The Last Tribe (11 page)

Emily knew the mansion was vacant. 
The Governor fled Raleigh at the onset of the epidemic, moving to her western
residence in Ashville, announcing she would govern the state from there until a
cure was found and she and her family could safely return to the capitol.  The
staff evacuated as well.

Emily walked around the mansion to try
other entrances before she broke a window.  She went back down the fronts steps
and turned to her left.  She noticed a carport on the left side of the
building, and thought the service door might be unlocked.  Emily looked at the
grounds as she made her way to the second entrance.  What was once beautiful
and manicured was now overgrown with weeds and out of control.  Vegetation
grows quickly in North Carolina.  Without weekly weed control and pruning the
mansion gardens and grounds were ruined.

She arrived at the carport and
turned the knob.  “Success!” she said aloud as the door pulled open.  She stepped
into the mansion’s mudroom.  She peered through the door on the other side of
the small vestibule.  She could see a sitting room on the right and a dining
room to her left.  The house was dim, but not dark enough to need a flashlight. 
Built in the late 1800’s, before electric light, its windows were large and illuminating. 

Emily opened the door on the other
side of the mud room and was met by a funk so powerful she questioned whether
she could continue.  Not only was the stench repugnant, she was not keen on the
prospect of stumbling into rotting corpses.  She stood in the doorway for a
moment. The smell was different than decomposition.  She smelled bodies in her
travels during the last month.  Rotting corpse was an easy smell for her to
recognize.  The mansion smell was more a combination of rotting food and poop. 
Emily imagined a huge diaper pail left overflowing during the evacuation. 

A refrigerator left open or food
left out would account for half of the smell.   While hard to believe rotting
food would continue to smell for the three months since the mansion was
abandoned, Emily guessed it was possible. 

The poop smell was a mystery.  “A
sewer backup?”  She asked herself.

“I’m here.  I can’t let a little
odor stop me.  If nothing else, I’ll open a few windows as I go.”  She pressed
onward, walking into the sitting room on her right.  It was decorated in
uncomfortable Victorian furniture, leaning heavily on style over substance.  “I
wouldn’t want to sit in this room too long, or try to enjoy a movie or
television on the furniture.”  She mumbled.  It was beautiful furniture, but
the straight backs and high arms were unwelcoming.  The first floor was
designed for State dinners and receptions not comfort.  If the first family of
North Carolina wanted to host a Super Bowl party, they would have a room full
of sectionals rather than ottomans and ornate sofas. 

Emily spent several minutes touching
the furniture, sitting on the couches and chairs, examining the lamps and
artwork, but her tour was rushed.  She could not ignore the stench.  She walked
to a window, pulled the pane open, and stuck her head outside for fresh air. 

“Maybe I can get a crosswind.”  She
thought.  She pulled her head back inside and walked towards the dining room on
the other side of the hall.  She was between the sitting room and the dining
room when she heard the scratch. 

She froze, standing motionless in
the hall for what felt like an hour before she heard it again, another
scratch.  The sound was nearby. 

It came again from the left side of
the house, and appeared to emanate from the dining room.  Emily unslung her
pack and took out her mace.  She looked at the gun sitting at the bottom of the
open cavity next to a bottle of water, as if it were natural to carry water,
mace, and a gun for a tour of a governor’s mansion.  She was staring at the gun
when she heard the scratch again.  She pulled the pistol out and held it in her
left hand.  The mace was in her outstretched right hand for immediate use. 

She took a step into the dining room. 
It was magnificent.  A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling over the most
beautiful table and chairs Emily had ever seen.  The dining set was probably
made by one of the many furniture artisans of North Carolina.  There was an
enormous fireplace on the left wall.  Emily imagined heating the room on cold
winter nights in 1895 with a roaring fire.  Between the portico Emily was standing
under and the fireplace in the far corner was a door.  It was a swinging door. 
Emily could tell from the hinges.  Emily heard the scratch again and saw the bottom
of the door move towards her ever so slightly.  The smell was stronger as she
stepped in the room and towards the door.  She looked at the top of the door
and saw a bolt locking it shut from her side.  Whatever was making the
scratching sound was prevented from getting through the door by the bolt.

“Okay, what should I do?”  She
thought to herself.  “It can’t be a person.  A person would break a window or
get out some other way.  If it’s a raccoon or squirrel or whatever, well, I
don’t feel like getting rabies and dying myself.  The best thing to do is
probably leave the house.”  Her right hand remained straight in front of her
with the pepper spray pointed at the door. 

She heard a whimper and another
scratch.  It was not the hiss of a raccoon or opossum.  It was the whimper of
an animal that needed help and knew the sound of human feet.

Emily hesitated.  She placed the
pepper spray on the table, took her pack off, and returned the gun.  She picked
the spray up as another scratch hit the door.  “Whatever it is, the pepper
spray will work.”  She told herself.  “I’ll slide the door open and see what’s
back there.  Bad animal?  Pepper spray.  Nice animal?  Well, I’ll figure it
out.”

Emily pulled a chair from the
table, positioning it for a quick jump up.  If the mace did not work, she would
leap onto the chair and then the table.

She put her hand on the bolt at the
top of the door and slid it down. 

A final scratch pushed the door
open slightly.  Emily grabbed the edge and pulled the swinging door towards
her.

The smell was incredible.  Feces
and rancid food flooded her nose.  She was almost knocked back, but she kept
her eyes open and the pepper spray at the ready.  Lying on the ground was a
dog.  It was almost dead, its ribs showing as it breathed shallowly.  It lay on
its side inches from the swinging door.  Emily knelt down and looked at the
poor creature.  It was a white bulldog.  She guessed it was a beautiful
specimen before being locked in a room for months.  She looked into the kitchen
and saw a once majestic room completely destroyed.  Animal excrement covered
everything.  The dog managed to pry open a pantry door left slightly ajar.  It
pawed cupboards and ate all the food it could find. 

Emily stepped over the dog to find
a bowl.  The kitchen’s cabinets were glass front.  “How can people keep their
shelves this orderly?”  She mused as she found a pasta bowl.  She walked back
to the poor animal and stroked its head.  “It’s okay,“  She paused and looked
between the dogs legs “boy.  Here is some water.  You’re okay now.  You’re
okay.”  She went to her pack for a bottle of water and poured some on the dog’s
mouth.  It licked the air.  She moved the dish towards the licking tongue.  The
dog caught on quickly.  It was too weak to sit up, but it lifted its head
slightly to drink. 

“That’s right, drink the water. 
I’ll find you some food.”  She looked for canned food fit for a dog.  The smell
was beginning to get to her, and she frantically opened doors looking for the
pantry.  She found two cans of salmon, and after flipping open three drawers
she found a can opener.  Emily grabbed several bowls from the cabinet before
walking out the dining room.  The bulldog stopped drinking and lay on its side.

Emily went outside.  She breathed in
deeply.  The fresh fall air cleared her nose and rid her mouth of the
horrendous taste associated with the kitchen.  She regained her senses, opened
the can of salmon, and dumped it into a bowl.  She filled a second bowl with
water.

She took a deep breath of the fresh
air before walking back into the mansion to the dog.  Its eyes were closed and
it panted slowly.  “You’re okay big fella, don’t worry, you’re okay.”  She
stroked its head.  Emily had to pick up the dog and take him to the food.  It
needed to be out of the foul air and in the sunshine and fresh fall day.  The
problem was the dog was covered in crap.  It was literally covered in its own
feces and rotten food.  Emily was not a priss, nor did she want to pick up a
poop covered dog, soiling her clothes and hands in the process.

She looked for a tablecloth or towels,
something that she could wrap the poor dog in and shield her hands from the
gook that covered him.  Nothing was in sight. 

She walked back to the Victorian sitting
room and spied a throw.  She grabbed what was probably a priceless cashmere
blanket and returned to the dog.  His eyes were still closed.  She gently put
the edge of the blanket against its back, grabbed its legs, and rolled him on
the blanket.  Emily pulled the blanket across the hardwood, sliding the dog
gently out of the kitchen and into the dining room.  She shut the swinging door
to block the smell.  She leaned over and picked up the blanket wrapped dog,
taking him to the food and water bowls.  The dog opened his eyes and did not
struggle.

She gently placed the dog on a mat
by the backdoor.  She pulled the bowl of salmon next to his face, pinching a
piece of fish in her fingers and placing it next to the dog’s mouth.  The dog
opened his mouth and chewed weakly.  Once the fish was in his mouth his eyes
opened wide.  He put his face in the bowl of food and ate quickly.  The fish
was gone in a few seconds.  Emily was afraid another can would make the dog
sick, particularly on his empty stomach.  She pushed the water bowl into the
salmon bowls place and the dog drank.  He finished the bowl of water before
looking up at Emily. 

“That’s enough for now buddy.  Let’s
get you over to the museum, see if they have water pressure and maybe we can
get you another drink.  You are definitely taking a bath to get that funkiness
off of you.”  The dog tried to get up, but he was too weak.  It lay back down. 
His legs wobbled as he tried to stand again before collapsing a second time.

“I got you big guy, don’t worry, I
got you.”  Emily reached down and picked up the dog.  It should have weighed
fifty pounds or more, but he was at most twenty five.  The fish gave the dog
some energy, not enough strength to walk, but the salmon put a light in his eyes. 
Bulldogs do not have tails.  This dog had a little nub that Emily could see
moving back and forth.  The dog was happy.

She slipped the water bowl into her
pack, put the pack on her back, and leaned over to pick up the dog.  She kept
the throw between herself and the nastiness.

“It’s not far, I can carry you.” 
Emily said to the dog’s face, “and even if that water is cold, you are getting
a bath.  Marbles has water stations where kids play.  They are perfect for
washing a little doggie like you.”  Emily spent a lot of time at the Marbles Kids
Museum with her two boys.  She knew the layout inside and out.  She hoped she
could find soap.

She made her way down the four
blocks to the kids’ museum, talking to her new pet along the way.  She went to
the corner of the museum that faced the park and the arranged meeting place
with Todd and the boys.  Emily put the dog on the sidewalk and turned to face
the museum.  She had little hope of finding an open door.  The museum was
locked up tightly.  Emily contemplated which door to break and how to break
it.  The museum had glass doorways on three of its sides.  The door in front of
her, the main entrance, passed through a gift shop.  Emily remembered the gift
shop had a chain link door separating it from the rest of the museum.  She and
Todd attended a fundraiser at the museum, the gift shop was sealed off.  She
walked to the door, cupping her hands against the glass to peer into the shop. 
She saw the chain mesh on the other side.  “I can’t get through that.”  She
said over her shoulder to the dog.

She decided to try a door on the
side of the building next to the museum’s garden.  Not only was the door near the
water stations and kitchen Emily needed to wash the dog, but there was a slight
chance the door might be unlocked.

“Okay, I’m going to pick you up
again, lil’ buddy.  One more time before your bath.”  Even in the fresh air the
dog smelled.  She bent down and picked him up, walking quickly around the
building to the garden area.  She held the dog away from her face, and walked through
the dead garden to the side door.  Emily saw the giant wooden pirate ship and
submarine on the other side of the glass.  She tried the door.  It was locked. 

Emily’s other reason for selecting
this door was the large rocks the garden staff used as decorative bordering. 
Emily put the dog down several feet from the door, “it’s going to be loud, but
it’s okay.” 

She picked up a rock and threw it
at the door.  It did not go through the safety enforced glass, but it made a
small hole and spider webbed the door.  She picked the rock up and threw it again. 
This time the rock went through.  Emily kicked the glass away from the frame. 

“I’ll find a broom and sweep that
away from the pirate ship, don’t worry.”  She said to the dog.  She went
through the door by ducking under the handle bar that went across the middle. 
She kicked the large pieces of safety glass out of her way and walked to the
water stations she hoped to use for a dog bath.  She could not find a knob or
valve to turn on the water.  “Damn it,” she muttered.  After a few minutes of
futility, she opted for plan B, a kitchen sink.  The kitchen was next to the
pirate ship.  It was an interior room, windowless, and pitch black.