomach sinking beneath his knees. His legs warmed and for a second he thought he wet himself.
Please God no.
Lilah's head darted toward the noise, but she didn't appear scared. Inquisitive—maybe—but not a hint of fear came over her. She glared at the moving bush, cocking her head sideways. Her eyebrows arched, her forehead moving in waves.
“What is it?” Matty asked, doing his best not to sound like a little girl.
Lilah hushed him. She moved toward the rustling twigs, reaching out cautiously. Something chirped within the underbrush. Before Lilah placed her hand on the bush, a raccoon jumped onto the path, scurried away, and disappeared into the darkness.
“Damn critters,” Lilah said. “Have
n't seen too many since... The Burn.”
“Sorry I was jumpy.”
Lilah shrugged.
“How come you were so calm?” Matty asked. “It could've been one of them, you know.”
“Guess things don't scare me as much as they used to.”
“Why? Have you seen a lot of stuff? Like... you know. Scary stuff?”
Lilah nodded, smirking. “You could say that.”
“But I thought you were with your parents after The Burn.”
Lilah glared at him. “I was. But... you know... I still saw stuff.” She turned away from him, heading down the path. “Haven't you?”
“A little I guess.”
He followed her to the tennis court, hesitant to ask more questions. Far from an expert on matters pertaining to the mysteries of women, Matty sensed she harbored secrets. He liked her, any kid his age would. It would've been difficult not to. She was cute and petite, not an ounce of fat clinging to her body. Her smile filled him with a warmth he could not describe in words. Inviting lips. Deep eyes. Eyes Matty wished he could stare into for hours.
“Where were you?” she asked, leaning against the tennis court's cage.
“Where was I?”
“You were daydreaming. About what?”
“Nothing.”
“Wasn't me. Was it?”
That damned lump in his throat again.
She grinned, her artful dimples coming to life.
“Just kidding. You ready to check it out?” Lilah unclipped the locking mechanism on the cage's gate. She pushed open the chain-link gate and stepped inside. Matty followed, each foot feeling like an anchor.
The cage wasn't big and didn't take long to search. Lilah spotted it first. She put one hand over her mouth and moaned, backing away. Matty shambled forward in a daze, drunk on fear. Two scorched corpses lay in the center of the court, blackened with char. Most of their features had crumbled to ash and been carried away by earthly currents.
Matty stumbled, the weight of reality crashing into him like an asteroid. He dropped to his knees, tears already pooling in the corners of his eyes.
From inside the house, his sister screamed.
-8-
A spider, a big black hairy one, darted across the door in front of her. She didn't know she screamed until she turned and saw Chris staring at her, his lips fixed with a punchy smile.
“What the hell?” Chris asked.
“Spider,” she whispered. “Big one.”
Chris followed her finger to the wall. He watched the eight-legged creature scurry into the shadows, becoming lost in the void.
“A spider? That's what you're screaming about?”
She snarled. “It was a big spider.”
Chris laughed, patting her on the ass softly. “Whatever you say, babe.”
“And stop calling me 'babe'.”
“No,” he replied. “I like it.”
He approached the dreaded door, examining Becky carefully. She didn't want to be the first to enter. Quivering, she stepped away, watching Chris's hand reach for the knob. He turned it slowly, and her heart kicked.
“Wait,” she said.
“What is it?”
“What if they're...”
“What?”
Becky shrugged. “You know...”
“Becky. If they died, they'd be outside. Not in here.”
“What if someone broke in and murdered them?”
Chris considered the possibility briefly. “I'll go first.”
He pushed open the door, rushing into the room, expecting a fight. His hands balled into fists as he crouched, moving about the shadows stealthily like an untrained ninja. He checked the closets, under the bed, even poked his head through the open windows, searching the roof. Once he deemed the room clear, finding no traces of Becky's mother and stepfather, he waved her in.
“See? Everything's fine.”
“Everything's not fine. If it was fine,” Becky said, “she'd be here. So would Bob. And then we'd know.”
“Maybe they left. Went somewhere safe.”
“Like a Costbusters?”
“Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I'm joking. Relax.” Her eyes suddenly grew bigger. “There's one thing...”
“What thing?” Chris asked.
Becky sauntered over to the corner of the room, kneeling down.
“What the hell are you doing, Beck?”
Becky pointed to the picture frame on the bureau. Chris craned his head toward the shiny frame decorated with fancy golden swirls. On the bottom of the frame, a name plaque read: De Lorenzo. The picture showed an older couple dancing at a wedding. Becky knew it was her Mom's wedding (the second one), but Chris stared on dumbly, his eyebrows twisting in the dim light.
“I don't get it.”
“My grandparents.”
“So what's your point?”
“My grandmother, Deborah, she gave my mother her favorite necklace just before she died.” Becky rapped her knuckles on the floorboards. She stopped after three. Slowly, she reached for the edge of the loose board, lifting it from its home. Removing the board, she tossed it aside. Plunging her hand into the dark cavity, she squinted. “It was a St. Christopher Necklace. Not expensive. But it was her favorite.”
“I don't see where you're going with this.”
Becky removed her hand from the hole. She glanced down at her empty palm. A wide grin divided her face.
“She's still alive...”
“How do you—”
“My mother wouldn't have left it behind. If she consciously made the decision to leave, she would've brought it with her. And it's missing.”
Chris shrugged. “Maybe the looters took it.”
Becky's cheeks puffed. She swung her head back and forth. “Whoever ransacked the place was in a hurry. They wouldn't have taken the time to check beneath every floorboard.”
Chris folded his arms across his chest. “Detective Rebecca Wright in the house!”
“Don't be an idiot. Not now.”
Chris's expression changed immediately. “Sorry.”
Water filled her eyes.
Shadows appeared in the doorway. Becky jumped, throwing her back against the wall. Chris turned, ready to throw his fists at the first thing that moved.
“Becky,” Matty said, stepping into the dim moonlight that cut through the room.
“Matty?” Becky said, standing up. She ran across the room, throwing her arms around her brother. “Matty, I've got—”
“They're dead,” Matty said. “Mom and Bob. They're dead.”
-9-
The words bad little boy echoed in Brian's mind like ghosts whispered them into his ear. He shook his head, trying to clear the voices, but it didn't work. He tried ignoring them, but that didn't work either. Humming helped, but the reprieve only lasted for a few moments. The phantoms soon returned, louder than ever, shouting the words directly into his eardrums.
Chewing on his finger nervously, Brian jogged down the hallway leading to the sales floor. Tina rushed after Sam, who had already disappeared ahead of them. Brian figured he was probably smashing Soren's face in with a hammer he borrowed from the hardware department. Brian took a small break from gnawing on his fingers to push open the double-swinging doors. Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered into a circle, much like they had on previous occasions. A kindling fire rested in the center of them, crackling and popping, bringing warmth to the gathered. Soren stood closest to the fire, speaking sentences that Brian only caught segments of. He heard the words “fear” and “God” mentioned several times. Sam stood near the outskirts of the circle, pacing back and forth like a caged lion waiting for its meal. Soren pretended not to see him. Brian caught the ringleader's eyes wandering over to Sam when he spoke certain words. Words like “travel” and “Alaska.”
He's baiting him.
Brian knew how this whole thing would play out before it happened.
Son of a bitch is baiting him.
The voices kicked in again. They told Brian that he was a naughty little boy and he needed to be punished. The nightmare, clear as a memory, haunted him. The face of the man uttering the harsh words populated in his mind. The mouthful of missing teeth and black, diseased gums floated above his head, leaking foul-smelling saliva onto him.
Brian shook his head. The floating face disappeared as the voices faded. Christ, what the hell is happening to me? He shuffled forward, becoming another face in the crowd.
“Our time is running out, ladies and gentlemen. With the amount of lies and uncertainties rearing their ugly little heads, I have to suggest we move forward with our plans of leaving this place. Make no mistake, my friends. We have been compromised.”
Gasps funneled their way around the crowd. More attended the gathering, stepping forth from the aisles, huddling around the circle.
“Compromised how?” someone from the gathered asked.
“I'm glad you asked that, Warren,” Soren said. He turned to Sam, who held his lower lip between his teeth. “Samuel. Perhaps, since you're well-informed, why don't you tell us?”
Sam glanced around the crowd, surveying the faces of the concerned. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Of course you don't.” A disapproving sigh escaped his lips. “Samuel, I don't understand you. I really don't. These people need to know certain things, and you continue to lie directly to their faces. How are you supposed to lead us when we cannot trust a single word that falls from your mouth? Hm? Every sentence you utter is as erroneous as the one before it. Speak up, man! Tell these people how you've endangered us all!”
Oh fuck, Brian thought. He walked toward Sam, studying the expression on his face; rage boiled beneath his skin. He opened his mouth, hoping to say something that would stop Sam from doing what Brian played out in his mind. Rushing forward, quickening his pace, Brian pushed through the crowd, hoping Sam's reaction to Soren's words would be slow.
“They found a walkie-talkie package!” Soren shouted. “Someone with harmful intentions has been communicating with outsiders, and Samuel knew all about it! Didn't you?”
Sam sprung forward.
“You knew about it and kept it from us! We could have been murdered in our sleep! At this very moment, bloodthirsty miscreants could be marching on our domain, ready to gut us like fish!”