by S L Mason
I pulled them out. He was right; there were six. I hate junk drawers. Everything’s in there, but you could never find anything, without having to touch something dusty, dirty, grimy, or sticky to get to what you want.
I placed the tap-cons in his hands, and the drilling out back was joined by drilling out front. My father came inside and locked the exterior doors.
“Well, that’s all the plywood I could find.” He announced.
“I took the security doors off my house and put them on yours,” Arty said. “Let’s go back and start moving food and stuff.” Arty’s hair was disheveled and sweaty.
“While you’re over there, grab any and all cash and jewelry; not because people are gonna steal it but because we might need it for trade. We have no idea if society is gonna break down or not,” Dad informed us. He understood the breakdown of society. Gold has an intrinsic value, paper not so much.
I heard what sounded like a huge diesel truck. I dashed to look out the window, and it resembled a military vehicle. It wasn’t driving around the bodies lying in the street but instead drove right over the top of them—cold, heartless bastards. The time said three o’clock in the afternoon. When the loudspeaker announced.
“Curfew starts at five o’clock. Do not be outside after five o’clock. Wherever you are, stay there. All looters will be shot on sight.” The military vehicle continued down the street, repeating its message.
Wow, that was their public service announcement? Hey, stay in your house and if the Fae don’t kill you, we will.
My mother made another meal, that I didn’t pay attention to. My father and Arty had somehow managed to unload his parents’ freezer and move the whole thing over to our house. They loaded it back up so when it came to supplies, we had two households’ worth of food.
“By my estimates, we have about three months of food supplies.” My dad scratched the back of his head while searching the kitchen with his eyes.
Something in the back of my mind told me it was going to be mighty long three months.
“We had better pray that’s all we need. The grocery stores are empty by now.” My mother hadn’t spoken in hours. The sound of her voice jarred me.
Five o’clock curfew. The sun doesn’t go down until ten. Twilight starts at nine; that leaves five hours of nothing to do. My dad turned on the television.
“CNN.” Arty plopped down on the couch.
My father threw a glance over his shoulder at Arty and smiled.
“Sorry, we’re Fox News network here. But I’ll switch around to whatever channel has information. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we will hit it eventually.”
Watching television was like watching a snuff film on replay over and over again. Videos of murders streamed from all over the world. My stomach rolled around. The last thing in the world I wanted to watch was death. As if I hadn’t seen enough.
An anchorman read off the TelePrompter. “Authorities haven’t been able to capture one of these creatures. Scientists have studied videos of the creatures and discovered the harmonic singing induces a hypnotic state, making humans highly susceptible. Wearing earplugs or headphones deadens the harmonics of the noise. It isn’t perfect, but it can save the life of you or someone you love.” His voice droned on but I wasn’t listening anymore.
I tilted my head back, allowing a smile to spread smugly across my face. “See, Dad? Earplugs.”
Arty went rigid next to me. The screen changed to a white-haired Fae, whose blade flashed while beheading a kneeling man. My hand found his, and I squeezed his fingers.
“Yeah, that was good problem-solving. The only thing keeping us alive is critical thinking.” My father replied, and clicked through the channels, landing on the local news. It consisted of more of the same. The anchorwoman’s words caught my attention.
“Dallas’s inner-city hasn’t been affected. The creatures continue to terrorize the rural and suburban areas.” She informed us.
I found it hard to believe they didn’t appear over the top of any city, or maybe that was their plan.
Maybe they knew more about our world than we realized. They didn’t go into any major cities. No major metropolitan areas, only outlying suburbs, and small towns. Strategic?
But what frightened me wasn’t the murders.
“Hundreds of teenagers and young adults are missing after last night’s massacre. Many didn’t come home. Last known locations were in and around suburban Dallas. Many of them young girls.”
Social media photos and selfies flashed across the screen. A few beefy jocks, but mostly smiling pretty girls with pouty lips. There weren’t any ho-hum girls. They were stunning, every single one. A parade of prom queens. One of the girls was a pageant winner with her sash.
Arty nudged me. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not that pretty, hey?”
“At least I’m not an asshole, Arty.” I retort and shove him.
My mother had gone into autopilot a while ago. “Sarah, language.”
I wish she’d stay dazed. Why wake up to give me crap about cursing? The world’s going to hell in a handbasket, and suddenly she complains about my verbiage. I tilted my head to the side and rolled my shoulders. It was my way of saying ‘whatever’, without being sassy to my mom.
“I think we need to talk about tomorrow.” Arty scratched his chin.
“I think we should worry more about what’s gonna happen tonight,” I say, was I the only one worried about the dark, other than my mother?
“No. Tonight, the creatures will come back,” Dad said. “They’re going to try to take or kill whatever they can. Maybe you weren’t paying attention to the news? They apparently took food and supplies. Didn’t you see the hole they tore out of Walmart?”
“Wow, Walmart is so famous even fairies’ shop there.” I said. Arty and I both snickered, pushing each other.
“Now, anyone who wants to go looting knows that the suburbs have been hit hard, and most of the people are dead. They’re going to come here looking to steal whatever they can. It puts the rest of us risk.” Dad replies, then stands and stretches. “Stay here and protect your mother. The sun doesn’t go down for another two hours. Arty and I are gonna go to a couple of houses down the street.”
My mother yelped.
“Don’t worry! We’ll jump fences and stay off the streets. We’re going to do our own form of farming.” My dad says, then rubs his hands up and down my mother’s biceps.
Her eyes were large and darting like she didn’t know where to look. “They said they’re shooting looters on sight. Do you want you to die?” My mother’s blue eyes grew to the size of saucers. She bit her lip while twisting her fingers in her shirt.
“Don’t worry Allison, I got my flak jacket on. I know how to get around. What’s more, is the National Guard uses body shots. It’s easier to hit than the head. It’d knock me down, but I’ll get back up and be fine.” Dad replied, and raised his hands to either side of her face and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.
“So many things could go wrong. Don’t leave me alone.” Her fingers dug into his back. “Don’t leave Sarah alone. We need you. You’re more important to us than a bunch of crap at some neighbor’s house.” She demanded.
He kissed her temple and then released her.
“Maybe I should go alone,” Arty interjected. “I mean, you’re going down to Sorensen’s house, right?”
My father nodded. Everybody knew Fred Sorensen was a safety nut. He called himself a ‘Doomer’. It had become quite popular in the last ten to fifteen years. A lot of people started keeping reserve amounts of food or cash and beefing up their security by hoarding guns.
“Be careful, Dad. Doesn’t Sorensen have some crazy security system at his place?” I ask, and crossed my arms.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not active, seeing as how he and his wife are both dead on the lawn.” The impact of my father’s words hit Arty and I at the same time. Arty shrunk into himself.
Dad’s face grew red and tig
ht. He didn’t mean to hurt Arty, but it was the truth. Fred Sorensen’s security system hadn’t been on, or we would’ve heard it.
Arty shook it off as he stood next to my dad. He grabbed his AR off the table.
“Next time you put your weapon down, son, keep it no more than six inches away from your hand.” Dad gave him a steely stare. “Sleep with it. It’s your best friend. Don’t ever leave it on the table or across the room from you again. Understand?”
Arty’s eyes grew large. He bobbed his head in understanding. They shuffled out the back door, and I locked the security screen. I peeked out the front door to watch my dad and Arty cross the street into the yard next door.
I didn’t hear any gunshots or screaming, but the sun was still up. There would be plenty of time for that after it went down. I unplugged my phone and took out my emergency battery pack and plugged that into charge. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be caught with my phone dead as a doornail and unable to send out a text if I needed.
My dad has never been a party to sexism. He taught me everything, regardless of my sex— how to take apart a single-stroke lawnmower engine, change the oil, replace the rings, and all the filthy, grimy work. I really wasn’t into it, but it was important. Girls should know enough about engines to fix one in desperate times.
I never thought there’d be desperate times. I’d drive my car to a mechanic, and Eureka, my oil was changed. But looking at all the corpses in the street and the birds settling over them, I wanted to toss my cookies. The bodies sat in the sun, all day baking. It brought the dogs out. A local dog tore at a body. Tomorrow, when the sun would come up, everything will start to stink.
“Maybe tomorrow we should use a truck or something to move the bodies off to the side?” My words hadn’t been for anyone in particular. I didn’t want to touch bodies or sit there on the street filled with dead, rotting corpses either. It didn’t matter if they were neighbors or not. I didn’t want Fred Sorensen and his wife to rot and turn into dog meat on my street.
My mother wrapped her arms around me and attempted to pull me away from the door. I didn’t budge.
I stared out the window until I felt it was time to close the curtains. I spied my father and Arty coming down the street. They carried a big sheet of plywood. They came up on the front porch and screwed it over the window blocking out the last bit of sunlight.
At twilight, the sun was going down, and Dad came in the front door. Arty came through the back. I did my best to shove the bookshelf out of the way. They both had huge black duffel bags slung over their shoulders.
“Fred hadn’t turned on the security system,” Dad said through heavy breathing and rosy cheeks. “His front door was kicked in. Water for the bathtub was still on. It looked like his wife just walked away. I got all the cash I could but didn’t get into the secret room. It’s somewhere in that house. I don’t know where it is.”
“If you can’t find it, that means the looters can’t either,” I said. “You’ve been in his house a hundred times. Plenty of time to go back and forth in daylight.” My dad patted me on the shoulder.
He and Arty took their duffel bags upstairs. They both returned with rectangular shaped shoeboxes. Arty went out the back, and Dad out the front. I watched Dad pull at an invisible string from one side of the walkway to the other. They didn’t put them on the house, but on the walk away to the house.
They made it back into the house in time for me to hear singing. My mother froze in place, but I had my earbuds in. I heard the tonal quality of the singing, but the rest was lost on me.
I raced around the house, turning everything off. I grabbed earplugs off the kitchen counter and shoved them in my father’s ears and then Arty’s. Afterward, I gave some to my mother.
The reason my father had drilled holes in all those pieces of plywood was to see out the window and, if necessary, shoot. I never stopped moving until I found myself standing next to my parents’ northern bedroom window looking down at the street.
Five of the creatures walked around with weapons. Every now and again, they stabbed at a dead body. I guess they weren’t sure they were dead. Maybe birds picking the flesh off of them wasn’t enough of a clue.
Fred Sorensen always had vicious dogs, or at least I thought they were vicious, especially the Rottweiler named King. King was a monster of more than one hundred and fifty pounds of rippling muscle and tension. He drooled, and when King shook his head, the ropes of saliva would stretch and break off, flying in every direction.
King approached the lead Fae, with teeth bared. Deep down, I hoped the dog would jump on one of them and then tear them apart. Instead, the Fae’s lips moved. King sat, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. King nudged his head against the Fae’s hand.
The Fae had tamed the beast, King, who had chased me down the street several times. I was always terrified King would catch me and tear me apart. He’d killed the neighbors’ Jack Russell by picking it up and shaking it until it snapped the poor dog’s neck.
People complained about Sorensen’s dog, but Fred’s best friend was on the city council. Nothing would happen. No one would take the dog, and nobody wanted to file a lawsuit.
This was the suburbs. You can’t file a complaint and sue your neighbor unless they’re parking on your lawn. Apparently, public safety wasn’t as important as who parks where and whether you planted the correct plant in your yard.
King sat like a puppy with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, wholly enslaved. Unbelievable.
My mother’s eyes glazed over, catatonic. “He’s here for me, and you.” She wasn’t making any sense.
I didn’t think this was something she could deal with. I took her hand and led her to the wardrobe. I coaxed her inside and then closed the door. I left her with a little flashlight. She didn’t even ask me to stay.
I crept down the stairs. My father was near the front window, spying out one of the kill holes. Arty was still at the back door. I had more gun experience than Arty, and yet for some reason, my dad thought it was okay to have Arty guarding and me, babysitting.
Maybe my job was more important. Everybody had a part to play.
I heard a knocking on the side of the house through my earbuds. I made out the flat quality of the song. The Fae wasn’t singing; he whistled. And then in English, it sang as clear as day.
“Come out, come out, whoever you are, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff, till I blow your house down.” The musical quality of his voice ran down my back like fingernails raking over a chalkboard. His quoting of nursery rhymes freaked me out.
“Sarah, get your mother and go into my office now,” Dad whispered, but in my mind, it sounded like he was screaming.
I crept upstairs, and I grabbed my mother’s hand. She pulled her arm back and shook her head. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils dilated with her breathing elevated.
“Dad says we have to go to the office. Do you know why?”
“I’m not leaving the house. He’s coming for us.”
I shook my head and felt my eyebrows cinch down. “There’s no exit out of the office. There are just more guns in there.” Ignoring the cryptic ‘he’ reference.
She refused. I tiptoed back downstairs to Dad. I pointed up shook my head while raising my shoulders. What was I supposed to do? She wasn’t willing to go. I was afraid that at any moment she’d start screaming for no apparent reason.
My father grabbed Arty and pulled him away from the back door, herding us both into the office. He opened the closet, revealing the gun safe. Dad picked up one of the big black bags and slung it over Arty’s shoulder. My father then opened the other one and pulled out a couple of harnesses and several boxes of ammo. He put them in a small backpack, slipping it on my back. He inserted several water bottles in the side pockets.
He turned me around with his hands on either side of my face.
“You’re going to go through a tunnel. When you come out the other side, you’re gonna be in the Vougher’s backyard; it�
�s a rain-drain cover. Doesn’t look like anything. Once you to exit the tunnel, go into Mrs. Vougher’s house and find a closet. Stay there. They think the neighborhood is clean, and we’re the only ones left. As long as they think the house is empty, you’ll be safe. I shouldn’t have put the plywood up over our windows; it’s a target. They realized we’re here. It’s my mistake. I’ll stay here and get your mother.”
He pulled on the handle of the safe. The entire safe swung to one side. I thought the safe was bolted to the floor. Instead of a floor below, a gaping hole with a ladder reached down into darkness. Dad handed me one of the LED lights he’d stolen from Fred Sorensen’s house. He clipped an extra one to my belt and handed the other one Arty.
“Take care of my girl, Arthur,” my dad said. “I’m trusting you with her. Whatever you do don’t come back here.” My father’s earnest face met each of ours.
I shook my head. “No, Dad. You can’t stay here.”
“I’m not staying. I’ll sneak upstairs and get your mother. You go on ahead. I’ll join you in a little bit.” He kissed my forehead and pushed me toward the inky black hole in the floor.
It was crazy. My father wasn’t one of those prepper nutters, but apparently, my house had a secret tunnel.
I went first, one foot at a time, rung by rung. It resembled the layers of a terrarium, starting with the wood flooring from the house, then the cement slab, only to turn into rough CBS block. The beam from my flashlight cut through the darkness. It didn’t reveal any creepy crawlies, but there were enough spiderwebs to have rivaled any haunted house I’ve ever seen. The tunnel wasn’t deep, maybe ten feet down. The tunnel itself was only about five feet high, two feet wide, and big enough for a grown man, but he would have to crouch. Arty followed behind. He hunched, and it struck me that Arty was tall.
Arty was the kid next door, my best friend, the person I got in trouble with. Now, I was looking at him in the context of this tunnel. He was a big dude. That was probably why Dad had him standing at the back door and not me.
The light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t a light at all; it was just less dark. We weren’t far from our backyard to Mrs. Vougher’s backyard. How had my father been able to dig this tunnel all the way under the alleyway and into Mrs. Vougher’s backyard, and no one noticed? How did he get all the dirt out? Dad used to stay up late. Maybe this was what he was working on.