Noah stood up straight and tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear. He backed out of the water and waited for young Hunter (he’d always hated that name) to close in. Once the boy stepped onto dry land, Noah buried the machete in the side of his temple. Hunter dropped to the ground.
Pressing the boy’s face into the mud with his boot, Noah wrenched the blade free. Finally, he turned to the man, his eyes wild and chest heaving.
“Thank you. My—my god, thank you,” the man said between wheezes.
Noah held up his hand signaling the stranger to be silent. He closed his eyes and listened, but all he could hear was running water and the stranger gasping for breath.
“Just the three?” He asked in a hushed tone.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You think so? This is important.”
“They were the only ones I seen.”
Noah nodded. Though plump, the man’s splotchy skin seemed loose, as if he'd recently lost a lot of weight in a short time.
Noah stepped into the creek and walked towards Fitzpatrick’s head.
“What are you doin’?” said the chubby man.
“He’s still…,” Noah paused, searching for the appropriate word, “going.”
“So?”
Water sloshed over the head as its eyes rolled and its mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just leave him like this.” He gave the skull a quick chop, ending its motor functions, then returned to the embankment.
“Come on,” said Noah, holding out his hand. “That shot will draw more.”
The stranger took his hand.
“Noah Barnes,” he grunted, helping the man to his feet.
“Alvin Bartlett. Call me Al.”
Noah's eyes widened. A Bartlett, he thought.
“You related to Billy Bartlett?”
“Why, what'd he do to you?” Alvin said with a crooked smile.
“No, nothing. I knew him from school. He’s a few grades above me.”
“Yeah—my younger brother. Haven't seen him in years though—not any of my family, really,” he said with a hint of salt.
“Oh,” said Noah, feeling strangely relieved.
In high school the name Bartlett was synonymous with trouble—fights, meth, drinking, bigotry—the real-life Yules of Lyons, New York. To Noah, Billy had seemed like the only civilized Bartlett. He’d broken the mold and lived by his own quirky code of honor. But based on Alvin’s bitter tone when he mentioned his family, it made Noah more optimistic that Billy wasn’t the only enlightened one.
“We're about a quarter-mile from my house,” he said. “Try to keep up.”
As they headed towards the Barnes’ home, Noah kept lifting his chin, straining to see as far up the path as possible. Alvin had twisted his ankle crossing the creek, causing them to travel at a perilously slow pace—almost as slow as the undead.
When the house, with its empty yard, finally came into view, the knot in Noah’s stomach untied.
Alvin noted the boarded-up windows on the first floor. Set back from the road, a few miles in between towns in either direction, this was an ideal location to weather the chaos. Alvin wondered if his family's home was equally intact, but then quickly thought better of it.
Before unlocking the front door, Noah looked around to make sure no one would witness them entering. The hallway was dimly lit.
Alvin’s eyes widened. “You got a generator?” It had been weeks since he'd seen a working lightbulb.
Noah chuckled. “That’d be like a dinner bell that never stops ringing. No. This side of the county ran on hydroelectric power. The hydro plant must still be running on its own,” he said. “Enjoy it while it lasts, because I expect it to end any minute.”
“You're lucky. I come from Big Weed. The whole town is dead.”
“They must be on a different grid.”
As they entered the kitchen, Charlie’s attention perked up. He charged in from the living room, shotgun in hand.
“Who’s this?” he said, holding the gun fast across his chest.
Noah hesitated, surprised by his father’s sudden reboot. “This is Al. I found him cornered in the woods.”
“And you brought him back here?” He said with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“He busted his ankle. I couldn’t just leave him there.”
Charlie’s eyes fluttered with confusion. He looked the stranger up and down. “He can't stay here,” his father declared.
“He needs help.”
“We can't be looking after charity cases.”
“Dad, he can barely walk. We can't just turn him away. It'd kill him.”
His father shook his head.
“You know what mom would say if she could hear you?”
“Your mother isn’t here.”
“And right now, I’d say that’s a good thing. She’d be ashamed of you.”
The old man stood eerily still, staring at the intruder in his home. Finally, Charlie looked back at his son, “As soon as he’s fixed up, he has to leave,” he said and then stormed out of the room.
Alvin and Noah looked to the ceiling as Charlie's footsteps pounded overhead.
“Sorry if I put you out,” said Alvin, wrinkling his brow.
“Don't mind him. This whole thing has got his head all twisted up.”
“He ain’t the only one.”
Noah poured a glass of water from the sink and handed it to his guest.
“Running water too?”
“Well water drawn by an electric pump.”
Alvin downed the water as if he were in a drinking contest. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a meat locker in the basement.”
Noah laughed. “Yeah, right.” He went to the pantry and searched the cupboards. “Limited selection, I’m afraid. I haven’t had time to go on a supply run in a while. Beans alright?”
“Anything.”
While Noah heated the beans on an electric hotplate, his little sister skipped into the room.
“Daddy said we have a damned stranger in the house!” she exclaimed, excited to see someone new for the first time in weeks.
Noah tilted his
