One Blink From Oblivion

by Mark Curtis Bullock

  Max returns to the back door and pulls the door off of its hinges. He is pleased to hear only silence. Either the house has no alarm or their alarm has no battery backup for when the power goes down. Either way he is in. Max unties his boots, removes them and places them out of the way of the door. If the need for retreat should arise, he wants to be sure he is not foiled by tripping over his own shoes. Gingerly, he tiptoes toward the sound of Brooke’s taps on the window. He proceeds down a short dark hall until he reaches the first door on the left. He peeks around the corner and into the room. There, by the window of a furniture-less room sits the German Shepherd. Max reaches into the room and grabs hold of the door handle. He begins to slowly pull the door shut. “Skreeee!” the door squeals and the dog spins on him with teeth bared. Once again, invisibility had failed and it was time to be quick. Max swings the door shut just in time enough to hear the dog lunge against it and begin a tirade of angry barks and growls.

  Satisfied that the dog is secure –unless it grows an opposable thumb-, he ventures further down the hall. Before he can feel at ease in the house, he needs to be sure that it is clear of any life form that can bite, scratch, shoot, cut, punch or otherwise do them harm. He gives the next bedroom on the left not much more than a cursory glance since he previously inspected it from the window. Primarily he checks the closet and under the full size bed. The closet is neatly organized and houses the clothing of a teenage boy. The bed is clothed in a tasteful earth toned checkered patterned comforter with a bed skirt that Max needs to lift when he kneels to peer under. The walls are decorated with posters of various fighter jets from throughout the decades. A scale model of an F14 Tomcat seems to float in midair above the bed. The darkness lends to this effect but closer inspection reveal tethers of light test fishing line. It doesn’t appear as though any clothes were packed or anything at all taken from the room. The dresser across from the wall has no drawers pulled askew and a wallet still sits upon it.

  Max exits the room and closes the door behind him. At the end of the hall lies a full bathroom with a high shower window directly over the tub. The window allows enough light for Max to see that the small bathroom and curtain-less tub are empty. Since the garage is separate from the house to allow access to the alley Max must assume the final door directly across from the boy’s room is the master bedroom. He proceeds across the hall to the door and only remaining unsearched room of the house. The door is closed but unlocked which he finds odd. Why take time to close your bedroom door if you are fleeing? And, if they did flee then why is the house still so immaculate, not one drawer left open and nothing out of place as far as Max can tell? Even if they were forced out and over to the mall by the Guard, it seems that, something would have been disheveled either by them or by the soldiers.

  Max slowly pushes the door inward and releases the handle. The door Swings away from him at a snails pace and reveals a surprisingly large but very dark bedroom. Max squints his eyes in an attempt to focus better but is mostly unsuccessful. Moonlight outlines a curtained window to his right on a wall that faces the street. He sidesteps to the window but keeps his gun trained straight ahead, aimed at the unknown. He grabs the curtain and pulls back on it just enough to allow a sliver of light into the room. What he recalls from the time he spent ducked behind the holly bush is that this window has a clear view of the street, which means the street has a clear view of this window.

  The sliver of light is enough and Max has a full –albeit dim- view of the entire room and the closet. The master bathroom is the only space not fully visible from where he stands. The open door to the bedroom is right of the open louvered doors of the closet. A king size bed and nightstand are the only furniture in the room. The bed sits opposite the door in a way that the feet of whoever occupied the bed would greet anyone entering the room. The dark wood nightstand sits against the wall to the left of the bed. A photo and lamp rest there. The bed itself is wrapped in a large downy comforter with pillows strewn about it in no discernable pattern. The walls are bare save a medium size cross, draped with rosary beads.

  Max Approaches the nightstand in an effort to gain a better view of the bathrooms dark space. The bed can serve as a barrier to anything that might be hiding in its unlit recesses. He inches closer and closer to the nightstand and bed until his knees touch the comforter. Through the thin pants of his scrubs, he feels something cold and damp. The light in the room is not adequate enough to make out colors but he believes that this section of the comforter is a bit darker than the rest. Max begins to displace the multitude of pillows covering the bed one by one. Slowly two abstract patterns of darkness on the comforter are revealed. The large spots are close together and of similar shape. The thickness of the oversize comforter obscures whatever –if anything- lies beneath it.

  While keeping the gun trained down at the bed Max takes a deep breath and uses his free hand to whip the cover back and off the bed. He is met by a grisly scene and recoils from the bedside but manages to keep from losing his balance or the contents of his stomach. Neatly lined up under the comforter are what he must assume are the residents of this house. Father, mother and teenage son lie shoulder-to-shoulder and flat on their backs in the bed. Both mother and son’s heads are covered by clear plastic bags -seemingly the victims of asphyxiation. The father’s end had been a bit more brutal. In an apparent murder suicide, the father had smothered his family, tucked them neatly into bed and slit his own wrists lengthwise after climbing into bed next to them. All three were laid perfectly straight like toy soldiers with their foggy eyes staring out into oblivion. Max didn’t know whether to pity the hopelessness and despair that would cause someone to give up so completely or envy them for their escape from this waking nightmare.

  In keeping with his disdain for surprises, Max checks all three for a pulse. He finds none. Now, refocusing his attention on the bathroom he creeps around the bed and to the door. The bathroom is empty with the exception of a straight razor sitting in the sink. The razor is painted with dry blood, a grizzly reminder of the fragility of human life. An inert item small enough to be held between two fingers was all that was needed to end a life. It simultaneously looks insignificant and deadly as it rest against the porcelain of the sink with only a thin coagulated layer of blood between them. He is relieved not to find any other bodies in the bathtub or shower as he concludes his search. He returns to the bedside and replaces the comforter over the family, covering them from head to toe.

  Max closes the master bedroom door and returns to the backdoor where he finds Brooke checking out his handiwork.

  “Has anybody ever told you that you should have been a spy?”

  Max only smiles in response as he pulls up a kitchen chair from a round white table and climbs back into his boots. Brooke surveys the dark den and kitchen around her.

  “I’m hungry, how about you?” she says sheepishly.

  “I could go for some fuel. Look for anything high in carbs and protein that doesn’t need to be cooked; peanut butter is good, ramen, stuff like that, but remember, heavy is slow. I’m going to find some clothes.”

  After issuing these instructions, Max proceeds to replace the backdoor and repair the hinges. When finished he closes it and locks it behind him.

  “Hey, be on the lookout for flashlights. And one more thing, stay out of the master bedroom. There’s no danger but it’s not a pretty scene.”

  “Okay, and thank you for sparing me the details. I’m not sure of how much more of this stuff I can take.”

  “The second room on the left should have some things that will fit you. They’re boy’s clothes but I think he was probably about your size.”

  Brooke’s countenance crumbles. The look on Brooke’s face tells Max that she is quietly building to an eruption of morality if he does not intervene. In the span of one night, she has gone from the heiress of a coffee fortune to a thief and accomplice to a kill. For Max (thanks to his father) this was all in his DNA –a fact that he struggles with now more t
han ever. For him it’s been all too easy to slip back into old habits. Brooke however, will forever be changed no matter what the outcome of this night. All of this is an affront to everything she believes in. The only thing that can preserve her innocence and restore her naiveté at this point is to wake up and discover that this had all been a bad dream. He wishes he could make that happen for her. Like a genie from a bottle, he would alter reality and return her to her bed just before the quake. She would wake at her leisure to the song of the morning dove and the smell of her beloved flowers. And him? He would erase himself from her mind if he could. His existence would be meaningless but that would be a small price to pay for her continued innocence.

  “I know all of this is hard for you, but the sooner we can let go of old conventions the better our chances of surviving are. The family that lived here will not miss what we take. Where they are now, they have no need for material things. If it will help us to stay alive then collect it without guilt. Do you understand?”

  Brooke nods reluctantly.

  “And of course whatever you do, don’t let that dog out. I’ll have to come up with a way to free him safely later.”

  Brooke nods again, choosing once more not to speak and sets about her task of food gathering. Max heads down the hall to the master bedroom. Unfortunately, the teenage boy’s clothing will not fit him but from the looks of the father’s body, his would. As soon as he is out of sight and the door to the master bedroom closed behind him, Brooke heads for the laundry closet adjacent to the kitchen. She works quickly as she rifles through an overhead cabinet of various detergents and fabric softeners until she uncovers what she needs. The light is bleak but she recognizes the feel of the tall, round, plastic bottle of bleach. A few years ago –before she struck out on her own- she couldn’t have told a bottle of bleach from a bottle of cooking oil without reading the label. A lot had changed. And if you factor tonight into the equation, then the adjective ‘lot’ was an understatement. She takes the bottle to the kitchen sink and spins the cap off. Her hands shaking, she pours a generous amount over her damaged finger and then the entire hand. She uses a kitchen scrub brush to work the powerful oxidizer into her small wound. The pain is significant but she swallows a moan for fear of alerting Max to her dilemma. She turns on the tap and prays for pressure. Her prayer is answered by a strong rush of cold water. Moments later the sting has diminished. She shuts off the water, replaces the cap on the bleach and returns it the laundry closet. After taking a quick glance down the hall, she returns to the sink and un-spools a paper towel to dry her hand. Feeling a bit more in-control, she returns to the task of foraging.

  ***

  Max stands just inside the closed bedroom-door, alone with his thoughts for what seems like the first time in a long time. He revisits his contemplations of the tragedy that had taken place in this room. It was impossible to see the family absent hope and without a future lying dead in the bed and not be reminded of his mother. Even with all that he has been through by this point in his life, he cannot fathom taking his own life to be free of it. He is -above all else- a fighter. The concept of giving up is as foreign to him as life on Mars. He views his current situation as a surreal and horrible obstacle to overcome –nothing more. If he sits still and dwells on the meaning of it all for too long a period he could become incapacitated. So, like a shark, he keeps moving to stay alive. He compartmentalizes his emotions and the tasks he must accomplish to survive and deals with them in a prioritized order. Without this ability, perhaps he too would have checked-out some time ago.

  Max walks to the nightstand and removes the photo. As he suspected it’s a portrait of the family on a better day. Mother, father and son are all dressed in white and sitting on the grass in front of a pristine lake that reflects its surroundings in a prism of light. Their faithful German Shepherd -donning a vest of some sort with what looks like a partial star on the side- lies at the feet of the father looking like a true companion and protector.

  Did Max’s grandmother feel alone and doomed as theses people did? Was she calling his name as the infected broke into the house and ripped through her like rabid animals? Max searches his heart for anger or sadness in hopes of shedding some emotion that might make him feel more connected or human, but what he finds there is hope. For the first time since his conversation with his frightened neighbor, he realizes that somewhere down deep he can still feel her. When he tries to picture Big Mama without life –or even worse, infected- he can’t. She –like he- is a fighter. He knows now what must be done. With renewed purpose, he makes a vow to return to her no matter what it takes. He cannot –will not- allow history to repeat itself. He is no longer the frightened boy that could not save his mother from his dad and her own apathetic response to a dire situation. This time he was in control, and he would control the outcome of his own destiny and that of those around him. From this point forward, he will no longer react to a set of circumstances. From this point on the world will have to react to him.

  The glass of the picture frame cracks beneath his grip and he drops it to the floor. His jaw is clinched so hard that his cheeks are beginning to ache. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Time to file all of that away until he needs it. Right now, he has a job to do. Max crosses the room to the open closet and goes shopping for more appropriate attire.

  ***

  Brooke is neck deep in the dark refrigerator looking for something tasty to ease her conscious. Not letting Max know about the small cut on her finger is weighing heavy on her mind. ‘Ahhh, produce!’ the sight of the baby carrots and fresh broccoli do the trick for the moment. Brooke forgoes the washing and gets right to the crunching. Over the sound of the carrots, she can hear the dog whimpering and scratching at the door. She wonders when he was last fed. She returns to the cabinets and commences a search for canned dog food. The first cabinet contains only a mismatch of different plates, bowls and saucers. With the second cabinet, she has a bit more luck. Peanut butter, cereal, granola bars, cans of tuna, pasta, dry rice and other essentials line the shelves from top to bottom.

  “Bingo!” she exclaims a little too loudly before clapping her hand over mouth.

  In hopes of still finding something a little better suited to a dog’s diet, she opens the final cabinet. In it, she sees two unopened cans of Pedigree beef and gravy. Great, now all she needs is a can opener. One by one she opens drawers until she comes across one filled with flatware. From it she removes two forks, two steak knives and two spoons. She puts those to the side and continues her search. The next drawer produces a stainless steel can opener as well as several large kitchen knives. She removes all of the contents from this drawer and places them on the counter. In the last and lowest drawer to the floor, she finds three flashlights and D cell batteries. The weight of the flashlights indicates to her that they are currently empty so she unwraps the D cells and loads two of the lights. The third one she leaves in the drawer. On the off chance that another traveler enters this place, after she and Max are gone, she figures it would be neighborly if they leave something here to aid their survival as well.

  Brooke takes a bowl from the cabinet and places it next to a can of dog food. She opens the can and empties the contents into the bowl. The next trick will be getting it to the dog. Hopefully his desire to eat his usual food will be greater than his desire to eat her. Brooke fills another bowl with water from the sink. With food in one hand and water in the other, she tiptoes to the first door in the hall. She isn’t sure why she is tiptoeing but it feels like the right thing to do. Once there, she presses her right ear against the door and listens. The dog had grown quiet while she was rummaging for his and her food. Perhaps he instinctively knew for what she searched and was sitting patiently on the other side of the door in anticipation of a tasty treat. Given the food’s proximity to the door, he could surely smell it by now.

  Brooke sets the bowl of water down and places her right hand on the doorknob. She hesitates, what if the animal is actually waitin
g patiently on the other side to take her head off. The door opens inward so she decides to crack it slightly and gauge the dog’s temperament from there. She does exactly that and with the door partially ajar she can see that the animal sits on its hind quarters in the center of the room with its head cocked to one side, ears up and tongue hanging comically out the side of its mouth. Convinced that he poses no threat she opens the door the rest of the way and places the food on the floor in front of the Shepherd. She retrieves the water bowl and lines it up next to the food that the dog has already partially devoured.

  “Looks like you’re gonna’ need more food!” the dog –now standing on all fours- wags his tail in agreement.

  Brooke exits the room with the intention of returning with another can of food. Just outside of the door, Max -who is standing quietly in the hall just past the bedroom door- startles her. He is wearing a pair of loose fitting cargo pants, and a form fitting tank top undershirt beneath a red flannel shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and the shirt is unbuttoned just low enough to put his manly physique on display. The lumberjack look is one that Brooke had never seen or even imagined on him and she is surprised by the effect it has on her. Her sexual attraction for Max has just leapt into her throat and she finds herself speechless.

  Max adjusts the pistol that he has snuggled firmly behind the belted waistband of his borrowed pants. He wears a look of concern on his face.