Welcome, the few, the proud, the readers!
This week, in addition to my novel, I’m sharing a short story. You can browse other short stories from my collection here. Please like, comment, and share with anyone who reads… stuff.
Thanks for reading,
Bill
Light poked through cracks in the mottled canvas canopy, a sunrise assault that warmed tightly closed eyes clinging to a fevered dream. It was safe there, where the soft grass cushioned running feet and easy laughter echoed across rolling fields cut with streams that spidered like veins down the valley.
Frost gave way to thaw, and fat drips wet her cheeks, a reminder that it was time to choose. To wake and attempt to carve out an existence alone against what remained. To hope for another human to walk with, trust, or just to god dammed help find food.
Thirst and frustration gave way to anger, making a choice for her like taught marionette strings that drew her to a sitting position. She faced the three-foot high red letters that spelled out ‘Patient’ above dusty concrete rubble knotted with twisted rebar. She’d guessed that the missing word was ‘Entrance’ before the earth shook, making its copy edit on the ancient care facility. A mouse chirped at her and scurried into a crack.
“You still here?” she said, barely above a whisper, and pulled on weathered boots wrapped in duct tape and stained with dried blood. “We go inside today; if you’re up for it. Don’t expect much.” The patchwork dog lifted its head from the front seat of an ambulance stripped for parts. It loped to the ground on brittle legs, ribs pressing against flesh. The hound slunk forward and stopped where its ancestors dictated a safe distance.
The woman rolled the makeshift tent and bound it to a backpack with a frayed extension cord. Her calloused and swollen hands throbbed. She withdrew a silver canteen, shaking it to hear a faint slosh of water—a reminder of the day’s primary chore. The dog shuffled forward an inch. Sometimes the quiet would scream. It was this morning. She hadn’t heard a bird for several days or a random cry for weeks. But, she fancied she could almost hear the dog’s thoughts. It trailed her at a distance for days, making its evaluations. It tracked her like a shadow that followed through the height of the afternoon sun and the chill of the unyielding and terrifying night. Her initial apprehension at the trailing hound had turned from acceptance to pleasure for the company. She’d catch herself staring at the dog, gathering comfort from the air between them even as they starved. The dog would look away first, in deference. But it would not come within arms reach. She poured a mouthful of water into an empty tin with charred edges.
The dog stared at her.
“Not today?”
Eyes flickered to the water and back.
The woman stepped away, looking for the safest entrance. At least one that appeared safe. She hadn’t heard a sound coming from the structure in twenty-four hours. No Screamers. Nothing but mice. Save for the crash of aging stone that gave way from the building’s edge, which made her re-evaluate the campsite location. The sound of the dog sloshing water came from the empty tin being nosed across the dirt until it came to rest against the ambulance’s flattened tire. A sonic boom shocked the silence of the morning as a Fexile Dragon 23 tore low across the sky, chasing something unseen by the woman. The hound winced but held its ground. The woman braced, squinting. Another thunderclap. The sound of wreckage scarring the earth.
She looked at the dog.
It shifted its weight toward the woman, then settled back.
She thought about the view from above. Not the rutted landscape she crossed by day, but one that a bird would sore above when there were birds. One with treetops that could be touched and verdant rolling farmlands that shared the promise of sustenance and the warmth of a home. The comfort of a family.
Woken from their slumber, Souls began to scream inside the hospital. One dropped from four floors above, smacking into the rubble with a wet slap. The dog whimpered and stepped close to the woman, leaning against her shin.
“Me too. Let’s see about that ship instead.”
She picked up the water tin and shouldered her pack.
The dog went first, and she followed.