The group of men lose their uniformity as they rise, sometimes awkwardly as they do their best to keep their hands in full view. One man has to help the older one up. He simply can’t do it without bracing himself with his hands. They begin to shuffle toward the vehicles, a variety of thank yous and bless yous coming from them as they go. There are many looks back toward her mother.
Once the dust of the vehicles begins to settle and they disappear from sight beyond the bend in the long driveway, both the sheriff and her mother almost shrink with relief. Her mother turns toward the door and Charlotte flings it open, throwing herself into her mother’s arms. She doesn’t even mind the shotgun banging against her back when her mother squeezes her tightly.
She hears the vague sound of the sheriff as he instructs the two deputies, telling them where to keep watch and which approaches to keep in sight. Her mother guides her inside, still not ready to let go of her entirely.
The sheriff’s sturdy boots hit the porch boards a moment later as he follows, shutting the door behind him.
Keeping an arm tight around Charlotte’s shoulder, her mother and the sheriff share a look. It’s too full of things for Charlotte to fully comprehend. Sadness, fear, knowledge.
His expression grim, Sheriff Dewalt says, “They’ll be back. Or some of them. Or one of them. It’s only a matter of time.”
Tabitha nods, finally letting Charlotte go. “Charlie, can you give me a few minutes with the sheriff?”
Charlotte wants to hear. She even thinks she needs to hear, but she can tell from their expressions that they won’t discuss whatever this is in front of her. That doesn’t mean she can’t listen.
“Okay,” she says simply, then walks out of the main living area. At the door to the basement, she says, “I’ve got more laundry.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart.”
Charlotte rushes down the stairs into the basement on light feet, keeping to the edges of the steps because those don’t creak or pound as badly. She doesn’t want them to know she’s running. That might make them wonder why she’s in such a hurry.
She hits the lights and runs past the laundry machines next to the one-time craft area below the living room. She once did crafts that required glitter there. Her mother always said glitter is evil and must be contained in a basement. It was a joke. Now, that nook is crowded with more practical supplies.
Dragging the chair at the table over to the spot where the silver duct overhead meets the register in the living room floor, she scrambles up. This particular spot is a good spot to listen. She’d discovered it when doing a project for school. She’d enjoyed the rumble of voices above her head as boarders discussed their horses with her mom.
Lately, the vent has been used with more purpose. Tabitha may have been open with Charlotte at the beginning about what happened out in the world after The Dying, but that changed over the winter. She no longer talks about those things in front of her.
So, Charlotte has been listening instead. She knows much more than her mother wants her to know. Holding her breath, Charlotte nudges aside the duct with as few scraping noises as possible. The clips that once held it in place no longer do. Only the wire keeps it there. Her mother doesn’t know that either.
“…really thought this was it. I don’t know if I was more scared at what was going to happen to me or that Charlie would have to see it from the attic. All I kept thinking was that if they were corpsers, I hoped they’d take me inside or somewhere else so she wouldn’t have to watch.”
It’s her mother’s voice. She sounds more frightened than Charlotte has ever heard her. Even more than that first day when a world full of women dropped dead.
“We’ve not had corpsers here. Yes, some reports from bigger cities concern that, but I don’t think we’re there yet. We know each other here. It’s not the same.”
The boards above her head creak as her mother paces. She knows that step and pattern. She also knows what corpsers are, despite the fact that her mother has tried to keep that information far from her ears.
The two people above her head have a special bond. Charlotte understands it’s the bond of parents with a daughter still alive and no one else but them in between those daughters and the world. They’d said as much in one of their long conversations over warm tea made from dried herbs gathered over the fall. Coffee is gone, so they make do with endless cups of tea during these talks of theirs.
And one day, that talk had been about something new and terrible being reported, however tentatively, along law enforcement channels. Taken women die so quickly that the taking isn’t worth it, so that practice had died down a little in the months after The Dying.
Then, it had shifted. Groups of men had begun targeting and taking one woman at a time, even knowing she would die. They would go together because time was of the essence. A body stays warm for a while after it dies. A body stays pliable and warm. Corpsers.
Charlotte wished she hadn’t listened that day.
“Even without corpsers, it’s only a matter of time before something else happens, Tabitha. Someone will get so desperate for a hug or a touch that they’ll lose it. You know this.”
The tempo of the pacing speeds up, becoming almost frantic, like her mother is walking in circles.
“I know! Don’t you think I know that?” There’s a pause, then the rare sound of her mother’s breath hitching. Crying? Her mother never cries.
“Tabitha, I’ve been talking with other survivors. I’m in the same boat with my girl. We’re trying to figure out a good place to hide everyone. I think it’s come
