asshole, but he didn't deserve that. His sister and...and the kids..." Jen sighed heavily and started crying.
I pulled into Blaine's driveway. His truck was gone, but Betsy's minivan was there. Their long, tan, manufactured home was off to the right of the driveway. They had a workshop behind the house with an attached chicken coop. I could see four chickens in the pen. There were other, smaller outbuildings here and there. The snow in the yard was pristine, and I didn't take that to be a good sign. I started to get out, and Jen put her hand on my arm.
"Don't let me become one of them," she said.
"Jen, I..."
"If I start acting funny, if I start getting violent, you kill me."
"Jen, I couldn't do that."
"Before this is over, you'll probably have to kill some of them," she said.
I stared at her. I was afraid I already had killed, but I didn't want to tell her. Her eyes were red from the booze and the tears; they were desperate and pleading.
"I don't want to wind up like Zach," she said.
"Blaine didn't know I was coming," I said, changing the subject. "I'm going to see if it's okay if we stay here."
She pulled her hand away and ran her fingers through her hair.
"I'll wait," she said.
Family and friends used the back door at Blaine's. Strangers always came to the front. I knew I should go around back. Blaine had a shotgun, too, and if I tried the front door, he might give me the same welcome that Jen had.
I went up the back porch and knocked.
"Blaine!" I said. "Betsy!"
I couldn't hear any movement inside. I cupped my eyes and looked through the narrow window on the back door. I could see their small laundry room. I knocked again, louder. I left the porch and walked around the house looking in windows. No one was in there.
For as far as I could see snow was perfect and untouched. During the ice storm of 2009, the family had slept in the workshop, because Blaine had a small wood-burning stove in there. I walked over to the shop. I waved at Jen. The windows were starting to fog up on the Blazer, but she saw me and raised her hand in acknowledgement.
I knocked on the workshop door, and then tried the knob. It was unlocked. I stepped inside. It was as cold in there as it was outside. I touched the wood stove to be sure--cold, unused. I tried the light switch, but there was nothing.
I returned to the Blazer.
"They're gone," I said, climbing in.
"So what now?" she said.
"I don't think Blaine would mind us staying here," I said. "The power is out, so we'll sleep over in the workshop. Maybe I can get a fire going."
"Do you think your friend has anything to drink?"
"I don't know," I said. "Haven't you had enough?"
"Not for me," she said. "If I don't get sick, then we know alcohol works. If it works, you need to get good and drunk."
CHAPTER 8
We unloaded the truck and took everything into the workshop. The building was a metal pole barn on a concrete slab, tan to match the house; the dimensions were about 15 feet by 20 feet. Along the two shorter walls to the left and right of the door were counters lined with tools–grinder, miter saw, vise, drill, etc. The building had three windows--two on the south side facing the road, and one on the east side looking out into the chicken pen. Up high on the walls, hung garden tools, some lawn chairs, and a bicycle. On the back wall opposite the front door was a little square door three or four feet off the ground.
“What’s this for?” Jen asked. “Hobbits?”
That Hobbit thing was nice. I almost didn’t notice it, because I was distracted with my thoughts. It was out-of-the-blue on a very bad day and coming from someone who'd just experienced a terrible loss. It made me smile.
“It's an egg door.”
“Egg door?”
“Open it,” I grinned.
She unlatched the door and opened it. She was wearing the coat now, and it swallowed her up
I pulled into Blaine's driveway. His truck was gone, but Betsy's minivan was there. Their long, tan, manufactured home was off to the right of the driveway. They had a workshop behind the house with an attached chicken coop. I could see four chickens in the pen. There were other, smaller outbuildings here and there. The snow in the yard was pristine, and I didn't take that to be a good sign. I started to get out, and Jen put her hand on my arm.
"Don't let me become one of them," she said.
"Jen, I..."
"If I start acting funny, if I start getting violent, you kill me."
"Jen, I couldn't do that."
"Before this is over, you'll probably have to kill some of them," she said.
I stared at her. I was afraid I already had killed, but I didn't want to tell her. Her eyes were red from the booze and the tears; they were desperate and pleading.
"I don't want to wind up like Zach," she said.
"Blaine didn't know I was coming," I said, changing the subject. "I'm going to see if it's okay if we stay here."
She pulled her hand away and ran her fingers through her hair.
"I'll wait," she said.
Family and friends used the back door at Blaine's. Strangers always came to the front. I knew I should go around back. Blaine had a shotgun, too, and if I tried the front door, he might give me the same welcome that Jen had.
I went up the back porch and knocked.
"Blaine!" I said. "Betsy!"
I couldn't hear any movement inside. I cupped my eyes and looked through the narrow window on the back door. I could see their small laundry room. I knocked again, louder. I left the porch and walked around the house looking in windows. No one was in there.
For as far as I could see snow was perfect and untouched. During the ice storm of 2009, the family had slept in the workshop, because Blaine had a small wood-burning stove in there. I walked over to the shop. I waved at Jen. The windows were starting to fog up on the Blazer, but she saw me and raised her hand in acknowledgement.
I knocked on the workshop door, and then tried the knob. It was unlocked. I stepped inside. It was as cold in there as it was outside. I touched the wood stove to be sure--cold, unused. I tried the light switch, but there was nothing.
I returned to the Blazer.
"They're gone," I said, climbing in.
"So what now?" she said.
"I don't think Blaine would mind us staying here," I said. "The power is out, so we'll sleep over in the workshop. Maybe I can get a fire going."
"Do you think your friend has anything to drink?"
"I don't know," I said. "Haven't you had enough?"
"Not for me," she said. "If I don't get sick, then we know alcohol works. If it works, you need to get good and drunk."
CHAPTER 8
We unloaded the truck and took everything into the workshop. The building was a metal pole barn on a concrete slab, tan to match the house; the dimensions were about 15 feet by 20 feet. Along the two shorter walls to the left and right of the door were counters lined with tools–grinder, miter saw, vise, drill, etc. The building had three windows--two on the south side facing the road, and one on the east side looking out into the chicken pen. Up high on the walls, hung garden tools, some lawn chairs, and a bicycle. On the back wall opposite the front door was a little square door three or four feet off the ground.
“What’s this for?” Jen asked. “Hobbits?”
That Hobbit thing was nice. I almost didn’t notice it, because I was distracted with my thoughts. It was out-of-the-blue on a very bad day and coming from someone who'd just experienced a terrible loss. It made me smile.
“It's an egg door.”
“Egg door?”
“Open it,” I grinned.
She unlatched the door and opened it. She was wearing the coat now, and it swallowed her up
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