Sanctuary (12 page)

“Oh.” He started in again, “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

“I don’t think McDonald’s is open, Mickey. We’ll try the grocery store that’s on the way to the church, okay?” To get the other side of the board detached, she used the whole plank as a pry bar to pull on the remaining two nails.

“Okay.” He plopped down in the foyer, as he always did, to pull on his little brown hiking boots. The survival compass paracord bracelet he wore fastened on the outside of his jacket, where it would fit better.

Her father had given the bracelet to her on her first camping trip when she was a little older than Mickey. It was the one souvenir she’d chosen from the gift shop in Shenandoah. Her heart broke at the sight of it—at the memory of her father’s smile when he’d put it on her wrist for the first time. She swallowed back the tears, willing herself to forget, for now.

Her stomach growled. Although it had been over a day since she’d eaten, if she didn’t count the pickle, it had to be worse for her brother. She was pretty certain that little kids had different food requirements than adults and needed to keep a steady amount coming as they were still growing. Then, she had a sudden revelation. The granola bars.

“Mickey!”

She said it so suddenly that he looked up at her with wide, round eyes.

“Wait here!” In her excitement, she ran up the stairs with hammer in hand. Because she didn’t need the tool any longer, she left it on her nightstand and yanked open the top drawer. There, the box of chocolate chip granola bars beckoned her like heaven calling. She sent up a quick thanks and pulled out the box. A single individually wrapped granola bar shook in the vacant space of the box of twelve. She wanted to cuss.

Knowing she wouldn’t find a thing, she rummaged through the top drawer anyway. With the familiar ache, she took the single bar, a little more than the size of her finger and thought about the meager bite half would bring. Disheartened she returned down the stairs.

“What?” Mickey said, holding the bottom banister.

She considered pocketing the bar for later use or eating the whole thing herself. But her brother needed his half. She held up the silver wrapped treat and said, “I have this.”

“Awesome! Can I have one?” His eyes lit up.

“There’s only one.”

“Oh.” He frowned and looked at his feet.

Her heart broke. In days of plenty, Jennie wasn’t known to share with her little brother. And now in days of few, her brother felt he had no hope. She held out the bar to him and said, “Here. You take it.”

“Really?”

She nodded and smiled, somehow feeling better than if she’d eaten the bar herself.

She almost started crying when her brother took a bite and held the bar back toward her. “Do you want a bite?”

“No, you take the whole thing. I found something in the fridge earlier. I’m full.”

Sitting on the bottom step of the stairs in the foyer, her brother snacked on the last of the granola bars while she sat next to him, somehow feeling satisfied.

Hugh

Hugh lay on the floo
r
with his legs against the wall, throwing a tennis ball and catching it. For a moment he wished he had a dog instead of a cat. But, Clarissa had been a cat person, and when they went down to the shelter to pick out a pet together, Tiger had looked in her eyes adorably.  They had to take him home. Such an unoriginal name. Because Clarissa had not a nurturing bone in her body, Hugh ended up being sole provider for the cat’s needs, feeding and cleaning the litter box.

Tiger could tell who cared for him and soon showed an obvious preference for Hugh. It didn’t take long for Clarissa to resent the cat’s partiality and reject the cat as hers. When she left, there wasn’t even an argument about custody.

Cats were so much easier to take care of than dogs, and he loved Tiger, but still he wished Ty was a nice black lab or golden retriever instead. Then someone would go get the ball and bring it back to him when he overshot the angle, and it didn’t return. His stomach growled, and he winced against the pain. It caused him to miss the ball on the next round, so he lay still for a moment before getting up to retrieve it. A knock came at the door just as he made it to his feet.

“Coming,” he called out, mostly out of habit. He rubbed the stubby growth of beard on his face and tasted his slimy mouth. He wasn’t at all presentable. Pulling out his shirt to take a quick look at the front at least gave him the satisfaction of knowing he had no stains.

Three bolts and locks later, he opened the door to an empty hallway.

He stepped out and looked both ways. Nothing but drab grey carpet and standard white walls occupied the hall. The window on the end showed the pale blue sky with a few fluffy white clouds scattered about to the winds. “Hello?”

No answer. The kids in the building must be getting as stir crazy as Hugh was. They must have taken to practical jokes. As he backed up a step to close the door again, Tiger dashed out. Hugh should have known better; the cat was always getting into trouble.

He threw on his Converse sneakers without tying the laces, grabbed his keys from the hook next to the door, and shut it behind him. It locked automatically. He shoved the fob deep into his sweatpants pocket and walked after the cat, saying in a sing-song, “Kitty kitty, come here you stupid little kitty. Tiger.”

Walking along indignantly, the cat stayed just out of his reach. The moment he’d get close enough to reach down, Tiger would dash forward or take a bounding leap away. Frustrated, Hugh wanted to scream. The door to the stairwell opened just as Tiger approached it.

The door opened only enough for one of the Robin Hood gang to peek a head out, all teeth and smiles. When Hugh met eyes with him, the boy’s look turned to one of fear. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harris; we was just having fun.”

Honestly Hugh couldn’t care less, but what did irk him was the fact that Tiger had dashed into the stairwell and bounded down. With an exasperated sigh, he raced down the stairs after it. “Hey guys, can I get a hand here?”

The three teens cantered down the stairs to help.

Jennie glanced back at he
r
house one last time as she took Mickey’s hand in hers and started down Morris Drive. The two story rambler’s rhododendrons were still green, but completely devoid of flowers. The house looked unadorned without them. Her chest hurt to see her mother’s flowerbeds barren of color. Her home looked sick with the downstairs windows boarded and shuttered like they would be for a hurricane.

Dappled morning sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees over the neighborhood street. A few of the other houses had their windows boarded; others looked completely vacant. The Smiths, three houses down and across the street had abandoned their house when the aliens first came. Their mountain cabin had been previously featured on the TV show, “Doomsday Bunkers.” Jennie remembered her dad laughing about how the Smiths’ bunker had trapdoors and flame throwers for safety. It had seemed so ridiculous at the time. Now, not so much.

How were Liza Smith and their family doing? Would they even know about the Shisa and this attack? Jennie remembered the last time she’d seen her friend and how “hot Mr. Harris” had taken their picture. Liza had texted her the photo, but her phone was dead so she left it at her house.

The July wind picked up, reminiscent of a late October breeze. Jennie pulled her jacket around her and zipped it up. Mickey had one cold hand in hers while the other squeezed a gold gilt and macaroni laden picture frame to his chest. It was the family photo her mother had forced the family to take last summer, just before Jennie headed for college.

One year ago. It didn’t seem like such a long time, just three little words when she considered it. But it seemed more like a lifetime ago when the water was drinkable, the sun would shine in its full glory, and her parents were…

“I hope Mommy will be there this time. She’s okay now that she’s been to the hospital, right? Will Daddy be there? Do you think I can have some candy when we go to the grocery store? Mommy always lets me pick out a candy when I help her with getting stuff off the shelves. I’m a big boy, you know, and a good helper.”

Her little brother’s continued rambling helped her to relax but only slightly. Straining her ears to hear the slightest warning of a wailer or an alien took priority over anything he had to say, so she nodded along as she went. Her jacket pockets were crammed full, since she’d left her backpack in the trunk of her Civic. If only she hadn’t run out of gas.

“Jennie, I said, what is he doing?”

The sound of her name caught her attention, and she looked at her brother’s wind-chapped cheeks. His nose was running, dripping over his top lip, and he tried to sniffle it back up as she looked at him.

“What is who doing?”

“Mr. Gordon,” Mickey said as he pointed across the street.

In his tartan bath robe, Mr. Gordon stood over the dark green Waste Management container with the lid open and a plastic grocery bag in his spare hand. In his mouth, a piece of pizza crust poked to the side like a cigar. Unbidden, saliva began to fill Jennie’s mouth, causing her to swallow. Her hunger’s sudden ferocity for the thought of eating trash disgusted her.

“Hi, Mr. Gordon!” Mickey called out and waved.

Like a deer caught in headlights, the unshaven Mr. Gordon’s hand stopped over the container and his eyes grew wide. He pulled the pizza crust from his lips and put both hands behind his back as he came away from the trash container and headed a few steps in their direction. From his perch at the top of his driveway, he inspected Jennie and her brother as if they lay under a microscope. “Well, what are you two up to? Don’t you know it’s not safe to be outside right now?”

“We’re going to the store to get some food!” Mickey yelled just as Jennie was opening her mouth.

“Okay, I see. Where are your parents? Shouldn’t they be giving you a hand with that?”

Again, before Jennie could speak, Mickey chimed in. “They might be at the church, so we’re going to see Mrs. Crawford after we get some food.”

“My dad told us to go,” she awkwardly added.

“Hmmm.” Mr. Gordon pulled his arm from behind his back and glanced at his pizza crust. He shook his head slightly and returned his hand behind him. He backed up a step before saying, “All right then. It sounds like you have a plan. Stay safe.”

Jennie blinked hard as the man almost ran up his driveway and disappeared into his back yard. Mr. Gordon acted like an animal caught in a trap and couldn’t get away fast enough. She shook her head and then looked at her brother. Mickey’s eyes were sad as he looked in the direction Mr. Gordon had been.

To cheer him up, Jennie began reciting
Ten Apples Up on Top
and started swinging his arm, while they walked. On a car trip to Tennessee two years ago when Mickey was three, he had made her read Theo Lesieg’s board book
over and over again during the trip. In the process, she had memorized the entire book. It made it easy for her to look out the window while her brother held the book in his hands and turned the pages, giggling at the antics of the two arguing animals. Now, she used the rhyme she couldn’t get out of her head for good use again.

He soon forgot about the troubles and recited it with her while at the same time she looked in every direction. So far, no telling sounds had disturbed them, and nothing out of the ordinary happened as they headed toward J. Clyde Morris Boulevard.

Brad

Brad was sick to hi
s
stomach. He’d not been used to running for so long. As he hid beside a car in the parking area beside the trail head, he did is best to stop the pounding in his ears. The constant ringing sensation drowned out any other noise. The rise of his chest and not enough air getting into his lungs made him feel he was dying. Add to all this, the nausea.

Slowly the ringing subsided and Brad could get his breathing under control. Sweat poured from his brow and dripped from his chin, and he listened as intently as he could afford. No more wailing. He’d lost them. The three zombies might have caught wind of him when he virtually stumbled upon them in the woods, but through quick thinking, and even quicker feet, he’d outrun and outsmarted them. Looking at the red SUV he hid behind, he couldn’t help but wonder if it might be their vehicle. Were they hikers who had been attacked by the aliens in the woods and wandered about for three days?

What difference did it make? Did it get him any closer to home? He stood and tried the door handle on the SUV. Locked, of course.

Dusting himself off lightly, he made his way to Jefferson Avenue. When he got to the ranger’s station, a huge smile came to his lips. Next to the station was a stack of cruiser-type bicycles with a “for rent” sign sitting in front of them. Perfect.

Although he hadn’t ridden a bicycle in almost eight years since he got his driver’s license, they say your body never forgets. He was ready to test that theory. He pulled away two pink bikes to get to a blue one. No need in riding a girl’s bike, right? Pulling out the blue one, he sat on it to try out the height. Satisfied, he rode it in a wide circle around the lot. The theory was true. Leaning forward, feeling the sweat being wicked away by the wind he was creating, he turned onto the deserted street and weaved between the cars. Simple.

Jennie

“
Why are there so man
y
cars on the street like this, Jennie?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of how to break this kind of story to her five-year-old brother. How much could he take? Was there any part of this that would be easy to accept? “Lots of people got injured at the same time as Mom did.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Was it the aliens?” His eyes were calm and knowing.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Dad said that the aliens were gearing up for something. I heard him and Mom talking about how the military really needed to do something before they striked.”

“Struck.” It came out automatically, and Jennie winced as she said it. As an English major at Virginia Tech, she couldn’t help but correct her five-year-old brother’s grammar. Not that it would really help yet.

“Struck,” he corrected himself with a smile at Jennie for doing it.

She gave him an approving nod before they weaved between cars to make it across the street. The Newmarket West Mall was a small strip mall immediately across the street from her neighborhood. It housed several shops, among which resided a western hat and boot store which took up enough space for three, a hot dog restaurant, a title and loans facility, and a used book store.

When she was bored, Jennie would often come to the book store and trade in old paperbacks for new ones—new for her, anyway. She touched the corner of the small Bible she had in her left coat pocket when they passed the bookstore. The windows to the other shops had been barred or boarded by their owners with the red closed signs blaring out to the public. The boot store’s windows had been smashed in and someone had painted graffiti on the hotdog store’s boards, “Aliens go home.” On the other hand, the bookstore had been left untouched. Jennie was tempted to turn in and have some semblance of normalcy, but she knew the door would be locked as the red sign on the door clearly stated they were sorry about.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest tinge of disappointment mixed in with her nostalgia. With a sigh, they continued around the side of the building to cross over the ditch and head for the railroad tracks. Her feet sank in the gravel surrounding the metal rails with each step. It probably wasn’t too often that people walked across these tracks to get to Warwick Boulevard from J. Clyde Morris. She had to watch her feet as she stepped and occasionally looked around. The area down the tracks was mostly clear.

Rust had begun to form on the first set of tracks they crossed heading toward the train station. She wondered how much travel and shipments had been cut since the aliens arrived and imagined that, like the rest of business society, had ceased all together with the attacks. The remaining three sets of tracks looked to be worn in a fashion that had implied use sometime in the recent past, but she doubted much had happened in the past few days.

Before the Shisa had begun their attack, there had been loose dogs frequently about in the street, but now it seemed no animal could be found. Had they died because of the bitter water? Or had the Shisa sent them into hiding?

“Are we almost at the grocery store yet? I’m really hungry.”

“I know you are, Mickey. We’re almost there.”

“How far?”

“Once we get to the train station right there, we’ll go across the street and head off toward the towers by the river. Then, we’ll go a little ways more to get to the grocery store. Afterwards, we’ll cut through the park to get to the church. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders and struggled through the rocks. He stumbled, and she had to catch him by the arm to keep him from scraping elbows and knees. “Will you carry me? This is hard.”

With a nod, Jennie scooped up her little brother. It became so much more difficult to walk through the rocks. Not only did the added weight make her sink deeper, but she could no longer watch her step to know exactly where she was placing each foot as she went. A sweat broke out on her forehead as she struggled over the last bit.

When they reached the platform, she was glad to release the extra weight. With a smile, she said, “There you go. Step one, accomplished.”

They passed under the concrete canopy of the train station and headed around the main building. She kept her ears strained to stay alert to the possibility of a wailer or the aliens’ crescendo. Neither noise seemed nearby, but she didn’t want to risk the chance of one inside the main building. If these wailers were as dumb as the zombies portrayed on TV, they might not know how to open a door and would therefore be trapped in the buildings they entered before the change. The world could at least hope so.

Warwick Avenue stood as clear as it had been the day before. The traffic on the street had always been lighter than on J. Clyde, but now that the world seemed frozen in time, the difference was clearly demarcated. J. Clyde was a congested maze of abandoned cars while Warwick was as clear as the empty train tracks at the Amtrak station they’d just left.