Turned

a nest of frayed fabric and twigs.  Nor were there any cans visible in the rubble that covered the floor. I left and walked past a red and yellow plastic car wrapped in vines and went to the next house.  The weeds clutched at my pants and left their burrs as I pulled through them.  The next house’s kitchen was undamaged.  A useless dishwasher and stove sat rusting idly, their paint chipped by the claws of rodents and worn away by the wind that rushed in through the broken window over the sink.  The refrigerator door had swung open to reveal a black-stained interior.  A small plastic woman with a red apron wrapped around her plump waist and a big smile on her round white face hung on the outside of the door. Underneath her apron it read, “Nothing beats mom’s home cooking.”  In the cabinet a can of rutabagas, some root beer, and two cans of spaghetti O’s were neatly stacked and the shredded remains of a bag of rice long since ripped open and eaten lay on the floor.  It was a nice find.  I popped open a can of the root beer and gulped it down as I pulled out the rest of the cans.  The sweet, crisp liquid hissed in my mouth as I swallowed.  I opened the O’s and slurped them straight out of the can, throwing my head back and letting them slide down my throat.  Then suddenly I stopped with the thick sauce coating my tongue I listened quietly. I swallowed. The floor creaked as I shifted my weight slightly.  The cacophony of insects and birds had died down to a dull fuzz of distant creatures.  I shoved the O’s and the rutabagas into my pack, leaving the soda which wasn’t worth its weight, and then palmed my pistol.  It’s cool grip and solid weight were reassuring in my sweaty palm, as I strained to listen. I had seen or heard no evidence of thralls or vamps beyond those that I had killed. If the truck that had come and gone had carried thralls, then they would be after me until they were picked up by vamps or found another human to pursue.  Even if they came across other humans, they would resume their hunt as soon as they had finished with them.

I could hear nothing in the heavy air except the dripping of moisture that had beaded up on the ceiling and slowly I relaxed.  When I finished the can of Spaghetti O’s I ran my finger around the inside of the can collecting the thick red sauce in a streak down the side of my finger before sucking it clean.  I carefully opened the cabinets that had remained closed. The first one’s door came off the hinges as I opened it.  I caught it as it fell and set it gently onto the floor.  The second crumbled in my hands with little more resistance than wet cardboard falling to the floor in little chunks of wood and leaving me with the little green and gold handle in my hand.  There was nothing in the cabinets but dishes and rat turds, both of equal value to me.  I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed towards the back of the house.  A rat never leaves by the hole he entered, my mother had said, and I was tense, still straining to hear over my own footsteps.  I crossed a soggy decaying carpet, passed a putrid heap that was the remains of a couch and stood at a narrow yellow door looking through its small window turned opaque with dust and grime.  I didn’t see any danger, so I pushed, and the door opened with a loud creak.  I winced and gritted my teeth at the sound.  Nothing was in evidence but a gray squirrel that scrambled up a tree and stood at the fork of a branch watching with wide eyes and its tail curled up, but it didn’t chatter.  I hopped down into the shell of a former porch and crouched behind a rotting support as I looked around.  The forest felt uncannily still, and nothing moved under the hot rays of the hazy sun. The humid air was stifling.  I was too spooked to search the other houses, so I started to move away from the houses towards the forest that squeezed them when a black spot flashed in the corner of my eye. My heart rushed and I clawed my gun out of its holster.  A buzzard floated by through the clear blue sky circling lazily over the house I had just exited.  I cursed under my breath and looked back at the house.  There was a rustle at the front door followed by a crash, and I bolted away as the sounds of splintering ripped through the house and a screech went up from the kitchen.  I leapt a tall shrub as I ran, but a tough crooked branch caught my shoe and I fell to the ground chest first knocking out my breath.  I shielded my face with my hands as I fell, and a branch skinned one of my knuckles and sent my gun bouncing along the ground.  As I scrabbled to my feet a briar ripped my shirt as it pulled back towards the ground.  I picked up my gun.  Two thrall faces glared from the doorway with dull eyes and a third, bulky and blond, already stood on the ground beneath them.  He charged me, avoiding the entangling bushes with a mindless grace and I shot. The sound sent a cascade of black birds flying into the air out of the trees around us.  The thrall fell to the ground flopping and clutching at his face.  I turned and ran under the trees glancing over my shoulder as I fled.  The other two thralls followed, not even fifty feet behind me; a wiry dark haired man in grungy shorts and a white