by EE Isherwood
“Wow,” I chuckled.
Beyond the kitchen, the family room was equally as catty. There were framed posters of cats on all the walls, larger statues of cats randomly placed on the floor, and numerous throw pillows shaped like cats.
“You don’t think this is too much, do you?” she asked in a sheepish voice that was quite un-Carmen-like.
The reaction inside me was hard to pin down. I wanted to lean over and kiss her for being a strong enough woman to show me such a spectacle, while at the same time I wanted to tease her about clearly being insane over the little animals.
“This is amazing,” I said without emotion.
“You don’t like it?” she pouted, accentuating her accent.
“No, it’s not that at all.” I continued speaking in a neutral tone, since I wasn’t yet sure how fragile her ego was. “But I do have questions.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve only been in this house for a few months, right? Where did you find the time to get all of these treasures? There isn’t an inch of room for more.”
She beckoned me with a twirling finger as she walked away.
“You see this little cutie right here?” She led me to a small orange cat sitting on an end table next to her couch.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Mr. Meow Meow was my first. I brought this figurine home one day about a year ago and showed it to my husband, proud as hell I’d found something so cute. Do you know what that bastard did with it?”
I shrugged.
“He threw it out the damned window!”
“Why would he do that?” She’d apparently divorced the guy for cheating on her, so it wasn’t a stretch to see him abusing her stuff, but I could tell she wanted me to play along.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Carmen swished her arm as if showing me the room.
It took me a few moments to catch her drift.
“He hated cats?”
“With a passion!” she exclaimed. “Now, living on my own, and using his money, I’m able to buy as many cats as my heart desires. I take selfies with them and post the evidence to social media a few times a week. My ex-husband and I don’t talk, but I’m sure that loser looks at what I’m doing online. And each time he does, he’s going to see me in front of a new cat that his alimony dollars are buying. He can’t throw any of them out the window ever again.”
It would take a bulldozer to get all the feline decorations out a window. I didn’t dare ask her what was on my mind, which was that maybe she went a bit too far the other way. However, I could understand the need to fight back against an ex in any way you could. Divorce and over-the-road trucking often slept in the same bed.
“So, I have to ask, are there any real cats out there?” I motioned toward the rest of the house. For all I knew, there were ten real cats staring back at me.
“Eww, no way. Can you imagine how much cat hair I’d have to clean up on all these pillows? It would be a full-time job.”
I was again torn between two extremes. If she didn’t use her freedom to buy a real cat, then what was it all for? Was she winning or losing in the war against her husband?
“I’m allergic to cats,” I replied.
“Yeah, I’m more of a dog person myself,” she went on. “I always thought about getting a teacup poodle, but they’re messy, too. Plus, I don’t want to have to take it with me when I visit my mother.”
It was a pivot away from cats, and one I was happy to take.
“You might have told me before, but where does your mom live?”
“Miami. I go down and visit her whenever I can. In fact, I don’t know if you noticed, but I was dressed up yesterday because I was supposed to go see her.” Her voice became sad. “I didn’t think the power would be out for more than an hour or two…”
I had a hunch she was fishing for me to acknowledge how stunning she’d been in her tiny sundress the day before, and I was more than happy to oblige. Mostly because it was absolutely true, though her tone suggested it was more than selfishness. She seemed upset about missing her mother. “It’s okay, none of us really knew. I definitely noticed you were overdressed for our weird day yesterday, but now that you’ve told me why, I’m really sorry you couldn’t go visit her.”
“It’s alright,” she replied in a wistful way. “She’s in a retirement community. I’m sure they’ll take care of her there.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I said. “There’s probably no better place for people who are a bit older.”
“Anyway, she taught me everything I needed to know about being a hairstylist, which is what I do when I’m not taking selfies to piss off my husband...”
“For real?”
“Yeah. Clients come into my studio back here.”
She motioned for me to follow her to a room adjacent to the kitchen. We entered a ten-by-twenty space that looked like a small salon, complete with chair, sink, and a big hairdryer hanging from a robotic arm. To my shock, there was nothing even remotely related to cats. Instead, there was one large framed picture hanging from the wall that featured a woman in a red bikini spiking a volleyball on the beach.
“You cut hair in your home?” I asked. “I wouldn’t think you’d have to work at all.”
“Oh, I did make a lot of money from my divorce, and I’ve made it so my ex has to pay through his nose for years to come, but it’s not enough to last me forever. More than that, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I just clammed up and did nothing with my time. I enjoy meeting new people and hearing stories about their personal lives. Doing nails and styling hair is easy, and I can work my own hours, so my situation is perfect.”
I’d been completely wrong about her. The cat thing I could never have predicted, but seeing the divorced young woman living alone had made me assume she was one of those ladies who did nothing but watch daytime television and drink boxes of wine with other divorcees. Instead, she was driven to remain productive with her life, no matter what happened, same as me.
“I think it’s great you have this,” I said. “And it explains all the cars coming and going. Some of the, uh, others, thought you were a drug dealer.”
“Who said that?” She slapped her hands to her hips as if angry, but then giggled.
“I guess it’s what neighbors do,” I said. “They gossip, just like you all thought I was a single dude enjoying his mid-life crisis. That was way off.”
“But you are single?” she smiled.
“Yes,” I said.
I didn’t know where she was going with the statement, but instead of continuing her line of thought, she walked past me. When she reached the back of the styling room, she gestured to a door leading outside.
“Well, single Frank, this is why I brought you over here.” Carmen tapped the wooden door, which contained a wide frosted-glass pane about five feet tall. “I love this entryway because it lets natural light into the room, but it has all this glass. Couldn’t someone get through this pretty easily?”
“Probably,” I replied. “But don’t let that get you down. No door is beyond the ability of a thief to break in. We just have to make it more difficult for them, so they will want to go somewhere else. And, if they do get through, you want enough warning to defend yourself.”
“So, you can help me secure it?” she asked.
I looked around, keen to show her I knew what I was doing. Though I had absolutely no experience as a security expert, I did spend quite a few years living in shitty neighborhoods. Some of the best defensive measures were also the easiest. Motion-activated flood lights were my go-to, though they were out of the question for our current situation. Another easy one was to restrict access to doors and windows both inside and out.
“Do you have patio furniture by chance?” I asked.
“Of course. Let me show you.”
She led me back out to her kitchen and drew me into an attached sunroom. The room was bright and cheerful from all the sunlight coming in, but I immediately saw the
security risk. The outer door was the typical sliding style in the rest of our homes. If a thief couldn’t break through the thick glass, however, they could bust open any of the other dozen windows nearby.
“Well, this is a good news, bad news situation.”
“Why is that?” she countered.
“We can use some of this furniture to block anyone from breaking through this sliding door, as well as in your studio, but we can’t plug up every one of these windows. If we have more time, we could string some wire outside your house to trip up any thieves as they come into your yard. We could make it ring a bell or tip a jar of pennies. Anything to wake you up.”
“And then they could still get inside, right?” Carmen backed out of the sunroom, then walked back into her cat-astrophic living room. She bent over and picked up my loaner wheelie gun, which had been hidden among the furry figures. “So, I’d have to use this.”
It became clear how difficult it would be to secure every neighbor in their own home. Carmen’s house had four exits to the outside, plus maybe twenty windows anyone could access with a step stool and a hammer. Multiply the problem across all nine of the houses on the street, and that left hundreds of weak points to be plugged. However, I wasn’t ready to suggest the alternative, which was to have everyone hunker down in one house each night. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since the EMP went off. People weren’t ready for the worst case, but I wouldn’t stop planning for it.
“If it came to it, yes, but you could also use the advanced warning to run out your front door and alert one of the guards. From now until the power comes on, we’ll have one of us awake and on duty on the cul-de-sac, so we can rally everyone out of bed if there’s trouble.”
She strode over and stood a few feet in front of me.
“Frank, I know it’s in your nature to protect me, but I’m not a shrinking flower who needs the help of a big strong man. I’m not afraid to use that gun if someone is trying to get what belongs to me.”
We looked around the crowded living room for a few seconds, which caused us both to laugh.
“Okay, I know they aren’t coming for my cat collection,” she corrected herself.
“Wasn’t even thinking it,” I laughed.
“But you get it, right? I’m ready to fight. You just have to teach me how.”
“Yes, absolutely. Today is a new day, so I’m hoping we get some news about what happened yesterday. If we knew more about how long this is going to go on, it would give us a huge leg up on what we need to do in the meantime. Right now, all we can do is assume tonight is going to be a lot like last night. If you want, we can drag some of those chairs into your studio and put them in front of the door. Make it so even if they break through, they’ll have to make a lot of noise getting over and around the furniture. That will give you a start on hardening your home.”
I tried to step away, intending to get back outside, but she grabbed my arm.
“Wait, Frank… I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She held my gaze for about five seconds before releasing my wrist. “Do you think it would be okay if I asked Penny to stay with her?”
I chuckled, as I’d been a mile off on what she was going to say.
“That’s a great idea. We’re going to circle the wagons and watch over each other, by posting guards and such, but it will also help if we stick together more.”
I half-turned to leave again, but she latched onto my arm a second time.
“Thank you, Frank. I really mean it. Just having you come over and look at my home has given me a new perspective on security. Can we practice shooting Rocko today, so if thieves try to get into Penny’s place, I’m able to defend her and her kid?”
“There are a million things I’ve got to do this morning, but getting people trained on guns is definitely a priority. Look me up in the afternoon, and I’ll see about having us all practice shooting in the woods. Deal?”
Her smile could melt the paint off my ‘Vette.
“I’d love that,” she replied.
“We’ll talk later, okay?” I said as I strode toward her kitchen.
“I’ll see you outside in a little while,” she added. “To help.”
I walked out through her garage. It had been nice to be in the company of such a beautiful woman, but I hadn’t been lying when I’d said there were a million things to do. Getting away from Carmen’s alluring perfume was step one on the list.
“Hey, Luke!” I waved to my friend. “I’m heading over to Drummond’s place for a moment. Will you get everyone back together so we can continue our morning huddle when I come out?”
He gestured with a thumbs-up sign.
I jogged across the street to the home I’d defended the night before. Since I’d left the front door unlocked, it was easy to get back inside. With the light of day to see everything, I went into the garage to check out the retired couple’s stockpile.
It was even more impressive in the daytime.
I strode down a narrow aisle between two sets of floor-to-ceiling shelving packed with food cans. Everything was labeled with small strips of masking tape and neat black lettering. Each can of food had the purchase date as well as the expiration. I could only imagine the amount of time spent on those labels alone.
“This is amazing,” I said.
He’d gone heavy on vegetables, especially green beans and corn, with lesser amounts of canned fruits and baked beans. As I looked through the shelves, I found bags of sugar and salt sitting loose, as well as dozens of five-gallon containers lining the ground level with labels like flour, rice, and dried beans. It was impossible to quantify how much was in there, but it had to be enough to feed a small army for at least a year.
There was also a metal rack on the back wall which contained two stacks of six computers each. The metal boxes lacked keyboards or monitors, each had an eight-inch fan on the front, and they all connected to a large, insulated tube stuck in the wall, as if hot air was gathered from the rack and then vented outside.
“What the heck were you up to?” I wondered.
There were two small windows on the back wall, as well as a thin row of windows on the top of each garage door, so there was plenty of light available to see the security situation. As long as no one got inside the house, there was no other way to reach the supplies besides opening the large garage doors on the front. The windows were too high up and too small for anyone to climb through.
I rushed through the rest of the Drummond’s home, curious if the old hoarder had any other stashes of goodies, but it only took a few minutes to confirm he’d kept his best stuff in the garage.
The only notable thing I found in the rest of his home was a hand-written note hanging on his fridge.
“Francine, thank you for offering to water our flowers and check on our home while we’re away. This is the trip we’ve been waiting for our whole lives! We thank you and Raymond for making it happen. Please take the bills stuck under this note as payment for helping us out. God bless. See you when we get back!”
I pulled the note up to reveal four crisp hundred-dollar bills under the magnet. I looked at them for a long time, wondering who Francine was, and whether she was ever going to show up, but then I put them back and returned the note to its place.
How long had the message been there? I hadn’t been on the lookout for him, but I didn’t think I’d seen the old guy or his wife for at least five or six days. The last time I saw him for sure was the previous weekend. I’d been working on my truck, and he’d waved to me on the way to his mailbox. I remembered it because I was anxious to join the retired guy in not caring about the weekends anymore. Every day was going to be Saturday for us both.
If he and his wife had already been gone a week, how long was left on their trip? If they’d gone fishing down at the Florida Keys, they might be home soon. If they’d gone to Europe, they might never come back…
I wasn’t sure what I was legally supposed to do about his property. If he came back and found me po
king around his stash, he might shoot up the whole street in retaliation. However, if he was now stuck at his destination, the odds of him getting home would diminish greatly each day. It would be a shame to let his stockpile go to waste.
No matter how it played out, we had to keep it safe.
I left through his front door and closed it. The small glass pane was broken, so anyone could reach through and unlock it. At some point soon, it would have to be fixed.
Once clear, I ran to my house and grabbed a couple of spare holsters I’d promised to the women. They needed to have them more than I needed them sitting on my shelf.
Outside, Luke had already gathered everyone at the circle.
“Hey, all,” I said as I walked over.
Luke’s kids stood toward the back of the group. They looked lost, with hands in their pockets. I wondered if they were suffering withdrawals from not having their phones. Some of my younger truck drivers couldn’t be without them for one shift behind the wheel, so I recognized the expressions. Behind them, even farther back, the twin girls hung by themselves.
“We have a lot to discuss. First, Luke and I took care of the thieves. Trevor and his buddy are returning what they took from Levar, and I’ve just checked again on Mr. Drummond’s place to ensure there was nothing missing. I’m happy to report it all looks intact.” I’d already had a few minutes to chew on the dilemma, but I wasn’t ready to report what was inside, yet. All those canned goods and survival rations belonged to Drummond. While I was willing and able to defend it, along with everything else of value on our street, I had no idea how to solve the legal problem. If we took anything, wouldn’t that make us just as bad as the thieves?
“Were those the only two houses that got robbed?” Penny asked. “I saw you go into Carmen’s home for a long time a few minutes ago.”
Carmen stood next to Penny, and I saw the same sly grin on both of their faces, leading me to believe they’d been conspiring. Did Carmen exaggerate to her friend what we’d been doing over there?