Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (13 page)

“Graham, I . . . uh . . . need a bathroom,” Macy said as she pulled one of the oversize sweatshirts on. It fell nearly to her knees.

“Please hurry and don’t go far,” Graham answered.

He needed a bathroom too. He picked up his own jacket lying on the table and put it on. “You guys stay right here. I’ll be right back. Sheriff, you stay here and watch these guys.”

The dog looked up at Graham as if he knew exactly what he meant.

Graham stepped out into the dampness of the empty parking lot. It was past noon, and he was thinking about lunch but, noticing the smoke rising out of the blue garbage bin, he did not have much of an appetite even though he’d not eaten since the day before.

Graham stood still, one hand on his rifle, scanning the horizon for usable vehicles. He headed across the street where several residences lined the streets and apartment complexes lay beyond. Graham saw a few cars in driveways and along the street, but he saw no trucks. He knew he’d need something with four-wheel drive where he was going. To the right, he noticed a reddish Toyota SUV, but he had no idea if there were keys in it.

He set off in that direction when he heard a rustling. Farther down the road, he noticed three deer pulling at the green lawn of a yard. It was yet another reminder of encroaching wildlife and the need to get somewhere safe from their predators. Camping out in a festering grocery store held no appeal for him, knowing the smells would bring in more than just the deer looking for tender grass.

Graham approached the truck and tried the door, but it was locked. He took in a deep breath, knowing he’d have to go inside the home to see if he could find the keys.

With a peaked roof and matching doorway, the little white house was edged in green. “It must have been built in the forties or fifties,” he said under his breath. These little postwar houses had been put up quickly to accommodate the troops coming home after the Second World War.

Whoever lived here took pretty good care of the place. Even the concrete walkway had recently been power-washed. He did not bother knocking, but simply tried the door and found it unlocked.

The darkness of the interior seemed daunting. He opened the door farther, but slowly, as if someone might come to meet him, which Graham knew was not likely. The only smells he encountered were mild, musty and moldy but not of death or decay. It was just like some grandmother’s closet or basement filled with mothballed coats.

He had looked first by the door before he stepped in, hoping there would be a set of keys on a nearby table or on the wall. He looked around the small living room as the light shone in and revealed a brown moleskin sofa facing the blackened screen of a TV no longer needed. The back of the sofa created a hallway that extended beyond to what Graham figured must be the kitchen.

Graham stepped onto the chestnut parquet flooring. “The real stuff, not the fake kind. Must be the original,” he said absentmindedly.

Still with his hand on the door, he said, “Anybody home?” When no one answered he left the door open, looking back across the street, feeling tethered to the kids. It was as if they were his own, or at least like he needed them to feel like his own.
Who else’s would they be?
he thought. He released the doorknob and began walking through the strange home and into the kitchen. He hoped the kitchen would be the next likely place someone would leave their keys, possibly on the counter or on a hook by the garage door.

Graham peered around the well-lit kitchen, which was clean and tidy right down to a candle placed in the center of a small island.
This is a redone kitchen for sure
, he thought.
No way this cabinetry is original.
They’d been redone with raised panel oak, and the countertops themselves were a light peach laminate, obviously not up to date but definitely not harking back to the 1940s, either. The place was oddly neat as a pin. Had someone been home when they died, their stuff, in the haste of disorderly living, would be everywhere. He looked around the countertops and a small oak square kitchen table beyond for keys, but with no luck.

“Maybe the bedroom,” he said aloud and looked to the short hallway he’d already passed that must lead there. Graham held his jacket up to his nose and mouth. He expected the worst as he turned the doorknob. He opened the door an inch, then two, but what he saw was only a neatly made chenille-covered bed.

“Nobody’s home,” he said to no one in particular. Just behind him was the door leading to the garage, possibly the last hiding place for the keys.

He opened the unlocked metal door, thinking it was surely a replacement and not the original to the old house. He then peered inside the darkness of the one-car garage, reached for the likely light switch, and flipped it up. By accident, in the process of his search, he dislodged what sounded like keys, sending them jangling to the floor.

As his eyes adjusted to the new light, Graham was surprised to see an older but well-maintained gold and white International Harvester Scout, probably a 1975. It had two rows of seats and a decent cargo area in the back for supplies. He could probably load the bikes up on the top, tying them to the rack. He located the keys he’d dropped and examined them. The ring only contained the keys for the Scout, not the Toyota out front. He hoped this thing was a four-by-four. Graham hit the garage door opener and heard a familiar racket as the door lifted.

He walked over to the driver’s side and opened the locked door. He inspected it for the necessary conversion to switch over to four-wheel drive for rough terrain, which to his surprise it had. He started the vehicle up and laid his rifle in the passenger’s seat area. It smelled clean and there was no litter lying around. He was happy to see it registered a full tank of fuel.

It dawned on Graham that this must have been Campos’s doing: he must have gone house to house, getting them ready for the new residents he expected. He truly wished he hadn’t had to kill the man; part of Graham would always feel guilty about it, because the truth was that part of Campos had been good—the part of him that wanted to make this town clean again and the part that had cared for Marcy. Graham knew that part of him, too, because he’d seen it just before he died in the look he gave Marcy. But the other parts of Campos just couldn’t have been allowed to remain. Graham knew all lives were especially precious in this new world, and that made his guilt even more so. He laid his forehead onto the steering wheel for a minute while he let the engine run and idle down.

~ ~ ~

It was only late afternoon, but already Graham felt spent.
It’s time to get the kids out of here
, he thought before backing out of the skinny driveway and onto the main road. He left the vehicle running and parked right outside the market to warm up the inside. The kids already had two carts full of boxed food ready to load. Graham walked over to Marcy.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“I’m okay,” she said, “but my head really hurts.”

A little concerned, Graham looked her over again. He didn’t see anything unexpected, considering her injuries.

“Let’s put some ice on your head to keep the swelling down. You just took the painkillers, too, right?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I took two just like it said on the bottle,” Marcy said.

“How old are you girls?” he asked.

“We’re fifteen, but I’m older than Macy by five minutes,” she said.

He smiled at the girls, amused that she had said something normal in this abnormal world. “Well, you keep taking those pills every six hours then,” he said.

“All right, let’s get you in the backseat and warmed up. Then we’ll load up the rest of this stuff,” he said.

Graham lifted the girl, making sure he didn’t disturb her wound, and carried her out into the misty cold. He opened the door to the backseat and slid her in onto the warmth of its vinyl.

“You couldn’t find anything newer?” she asked.

“No; we were actually lucky to find this one,” he said.

“At least it’s warm,” she conceded.

He shut the door gently and then looked over at the dog, who watched his every move. Graham moved over to the back, opened the top window and then lowered the tailgate.

“Come,” Graham said to Sheriff, who just looked up at him, not knowing what he wanted. Then Graham said, “Hmmm, what’s your language, big guy?”

Macy pushed one of the carts through the door, coming around to the back of the vehicle. “Do you know what kind of commands to use for him?” he asked her.

“I have no idea. He just jumped into the backseat of the last car we were in. I haven’t tried to tell him anything.”

“Well, let’s try this, then,” he said as he patted the back of the tailgate of the truck. Sheriff did a running turn and jumped right up and in. “Good boy!” Graham said and scratched Sheriff behind the ears. “Bet you’re getting hungry too.”

“Bang found some dog food,” Macy said. “They’re fast friends, those two,” she added, while handing Graham the food supplies from the cart.

Graham loaded quickly, tossed everything lightly into the back. Sheriff walked up to Marcy and sniffed at her head rising over the headrest. She reached up and patted the dog, who sat on his haunches and let her continue the affection.

“Wish I had listened to you, boy,” she said lightly.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Marcy. Don’t regret; it does you no good, believe me,” Graham said, speaking loud enough for all of them to hear.

“Look, we all have to be more careful now. There are wild animals everywhere, and a few people who are willing to hurt you, for whatever reason. These are the new rules now. No one goes
anywhere
without telling me, and you must always have someone with you at all times. I’ll carry my weapon with me wherever we go and you three need to learn to do the same. A ruler and an ice scraper aren’t bad, but they’re not good enough to defend yourself with.”

The girls looked at one another.

“I know we haven’t really talked about this, but it’s your choice. You two should decide together. After we load up, we’ll go get the bikes that Bang and I hid last night, then go over to your dad’s place. Girls, I’m pretty sure you know he’s not with the living, but we’ll go there and make sure at least. Then it’s up to you two if you want to come with Bang and me up to my cabin in Cascade. It’s safer there. I know the hunting and fishing grounds, and not that many people know the area. Those fires over there”—he pointed toward Seattle—“are inching their way over here and I don’t want to be anywhere close to them when they get here. Besides that, this place welcomes people and you don’t know what kind you’re dealing with. I’m not saying it’s bad to stay here, just that
I’m
not. It’s up to you to come with me or stay by yourselves. There are a lot of houses that are livable if you want to stay.”

The girls looked at one another again and Macy spoke first. “We’re going with you—at least I am. I don’t want to stay here. Do you, Marcy?”

“No way, not after this,” Marcy said and gestured openly with her hand. “I can still feel him here,” she said, with goose bumps rising and shuddering from a chill.

“All right, then, I just wanted to make sure you realized it was your decision,” Graham said, and continued loading what little food they’d managed to find. It wasn’t a lot, but it might get them through a couple of weeks.

Graham walked back to the market and scanned the inside, retrieving the red ice chest he’d packed earlier, and looked around for anything he thought they should also grab. He noticed a few fire starter logs and took them, as well as several lighters and a snow shovel leaning near the entrance door. He carried the goods out with Bang’s help and locked up the back end of the truck while Macy and Bang climbed in the backseat next to Marcy. Before Graham got in, he noticed the sickly sweet burning smell again, coming from the damp, smoking blue trash bin, and his stomach clenched. “Sorry, Campos,” he said under his breath. He meant it, but he wouldn’t regret what he’d done.

Graham got into the running vehicle and headed over to where he’d stashed their bikes the night before. For him it was returning to where Campos had struck Marcy the first time and, more important, where Graham had failed. Hopefully the lesson he’d learned would stick with him.

Shutting off the truck, Graham said, “All right, Bang, let’s go get the bikes and stuff. Girls, this shouldn’t take long,” he added, shutting the doors to keep in the warmth. Graham looked around to make sure there were no predators; he could not be too careful these days.

Graham and Bang walked between the cars and over to the brush where they’d hidden their bikes and trailer, only to find that something had tried to get into the plastic storage bin containing their food. The shower curtain was ripped to shreds and scattered about. The rifles had been tipped onto the ground but, thankfully, they were still there.

The first aid kit was smashed and scattered all over the ground, but to Graham’s amazement, the storage bin itself was intact and unmolested.

They unhitched the trailer and left it where it was. “I wish we could take it,” Graham said, “but there’s not enough room.” He picked up the gun cases and the storage bin and balanced them on the seat of his bike. Meanwhile, Bang retrieved his bike and then they both made their way back to the truck, winding through the scattered maze of cars. Graham took a second to look down the highway and noticed several dogs milling about below the overpass. One looked up at him. “Hurry up, Bang,” Graham warned. “If they come up here, just drop the bike and run for the truck,” he said.

They both picked up their pace as one of the dogs lifted its head at their scent and barked, alerting the rest of the pack. Graham heard growling and turned around just in time to see the boy let a little arrow fly into a coyote’s side as it snuck up behind them. The coyote let out a yelp and took off in the opposite direction.