Midnight Ride
“I’m tired, Mom!” Mae whined while she stood on one leg and scratched the other with the toe of her boot.
“We’re all tired. Let’s get this done before the sun goes down and then we can lock up for the night.” She unhooked the green lawn hose and pulled it hand over fist out of Brian Miller’s yard. After handing this coiled bundle to Mae, they searched the other side of his house for any more hoses.
“I think that’s it, Mom,” Wren said. “We’ve stolen all their hoses now, so what are we going to do with them all?”
“We’re going to try and drain the basements. We have ten hoses and four houses to drain, so let’s put two in each house and the extras in ours.” She brushed the grime from her forehead with her arm. They were all filthy and exhausted, and there was still work to do. “I have no idea how well this will do the job, but it’s a start. We’ll check them daily and adjust as we go. I’m sure they’ll clog from the debris, but when we check on the houses, that’ll be one of the chores several times a day.”
At one of the Millers’ broken basement window wells, Sloane knelt down and fed a hose through the window, into the seawater trapped below. “We have to feed the hose out into the water, submerging the length as we go. Try to keep it as straight as possible. Then, when you get to the end of the hose, you want to lower it into the water and point the opening up underwater to release any air. Then reach down and cup your palm over the opening so that the water is suctioned to the palm of your hand. Then let gravity do its job.” She looked to where she could lay the hose out downhill. She pulled out a length of seven feet, feeling it heavy with water, and laid it where the earth sloped downhill and into the woods behind the Millers’ house.
When she released her palm, the water started to drain immediately from the force of gravity and the thrust of her hand downward. “See? It’s not a perfect process, but it will drain. We’ll have to unclog them several times a day and restart the process, but it will work in time.”
She had another cautionary thought but wasn’t sure how to tell them without scaring them since being terrified of snakes was a genetic trait in their family. “By the way, watch for snakes in the basement.” Both girls stepped back.
“What?” Wren said with a clip of her tongue. “Snakes? You didn’t say anything about snakes earlier.”
She tried to calm her daughter. “We must face our fears, no matter how scary. Just be aware there might be frogs, snakes, and anything else that could have come in with the floodwater down there. Look before you put your hand anywhere; it’s better to be safe than sorry.” She just could not help the motherly sayings. They came out automatically at times like these.
“That’s just great, Mom.” Wren said.
Her daughter shuddered as they looked around for another opening into the Millers’ basement. Near the locked bulkhead door, there was a cracked window. Sloane finished it off with her boot so she could reach in and do the same thing with the next hose.
Afterwards, she said, “We’ll do ours and then the Carsons’ across the street; by that time, it’ll be too dark to do the Bakers’, so we’ll wait until tomorrow to start on that one.” She’d planned it this way because she didn’t want the girls to get a chance at identifying the body in Larry’s backyard.
They fed Ace again after placing the hoses through two cracks in the Carsons’ house. They let him out to do his business and Sloane was a bit concerned the dog might make a run for it, but he returned merrily as they walked into the house. He seemed overjoyed to have his own pad. He’d made himself comfortable on Trent’s former chair, proclaiming this now as his castle. The ferocious dog was now a happy, playful guy. As they said their goodbyes, they locked him in and Sloane watched as he returned to his chair in the living room, where she knew he had the perfect view over his new domain.
Back at their own home, as the purple dusk met the evening sky, they quickly placed four hoses at various positions to drain their own basement. Two of the hoses, Sloane fed through to the front yard and the water ran down into the debris-strewn street. She removed several things clogging the storm drain so the water could meander down and escape into the depths under the road. The girls were becoming crankier as the evening wore on. They swatted at bloodthirsty mosquitoes and wiped at the sweaty slime now covering their skin.
“Okay, inside,” she said and they locked up their home for the night. She had no idea what calamities might be happening to her neighbors on their journey and she worried about them as the sky blackened to night.
Nicole remained on her mind, too. Her physical condition worried her. Only the days to come would prove whether or not she needed to act. She felt helpless where the girl was concerned.
“Can we take showers?” Wren asked.
In an apologetic tone Sloane said, “No, but we can use the water we soaked the guns in. It’s not totally sanitary, but we can towel wash. Just don’t get it in your eyes or mouth. We’ll work on that later, but for now, let’s conserve the water we have.”
A slight breeze mercifully wafted through the windows. They ate a quiet dinner of tuna mixed with red wine vinegar on yet more crackers. They were using up whatever they managed to salvage from their kitchen before Sloane opted to break into the food stores she kept in her attic. Like Trent’s house, she had the nifty, finished attic. She’d chosen to put her food stores in hers when Brady had taken over the basement as his ‘man cave’. He wouldn’t allow her penchant for hoarding extra food and supplies down there. Instead, that was where he kept his expensive sound system and drank to his heart’s content. She had hated him for taking over her home, but now she couldn’t be more thankful. She had her supplies, unmolested by the floodwaters, and all of his worthless equipment was submerged underwater, along with slimy serpents of the sea. She would enjoy removing every sign of him in the coming weeks but first, she had to remove him.
Once the girls were cleaned and happily snuggled into her bed, she said, “Goodnight. I’m going to stay up for a little longer and keep watch in the den. I’ll wake Wren in a few hours to take over while I sleep and then it will be your turn, Wren, to wake Mae. Don’t leave the room, only watch out the window. If you hear anything, wake me.”
They both agreed so quickly that Sloane feared they didn’t really take her seriously. They were so tired, they’d agree to anything as long as they could close their eyes at the moment. All of them had only had a few hours of sleep over the past few days. She didn’t really blame them. Without Brady, though, their lives would be easier—even in an apocalypse, as it were.
Their snores came quickly. She mentally prepared herself for the remaining task. I can do this. It’s just a body.
With work gloves on, a spare blanket over her shoulder, and a short piece of spare plywood in her hands, she grabbed the small flashlight and locked the side door of the garage as she left. She then made her way over to the dead body in Larry’s backyard. She’d planned to haul him into the woods behind Larry’s house, as far she could, to keep the decaying smell at bay.
She suspected there were more bodies out there anyway, caught by the wave. Every now and then, when the wind blew just right, she got the distinct aroma of what she knew to be decay. The smell could be an animal, but she knew there were several people who probably succumbed to the traveling wave. It happened so fast but, thankfully, it came so early in the morning that most people were still asleep instead of driving on their morning commute.
“Quick and easy,” she said to herself, willing each step. “Shove the bastard on, cover him up, and haul him away.”
I should probably stop talking to myself. It’s a sign of insanity. It’s bad enough I’m turning my daughters into liars.
As her steps neared him, her body told her not to go any closer. “God, I wish I couldn’t smell him.” She’d given up caring about insanity.
Gagging harder the closer she got, she said out loud, “Suck it up, buttercup.”
She put the end of the flashlight into her mouth while she laid down the items she brought along. She wedged the plywood underneath his head—which, thankfully, was turned away from her. His head was stiff, but his brown hair moved and glistened with beads of moisture in the ambient light. She didn’t want to see his open, bug-eaten, eyes. She began to heave as she imagined larvae swarming in there. She quickly had to remove the flashlight from her mouth while she gagged several times. “Get through this, dammit!”
She picked up the blanket, whipped it open, and covered Brady’s dead body with it. “Okay, you bastard, last ride,” she said and reached down with her gloved hands. She grabbed the stiff form through the blanket and around the shoulders and then hauled him onto the board, leaving several inches for a handhold near his head.
She tested out the cumbersome load, knowing it would be a difficult trip. She pulled and began to drag him, looking behind her in the dark. The chirping of crickets kept her company and the thought occurred to her that if they stopped their cadence, it would mean trouble. They were her witnesses and accomplices in this morbid crime.
Once she hit the forest, her progress slowed a bit as she maneuvered around the many trees and bushes. It took longer than she’d hoped, but when she came to a comfortable distance, she decided only ten feet more. She heaved the load again, then slipped on loose grass and fell down on her ass.
This is it, you bastard, your final resting place.
She thought about leaving the plywood sheet and blanket there but felt he didn’t deserve the comfort. She pulled away the blanket and tipped over the plywood. She began to head back when she heard a noise in the nearby brush. Instantly, she pulled her Glock and flashed her light in the culprit’s direction. She was getting pretty good at pulling the trigger in an instant.
It’s probably Doug, dammit.
Her heart leapt into her throat as a metallic jingle preceded a dirty white puffball from beneath a bush. She’d nearly fired at the small dog that was now yipping at her legs as if she were its long lost owner.
She reached down to pet the dog, but it scampered a few feet away. “Well, be that way, but I have food where I’m going,” Sloane said and picked up her gear. As she walked away, the little dog followed at a short distance.
Once she reached the garage, she tossed the items inside and coaxed the dog to follow, using a charming voice and an offer of treats. She left it in the locked, dark garage while she retrieved a box of cereal to feed him. When she returned, she flashed the light around and found the little dog curled up on the blanket she’d tossed on the ground earlier. She poured a cup of cereal near the blanket, and after the dog sniffed the food, it began to eat. “If I put you in with Ace, he’ll probably eat you.” She picked out several sticks from the dog’s fur and petted the dog while it ate. She then noticed the little red collar about its neck and said, “Sally’s your name, huh? Well, Sally, this is where you sleep tonight. Maybe we’ll move you to Larry’s house tomorrow. Goodnight.”
When she finally washed off Brady’s death from her hands, she found that the rest of her still smelled of him. He was persistent that way—never taking no for an answer, even in death. She ended up removing all of her clothes and started to wash from the top down; she shampooed her hair over the bathroom sink and then cleaned herself, from her face down to her toes, removing every last molecule she could get to.