by Ray Wench
They weren’t going to kill her.
There were worse things than death. He gritted his teeth.
If only she had moved in with me, maybe we could have hidden before this horde descended.
An air horn sounded, the same type heard at football games. The men came running from all directions, including his house. Mark watched them go. They were leaving with his cutlery. They hadn’t been inside long, but if that was the extent of his loss, he’d done well.
Mark crawled back to the peak, watching as the men loaded their prizes in the step van. They sat Summer on the side wall in the back of one of the pickup trucks. He watched as the caravan pulled out. The convertible, with the large man driving, led the way, followed by a pickup truck, the step van, and the pickup truck with Summer in it. The SUV brought up the rear. He considered their route. On the next street there was a vacant lot between two houses. The caravan would have to pass that lot if they went back the way they came.
That spot offered the best chance for him to save Summer.
Mark had trained as a sniper in the Marines, but he’d never actually had to shoot anyone. As the first truck came into view, he tracked it. With all the furniture and men sitting in the back, they were not moving fast. He would only have, at best, three to four seconds to take the shot. He lined up one of the men in the back of the first pickup truck. He took several deep breaths, letting his last one out slowly. As the second truck came into view, Summer looked up as if she were staring directly at him. Mark almost lost his resolve.
He hurried to refocus. Through the scope, a red dot appeared above Summer’s left eye. Without hesitation, Mark squeezed the trigger. The truck jerked to a stop. Summer’s lifeless body tumbled backward, over the side, and landed in the street.
Men scurried from the truck and took up a defensive position behind it. He didn’t think anyone out there had the skill to track where the shot had come from but wasn’t about to take a chance. He slid down the roof and climbed onto the wooden beams. Swinging down, he dropped to the deck and ran inside the house to the front windows. If they were coming, he’d still have time to get to his hiding place.
Should he have tried to take several of the men out to even the odds?
But if he’d done that, they might be more determined to find him.
Mark watched for fifteen minutes, but no one appeared, so he made his way to the safe room and shut himself in. He sat on the bed.
There was no way to avoid the guilt of killing Summer, but he would not regret taking the shot. Shooting her was a mercy killing. In this horrid new world, shooting her was the right thing to do and the only way to stop the endless abuse she would have to endure. After dark, he would creep out and retrieve her body. He would lay her to rest beside her husband.
Mark would miss her.
He had been unable to save his family, and now he’d failed to protect Summer. He’d failed them all. He had played God, and he cursed himself for thinking he had the right.
Five
There was no motivation to rise the following morning, no urgency to hunt. Sleep had eluded him for much of the night. He kept seeing Summer’s face through the scope.
Mark would never forget that moment, but he had to move on. The one thing he was certain of: the Horde, as he now referred to them, would be back. They had come, as he always knew they would, but they’d still caught him off guard.
With that thought playing in his head, Mark found the determination to continue. He’d have to be ever alert now. Mark had to salvage as much food and water as possible. As he went through his preparations, he decided to forgo any burials for the next few days until he had a chance to search the remaining houses. Then he would go back and take care of the bodies
Mark went through ten houses before noon.
By his estimation, there were about thirty houses left to search. He decided to do ten more then head home to see about increasing his defenses. Four houses later, as he was popping the patio door open, he thought about a couple of alterations he could make to the cave. When it swung free, Mark froze.
From somewhere in the house came a noise, a scurrying sound that made him think there was a house pet still alive. After his recent narrow escape from the dog pack, he wasn’t taking any chances.
Mark set his tools down and pulled out his gun. Closing the door behind him, he advanced into the kitchen, stopped, and listened. The sink and counters were full of dirty dishes that looked recent.
Perhaps someone else was alive here.
Again he thought he heard a faint sound, this time from the floor above. Moving from room to room, Mark cleared each one before stopping at the foot of the stairs.
He took them slowly, thankful they were carpeted. At the top of the stairs, Mark paused again. Typical of most of the houses in this area, it had two bedrooms to the left, two to the right and a bathroom across from him. Both rooms on his left were small and empty. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but there looked to be a recent body print on one bed in a boy’s room.
The bathroom was empty but smelled. Lifting the toilet lid, Mark could see it had been used, a lot.
Someone was here.
Standing in the hall between the last two doors, Mark put an ear to each, trying to pick up anything that might tell him what to expect. Choosing left again, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. There were dolls and stuffed animals lined up on the pink bedspread. Checking under the bed with a baton, he found assorted shoes and toys. He moved the clothes around in the closet. No one was there. One room left to check.
As soon as he pushed the door open, the odor hit him. The smell made him step back away from the door to catch a clean breath. His eyes watered. Four bodies lay on the king-size bed, the mother and father and two small girls who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. Someone had laid them together.
There were three other doors in the room. One led to a bathroom. He checked the first door on the left. It was a large closet, wide, but not too deep. He squatted down to try and peer in under the hanging clothes. Although he could see most of the contents, it was difficult to see it all without actually entering. He checked the other doors before venturing inside. The next door was a walk-in closet, the father’s. This one was narrow but deep. Mark did the same there, but again, nothing moved. The bathroom was also empty.
Standing in the doorway, he looked at the bed. Maybe he had been mistaken; the place seemed vacant like all the others.
Unless someone is hiding under the bed.
Stepping toward the bed, Mark thought he heard a sound like soft growling. He had no desire to deal with any more dogs. He moved off to the side, readied his gun, and reached forward to grab the bedspread.
“You leave them alone!”
Mark turned. A young boy squeezed out from between a large dresser and the wall and charged, swinging a baseball bat. Mark jumped back to avoid the swing, but it caught him on the back of his hand. The frightened child was screaming and wild-eyed. Mark stepped forward, caught the bat in both hands, and ripped it from the youth’s grip. The boy hesitated, then launched himself at Mark, beating his arms against Mark’s chest.
Mark caught the boy’s arms and held them until he calmed down. The boy kicked and screamed, but Mark held fast. Soon the screams turned to sobs. He twisted and turned to pull his hands free. Stepping back, he tried to kick his captor. It was like trying to contain a wild animal.
“Stop. Stop. I’m not going to hurt you. Stop it.”
But the boy continued to struggle. Mark pulled him close and held him. The boy continued to strike out, but his blows had lost most of their force. He looked into the boy’s eyes and repeated, “Settle down. I am not going to hurt you.”
The boy buried his face in Mark’s chest and cried.
“It’s all right, son, you’re no longer alone.”
The feel of having his arms around a living being was enough to make Mark cry. He held the boy tight, wanting to feel the warmth and to
know this was real and not some illusion created by his companion-deprived mind.
He rubbed the boy’s head, running his hands through the long greasy hair, sparking a memory. That was how his son would’ve worn his hair if Sandra had let him. The image pushed Mark over an emotional cliff. Tears dropped on the boy’s hair. Mark went to his knees to study him. The boy was about ten years old. How long had the poor child lived alone in this house? The trauma of living in a house with your deceased family would be enough to drive a grown man crazy. It had to have scarred this poor child beyond imagining.
“What’s your name, son?”
The tears still flowed and the boy refused to let go, keeping his face pressed against Mark’s body. Mark let him go on for another minute before repeating the question.
This time the boy wiped at his eyes and muttered, “Darren.”
“My name is Mark. Darren, I’m so very glad to meet you.”
The boy looked up at Mark. He lifted his dirty T-shirt and wiped his face with it.
“That’s my mom and dad, and my two sisters. They’re dead.”
“Yes, they are. I’m sorry. A lot of people are dead, including my wife and my son. You know what we have to do for them now?”
He shook his head.
“We have to bury them. It’s what they would want. It’s a way for you to honor them.”
Darren’s head lowered and his little body shook as a fresh wave of tears let loose. Burying his family was going to be hard for the boy, but it was the best way for him to move forward.
“We’re going to have to hurry though because it’s getting late. We don’t want to be here after dark. I’ll go down and get started so you can say good-bye to your family. But then I need you to gather a bunch of sheets, okay? Can you do that?”
He nodded. Mark patted his shoulder and went down to the van to get a shovel. More than an hour later, he finished the graves and went inside. Darren was standing in the kitchen, watching him. He fidgeted nervously.
Mark asked, “Did you find the sheets?”
The boy nodded.
“Do you want to wait down here or do you want to help me?”
He shrugged.
“Stay here for now. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Upstairs, Mark found the stack of folded bed sheets on the floor and wrapped the bodies in them. When he’d finished, Mark had four mummies. He dragged the father down the steps first, pulling him outside and placing him as gently as he could in the first grave. The boy watched from the kitchen, his eyes going wide when his father disappeared into the hole.
Mark returned with the mother and set her in the second grave. He placed one of the girls on top of one of the parents. When he looked up, Darren was standing in the open doorway, crying. Mark’s heart went out to him, but there was nothing to be done about it. Darren would have to be strong in order to survive in this new world.
With the first shovel full of dirt, Darren dropped to his knees. Mark set the shovel down and went to the boy. He squatted next to him and rubbed his back.
“Darren, I know this is hard for you, but it has to be done. You’ve been strong for so long but I need you to be strong a while longer. When I’m finished, we’ll have to leave. I’ll take you to my house. You’ll be safe there. There are a lot of bad people roaming this area now. We can come back to visit in the daylight, but for now I need you to collect whatever you want to take with you and put it in a bag or suitcase or something. Go on now. I want to leave in about fifteen minutes.”
He had to lift him up but still the boy refused to budge. Mark held the boy by the head and looked him in the eyes.
“You are old enough to understand that your mom and dad are dead.”
“No,” he howled. But Mark would not let go of him.
“Your parents would have wanted you to do this. This is very important. Bad people will come for you soon. You need to be some place safe. Now get moving or you won’t be able to take anything with you. Hurry. Go collect what you want to bring with you. Clothes, toothbrush, pictures, whatever … you have fifteen minutes before we leave.” He gave him a little push. “Go on now.”
Darren moved toward the stairs.
When Mark finished covering the bodies, he went inside to find the boy sitting on a bed in what must have been his room. He had a bunch of things piled on his bed, but it was all loose. Mark’s desire to move clashed with his need to be a father.
“Darren, how are you going to carry all that?”
“I couldn’t find a suitcase,” he sobbed.
Mark ran to the parents’ room and hunted through their closets. Finding no luggage, he scooped up the pile of pillow cases Darren had pulled out earlier. He tossed one to Darren. “Start stuffing things in. Whatever doesn’t fit gets left behind.” Mark jammed the clothes in a second bag.
The sun was setting fast. Fear pushed his parenting skills to the side. When his bag was full, he grabbed Darren’s hand and pulled him from the room. He dragged the boy out the front door, led him to the passenger side, and pushed him in. Mark ran around to the driver’s side and hopped in, pitching the bag in the back. He sped off with a nervous anticipation of impending doom.
Back at his house, Mark parked and closed the garage door in near panic as the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the trees.
The panic was new. As was the tightness in his chest. A cold chill ran down his spine. He felt he was overreacting, as though he was afraid vampires would come out as the sun set. Only this threat was real and more dangerous.
Darren helped him unload the van. Once that was accomplished, Mark set all the locks and checked the windows to make sure the streets were still clear. Then, Mark led Darren to the basement and opened the secret room.
Only then did he begin to relax. With the day’s collection put away, Mark decided they both could use a hot meal. He took the small propane burner into the cave and heated the last two steaks he had. On another pan, he sliced up some of the potatoes and fried them in some olive oil. It had been quite a while since he had tasted hot food.
Pulling out a folding table and two chairs, he set out paper plates and plastic forks and knives while Darren watched. Plating the food, Mark popped a beer for him and a cola for Darren and sat to enjoy the feast.
Mark couldn’t help himself; he dug in hungrily. He had to force himself to slow down and enjoy the food. Between bites he tried to coax Darren to eat.
“Darren, I know this has been upsetting for you, but you have to eat. Things will get better. You’ll just have to trust me on that. Steak will be almost impossible to find from now on. I suggest you take advantage of it, because we may never get to have one again.” Trying to remember how Ben had been at that age, Mark asked, “Do you want me to cut it for you?”
“No.” Darren shook his head. “I can do it.”
“I thought so. How old are you?”
“I’ll be eleven next week.”
If he could engage Darren in conversation, maybe he would relax. Mark smiled as the boy sawed at the steak with the plastic knife. He managed to cut a piece free and put it in his mouth. From there he needed no further coaxing. The last morsel consumed, they sat back and looked at the empty plates.
“Well, the nice thing about eating like this is you don’t have to do the dishes.” Mark scooped up the plates and plastic ware and dropped them in a garbage bag. Mark pulled out a sleeping bag and set it on the floor next to his bed.
“Which one do you want, the bag or the bed?”
Darren shrugged.
Mark smiled. “I’ll tell you what, you take the bed for tonight and tomorrow we’ll search for another one. You go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ve got some work to do.”
When he didn’t move Mark asked, “Problem?”
“I, uh, I have to, uh …”
“Need the bathroom, do you?”
He nodded.
“Normally, I try to go outside before I settle in for the night. It’s a little late for that
now. So let me show you what I do in case of emergencies.”
Mark reopened the wall and led Darren to the far corner of the basement. There he had a large five-gallon bucket and a roll of toilet paper. It was next to a floor drain. A pile of grocery store plastic bags were next to the bucket with one inside.
“Use the bucket for number one. Put a bag inside for number two then put the toilet paper inside the bag and tie it up. We’ll bury it in the morning. Got it?”
Darren nodded. Mark left him and went back to the room. He went into the cave and returned to digging. A short while later Darren was back.
“Did you close the wall back up?”
“Yeah.”
“Need anything else?”
“I forgot my toothbrush.”
“I’m sure I’ve got one here somewhere.” He checked his supplies and found a five-pack of brushes. “Here you go. Do you know how to brush your teeth without running water?”
“Yeah, it’s just like camping.”
Mark smiled. “Exactly, only you have to be very careful with how much water you use. If we run out, we may never find clean drinking water. That’s very important, all right?”
“There was some water at my house.” His eyes dropped. A sad look crossed his face as he thought about home.
“I’ll tell you what, we’ll go back in the morning and collect the water and anything you forgot. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep now?”
“Okay.” He paused. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making a room where we can cook and get fresh air, or use as an escape route if the need arises.”
“You dug all that out yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need any help?”
Mark’s first thought was to tell him maybe tomorrow. The boy should sleep. But maybe Darren needed to keep his mind occupied. After all, wasn’t that what he was doing himself?
“Sure. Why don’t you take that other shovel and scoop up the dirt that I scrape away? Just pile it in those buckets and we’ll take them out in the morning.”