June 2009 – Of Warmth, Of Dragons

The gauze-wrapped sun was nearing the far horizon when she found the dirt road. They were deep into the foothills, and the sound of contented birds was foreign and unsettling. A dirt road had to lead somewhere, Jessie surmised, and turned her feet to follow the path. It was a road that hadn’t been traveled in several months. Downed trees clogged the drive — a normal winter phenomenon — and verdant weeds sprouted ankle-high through the thin ash. The ground was spongy underfoot, not harsh and rocky and burnt. It was a different world, though threats remained the same — and the crisp air reeked of rain. She had a makeshift shelter of a vinyl tablecloth, but that wouldn’t do much if the dirt under her seat was already drenched. They needed shelter. Aaron slept, lulled by the gentle evenness of the overgrown road.

In the last shreds of light, she saw the house. It was a small manufactured home with a log façade. The garage door was wide open, and there were no vehicles visible. Holding her stick tightly, she reached to the side zipper of her backpack and pulled forth a small flashlight.

The front door was closed and unlocked. “Hello?” she called cautiously, sidling through the doorway. She shone her flashlight around the room. It was silent and still. The glass windows were intact, and that awed her. She turned to the half-open door to her right. Her own ghastly reflection glimmered back at her — it was a mirror, a bathroom mirror. With her toe, she popped the cupboard open and felt a sob escape her throat. There were toiletries — ibuprofen, antacid, diarrheal medicine, tampons and pads. She backed away and went through the living room. The place was eerie in its perfection. A flat panel TV remained on the wall. Her boots plodded heavily on the kitchen tile. Here, there were signs of panic. Cupboards were strewn open and food boxes scattered on the floor. The homeowners had the sense to take some foodstuffs with them when they fled, that seemed clear. It was a shame that the aliens probably nuked their car as soon as they hit a paved road.

But still, there was food. Boxes of Chex, bags of ramen, flour, Soft Batch cookies. A can of tuna provoked drool out of the corners of her mouth. Keep going, she told herself. Make sure it’s safe.

The master bedroom contained the same disorder. Clothes were heaped on the made bed and trailed to the floor like a long slug. Jessie held up a sweatshirt. She’d be able to switch out her clothing for the first time in two months. Maybe some new shoes, too. This place was too good to be true. There had to be something wrong, some sort of fatal flaw, some concealed trap ready to spring. Trembling, she backed up to the hall and aimed her light into the last room.

Jessie’s loud gasp made Aaron wrestle and cry as he woke with a start.

“Shh, shh,” she told him through tears. “Look, Aaron. Look.” She pulled him out of the sling and held him up to see, the flashlight held tight against her torso with her elbow.

It was a nursery, a perfect nursery. Pink lacey curtains adorned the window. The cherry wood crib was flanked by two small quilts of unicorns in flowery meadows. The dresser drawers were ajar, and the changing table still had a wad of diaper on the mat. There were wipes and two boxes of diapers and a big teddy bear wearing a red bow. Jessie set Aaron on the carpet and fell beside him, pushing off her backpack and camera bag and all the burdens of the past six months.

“I think we died today and we found heaven in the midst of hell,” Jessie whispered to him. Her hand leaned into the beam of the flashlight and illuminated the gold band still on her finger. “You can sleep in a crib tonight. But you’re so used to sleeping next to me, you probably won’t be able to bear it.” She laughed, and her tears carved paths in the thick grime of her face. “You finally have a crib, and it’ll be utterly useless.”

If only for a day or two or a week, this shard of heaven would suffice. But not for long. The sun would rise again through the gloom, and spring would be here soon, and the outside world still awaited them to the south. It had to.

Beth Cato resides near Phoenix, Arizona, and has had dreams about the end of the world since she was three-years-old. Yes, she was a rather odd child. A previous story about Jessie and Aaron, The Pacifier, was published in the March 2009 issue of Niteblade Magazine. For more about Beth and her writing, please visit http://www.BethCato.com