#cjmwriting

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There is something about that time of day just before the dawn arrives.  There is a stillness in the air that seems to speak positively about the prospect of the new day.  There is still a part of me that looks forward to this ungodly hour as if it might deliver something new and fresh or perhaps I was just feeling nostalgic today.  Glancing out the window on to the two story farm house, I was betting it was more the location and the memories it brought than anything else.  Quickly I shook my head.  Reaching across to the passenger’s seat for the crossbow that rested there.  As soon as I felt the hard base of the weapon in my hand any hint of that nostalgia left my mind.  There was no room for it today or any day.  Not anymore.  Such thoughts could get me killed and I was not ready to die just yet.

Easing out from behind the driver’s seat, I stood in the old dirt driveway and listened.  Once upon a time the sounds of the farm would have drifted back to me.  The animals stirring in the barn.  The clucking of the chickens as they pecked in the yard.  The old hound dog and the toothless gray cat chasing each other about.  But there was none of that anymore.  Only the eerie silence of the pre-dawn morning.  There were worse sounds, so I was grateful.

Shifting the crossbow around and securing it for a quicker draw if needed, my eyes darted across the open space as I left the relative safety of the car for the house in front of me.  My boots made little noise on the grass, but there was a slight creek of the old boards of porch steps which caused me to jump slightly.  Gripping the crossbow for a moment as if the action would aid in calming me.  Between that and the deep breath I took both actions did soothed the beating of my heart, the racing of my pulse… if only a little bit.

The screen door was wide open yet the wooden door was closed.  Weapon gripped, the door handle was taken with my free hand and pushed quickly open.  I was ready for anything that might come spilling from within yet the only thing that greeted me was more silence.  I was allowing the ghosts of this place to spook me worse than what was really out here.  With a grumble at myself and a shake of my head, I entered the house.  There was an automatic reaction to flip the switch that would have normally flooded the front room with light, but the only thing I got this time was a click as it shifted positions.  How many times had I completed that action during my lifetime?  Far too many to count.  Despite the lack of light, I knew my way around the room.  Skirting around the couch and coffee table, I made my way into the kitchen.  Nose wrinkling at the scent of stale water and rotting food that had been left in the garbage can.

Pulling a small flashlight from my pocket, I used it to shine inside the pantry.  There was a squeak from a rat as it scurried out of the light’s path.  First glance I saw that those furry bastards had gotten to the boxes and packages.  Holes were in most of them and the food was spilt across the shelves and floor.  With a shrug of my shoulders, I pushed what was left out of the way to see if there was anything I could salvage.  After a few minutes, I had several can goods and a box of crackers that had managed to make it unscathed sitting on the kitchen table.  Rummaging through some of the other shelves and drawers to see what else I could find.  While I had done my best not to think about it since entering the house, my thoughts suddenly turned to the fact that they had probably done the same thing before leaving and I found myself feeling as if I might hurl.  Laying my hands, palms down, against the counter to steady myself.  I knew coming back here was a bad idea, but I needed the supplies.  When I felt the prickle of hot tears stinging, I drew my hands into fists and pounded the counter.

“No!  No!”  I would not do this.  Not there.  Not now.

Swinging around, I left the kitchen.  I needed to get out here, but the food was only one part of what I had come back for.  Allowing my sorrow to turn into anger, I crossed to the stairs, moving up to the second floor.  It was darker up here being that all the doors were closed.  Wait all the doors should have been closed.  I had shut them before I left, but the door at the far end of the hall was partially open.  My parents’ bedroom.  Tensing for a moment as I pulled the crossbow around; cocking my head to listen.  There was nothing out of the ordinary yet the silence of the house was almost deafening. Step-by-step, I drew closer.  Debating for a moment whether or not I should draw the flashlight again, but I decided against it.  All my senses honing in on my destination: the door.

Through the crack, I could see the outline of my parents’ bed and I stopped.  Holding my breath.  Listening.  Kicking out with my foot to push the door the rest of the way open.  It crashed against the wall.  Jerking the crossbow around this way and that with a practice motion to be ready to shoot anything that moved.  My heart all the way in my throat.

Nothing.  Nothing came stumbling out.  Nothing reached for me.  I let loose a nervous cackle.  Grumbling to myself, “Good god woman!  You are going to give yourself a heart attack before you can get out of here.”  Relaxing the weapon, I entered my parents’ bedroom.  There was no helping the flood of emotion as I stepped into the room.  I saw the room as it used to be.  One of love, light, and laughter.  I did not want the dark, dank room with the overturned draws and ransacked appearance to greet me so I quickly made my way over to the other side of the bed.  Pushing the strewn pillows and blankets out of my way.  Drawing a necklace with a key dangling from it from inside my shirt.  Feeling along the floor with my other hand until I felt the indentation of where the fake board was.  Carelessly, I pulled it away and tossed it on top of the bed.  Revealing the lock box hidden there.  Using the key, I opened it.

On top I could make out a photograph that I could not afford to look at right now.  Instead, I quickly shoved it into my back pocket.  The next layer was several hundred dollar bills that I just pushed aside.  Money has no meaning anymore.  Dragging the two shotguns out of the hole and laying them on the bed.  Wondering for a moment if they had had these that night if things would have turned out differently.  Like so many other thoughts since coming back here I had to push it away lest it overwhelm me.  I was dragging up the few boxes of ammo when a sound from the bathroom stopped me cold.

Attention jerking towards the closed door.  Adrenaline immediately started pumping through my veins.  There was no doubt that I was jumpy, but someone… or something… was in there.  My breathing slowed down and every sense zeroed in on that door.  Could one of them have gotten into the house and somehow trapped itself in the bathroom?  Slowly, I got up to my feet.  Bringing the crossbow back around to the ready.  Kicking some clothes out of my way, I slowly made my way to the door.  I could have choked right here with the way my heart was in my mouth.  Pounding in my ears.  For as scared as I was, I was also angry that one of those bastards would be in my parents’ house.  Had not enough happened here without one of those damn things defiling the place?  My mind was racing with what to do.  The door was thin enough that I knew I could kick it in without an issue, but would I be quick enough to do that and pull the trigger at whatever was going to come out and try to kill me.  You bet your sweet ass I could.  I drew a breath and as I pushed it out, my boot crashed the door open.  A terror filled scream came to me, “PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!!"

Jerking my arm upwards just in time for the arrow to plunk into the wall above the head of a wide eyed young girl.  “Who the fuck?!” I spat out.

“Please… I was just here for shelter.”

I turned away from the splinter bathroom door and the girl inside.  I was seething.  Snatching the shot guns and ammo up off the bed, I did not waste any more time in heading back downstairs.  My mind was racing with thousands of thoughts, but the main one was that I needed to get the hell out of here.  I knew better!  Damn it, I knew better!  I almost left the food that I had gathered, but in a few hours I would be cursing myself for leaving it when I got hungry.  Laying the guns down, I rummaged around for a box or bag or something to carry my loot in.  An old crate that my mother had kept in the kitchen when she did her canning caught my eye and I sweep it up, tossing the food into it.  I had just tossed the last of it when I knew I was not alone again.  Hand on my crossbow, I saw the girl from upstairs peeking around the door frame.

“I could have shot you.”

My words were hot and laced with the annoyance I felt.  She did not say anything in return.  Not that I expect her too I guess.  Angry more at myself than her, I laid the guns on top of the crate and picked it up.  Walking past her, I crossed the living room and left out the front door.

It was light out now.  The sun had come out and bathed the farm in its golden light.  I did not take the time to appreciate it.  Loading the things I had taken from the house in the trunk.  Just about to load myself when I saw the girl standing at the bottom steps of the front porch.  She could not be much older than about 16, maybe 17.  Pale as new snow, but I was not sure if that was just how she looked or maybe it was from almost getting an arrow in the brain.  Her hair was long and the way the new morning light hit it, I was reminded of the fields of golden wheat that use to line our property.  She was looking at me with large eyes that I noticed had dark circles under them.  It was not an uncommon look.  Sleep, after all, was sometimes difficult to come by these days.  I shook my head.  Pulling the car door open just as she called out to me.

“Let me come with you.  I won’t get in your way.”

“Sorry.  I’m solo.”

Without another word, I got into the car.  Refusing to look at her.  Refusing to allow myself to think about how Rebecca would have been about her age.  Refusing myself the guilt of leaving her here.  But as I began to drive off something in the distance caught my attention.  Across the now empty field, I could make out two slow moving figures.  It was only two.  She would be okay.  She would be all right.  Yet even as I thought it, I swear I felt their attention shift.  Perhaps it was the idle of the car or the smell or hell, even my imagination, but regardless I gripped the steering wheel.  Putting on the breaks.

“Damn it!”  I muttered.  Slamming my fists against the steering wheel, then pushing the electric window down and craning my head out of it.  “C’mon!  Now!”