With that in mind I walk up to his door.
It’s closed and locked.
I let out a relieved breath.
Before I break in, I decide to be sure. I make a slow tour of the perimeter of the house, checking the windows and the entrance to his basement. Around at the back door—which is also locked, by the way—I’m pleased to finally admit that the house is sealed up. Looking through the glass, I can even see the latch on the basement door. For the first time, the hook is through the eye. It has decided to stay latched.
Whispering apologies to Amber, I use a rock to break the glass and reach through the hole to unlock the door.
I’m already drenched in sweat. This day is turning out to be another miserable one. Mr. Engel’s house is a good deal hotter. It’s exactly what I would expect, and it’s not a bad thing. As he told me—they hate heat.
Before entering fully, I close my eyes to see if I can sense any of the impending doom that I felt in their presence earlier. It’s hard to say. My heart is already pounding from the act of breaking in, and I’m sweating from the heat. I think it feels okay though. Besides, I only have to go a few feet to reach the phone.
I take a breath and cross the room.
The line crackles with static, but I don’t hear a dial tone.
I try to dial anyway.
Nothing happens.
“Hello?” I ask the static.
The sound of my own voice sends a chill down my spine and I can’t take my eyes off the door to the basement.
That’s it. I’m out.
I drop the phone and back out quickly, nearly slipping on the broken glass on the floor.
Once I’m outside, I catch my breath fast. Part of me wants to go back in and try the phone one more time, but I quickly overrule that idea. My gambling days are over. I would rather walk a few miles in the sun than go back in that house.
Back on the road, I turn around several times to glance at Mr. Engel’s house. I’m sure that it was just nerves, but I’m still happy with my decision to leave. The only thing I’m not happy about is the garage. His keys were probably right in the kitchen, hanging on a hook. If Amber is going to forgive me for breaking in, she might have also forgiven me for borrowing the car.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m perfectly capable of walking.
I pull the hat down to block the sun and I wipe sweat from my forehead. A jug of water would have been smart to bring.
It doesn’t matter.
I have survived worse.
(I wish I had counted steps.)
I wish I had counted steps.
I wish I had brought a charging cord and tried to plug in my phone at Mr. Engel’s, just to see if it would work.
I wish I had some water.
I wish I had grabbed a protein bar or anything from the pantry at home.
It doesn’t matter.
I will survive.
One foot has to go in front of the other, regardless of what else happens.
I keep telling myself that I should be proud. I faced down the one with the violet eyes and I killed it in the name of Kimberly. Instead of giving in, I stood up to the allure of infinite bliss and I stabbed that creature to death.
But what if I’m wrong?
I don’t have anything to prove the idea that those things were predators. Mr. Engel called them vampires in his delirious state. They tapped on a bunch of walls and windows and collected seeds on my porch. Are those reasons enough to warrant eradicating the whole swarm of them?
I keep thinking about the one in the freezer—the baby with the bluish violet eyes. That one was surely too young to have hunted anything. I killed the others because I suspected them of murdering Mr. Engel and because they were menacing me. I can’t imagine that the baby did any of those things. I’ve never heard these things described. They’re probably incredibly rare. I might have killed off the last pack of them. Their species may now be extinct because of my actions.
On either side of me, the tall grass is capped with tan clusters of seeds. There is precious little wind, but when it blows it sends mesmerizing ripples through the blanket of grass. I guess these are amber waves of grain? I never really thought about that before. It’s like the Pledge of Allegiance. They taught us to memorize and recite that pledge, but it wasn’t until much later that I really thought about what I was saying. I accept and endorse that pledge now, but at the time I started saying it, I didn’t have the capacity to make such a deep promise. I don’t believe they should have expected me to, either. It’s like asking someone to sign a contract when they haven’t learned how to read yet.
It’s amazing how wet I am on the outside and how dry on the inside. Every time I try to swallow, my tongue feels like sandpaper on the roof of my mouth. Sweat keeps rolling down into my eyes so I can barely see.
I squint from beneath the brim of Uncle Walt’s hat and keep my feet shuffling down the pavement.
There shouldn’t be this much distance between the house and Prescott Road.
How is it taking this long?
There’s a movie with Clint Eastwood called The Good, the Bad and the Ugly where Tuco makes Blondie march through the desert. Clint Eastwood looked like a piece of beef jerky by the end of that march. That’s how I feel—dehydrated and sunburned. My lips are cracked and stuck together.
My wrist is throbbing.
I have been infected with something.
It’s my last coherent thought.
The fall happens in slow motion, like the toppling of a monolith. My head leans too far forward and my feet are no longer able to keep up.
