Grace Lost (3 page)

In answer, I walked to the bank of
kitchen drawers and quickly found the small hand appliance.  I walked it
over to the box where Boggs was busy packing supplies and dropped it in. 

“Are there any peaches?” I
asked.  It seemed like a mindless question.

“Yes.”

We worked together until two boxes
were filled with canned goods and boxes of crackers and cereal.  Silently,
Boggs left the room while I searched the cabinets for any hidden
treasures.  I found a bag of brown sugar and tucked it into an empty spot
between green beans and canned pork. I wondered to myself if anyone really eats
canned pork. Boggs reentered the kitchen, holding a large blue and white
Coleman ice chest that was familiar to me from camping trips our families had
taken together in years past.  For the first time, it made me think about
my own parents.  I felt guilty for feeling grateful they had died three
years ago.  They wouldn’t have to face the horrors we were now witnessing.

I looked at Boggs to break my
train of thought.  “Do you want me to fill the cooler?” I asked him.

He nodded yes in reply. 
“While you do that I’m going to the garage to get the rig ready. If you need
me, if anything happens, I’m just down the hall.”  He picked up one of the
boxes of food and carried it with him.  I opened the freezer first, and
picked through what I thought might benefit us the most.  I tossed in four
packages of frozen bratwurst, and all the ice that was in the bin.  I
figured we could eat the
brats
cold since they were
pre cooked.  I left the popsicles and ice cream, already melting, behind.
Boggs must have been eating well while his folks were out of town because
pickings were slim.  The refrigerator wasn’t much better, but I found a
tub of margarine, nine eggs, some Swiss cheese slices, a head of lettuce, three
onions, and cranberry juice.  There was a twelve-pack of Coors
Light
tucked into the bottom crisper drawer, and I topped
the cooler off with eight and secured the lid.  I set three more on the
counter and popped the tab on the last remaining can.  I drank from it,
only stopping once to breathe.  The feel of the cold beverage in my
stomach made it grumble loudly in protest from not eating.  I decided to
get the mint chocolate chip out, and a spoon. I sat at the kitchen table,
spooning the melting treat into my mouth.  Boggs walked back in and
cracked a small smile.

“I have gear packed.
Sleeping bags and a two man tent.
  We can add the
cooler and rest of the food last. Can I have some?”  He gestured toward
the ice cream.

“Ya, it’s melting.  Grab a
spoon.” 

Boggs took the spoon out of my
hand, something that was like him to do. He grinned and shoved a scoop of green
into his mouth.  “Thanks.”

Usually I’d smack his arm and
smile, but not today.  We finished the partial container of ice cream in
silence, taking turns with the spoon.  I set the empty carton and the
spoon in the sink.  Boggs had popped open his own beer and was nursing
it.  Things had quieted a bit outside, but we still heard the occasional
moan and growl.  I sighed a bit louder than I meant to, and walked back to
the window. 

“Where will we go?” I asked.

“I think we should head
south.  Then take Highway 2 east toward the mountains.  I guess it
depends on what we can find out about what the hell is happening.”

“I guess we should head out then, huh?”
I said, trying to sound brave.  The thought of leaving the house was
scaring the daylights out of me.  I turned back from the window to face
the inevitable.  “What else do we need?”

“We need to fill some bottles with
water.  I’ll do that.  Can you run upstairs and grab some towels and
toilet paper?”  He looked at me a bit quizzically, not sure if it seemed
prudent or not.

“Good idea.” 

“I haven’t pulled the shades up
there. Keep away from the windows, ok?”

“Kay.” 

“And Zoe…”

I looked back at him. 
“Hmm?”

“Hurry?
  I want to get out of here.”

“I will.”

I redid my messy ponytail, and
quickly ascended the last short staircase in the tri-level home.  Once at
the top, I made my way down a short hallway toward the bathroom that sat at the
back of the house.  It had a small window covered in a sheer beige lace
curtain.  It wasn’t very large, so searching didn’t take long.  I
opened the small under-the-sink cabinet and scavenged seven rolls of generic
brand toilet paper.  I hadn’t thought about how to carry it all, so I left
the rolls of soft paper on the floor by the door and walked across the hall to
Boggs’ bedroom.  I thought it was silly that in his twenties he still
slept in a twin-sized bed with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.  I
walked to the bed and took his pillow in my hands.  I slipped the case off
to use as a sack for what I had pillaged.  Thinking twice, I took the
pillow with me as well.  On his desk sat a 5x7 photo of his parents and
him when he graduated from high school.  The sun was shining in the
picture, and his parents both had grins full of pride at their only child
getting his diploma.  I slipped it, frame and all, into the empty pillow
case and returned to the hallway to gather the toilet paper.  I tucked the
rolls into the make-shift sack, and arranged the frame between the quilted
squares for protection.  I knew deep down I wouldn’t have a chance to
return to the comfort of my own home.  There would be no photos for me,
nothing but the faded memories in my mind.

Feeling as if I was intruding, I
continued down the hall to Mr. and Mrs. Boggs’ bedroom.  I was only
looking for one more
pillow
, but they all sat on the
bed under a large window that overlooked the street.  I dared risk going
for it, dropping to my knees.  I crawled the few feet to the king sized
bed covered in down and satin.  Boggs had always said his mother was
unnecessarily extravagant.  I took a smallish pillow from a pile of about
ten, and dared to peek outside through the window.  The car fire down the
street had begun to fade.  I glanced toward the Robinson’s house and saw
that Nicole Park had moved.  She was no longer lying in the grass, but was
now sitting next to a fire hydrant.  One of her legs was bent at an
unnatural angle and underneath her.  In her remaining hand she held part
of a cat. It laid limp, blood dripping from what remained of its carcass. 
She chewed sloppily, the bloody mess splattering.  I turned away, beer and
ice cream fighting to see the light of day once again. 

Still clinging to the pillow, I
crawled along the floor until I was safely out of sight and in the
hallway.  I returned to the bathroom and rifled through the medicine
cabinet.  I added acetaminophen and ibuprofen to the pillow case, as well
as a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.  I studied my own image in the mirror,
barely recognizing myself.  My hair was snarled, my face dirty, and I
looked afraid.

I used my hair tie to close the
pillow case and made one last trip to Boggs’ room, where I found a pair of
running shorts and slipped them on.  I cinched the waist with the built in
tie common to such shorts, and walked back downstairs to join Boggs.

When I walked into the kitchen,
Boggs was studying an atlas.  He looked up.

“Nice shorts, Zoe.”

“Hope you don’t mind,” was all I
said as I set the stuffed pillow case and both pillows on the table next to the
first aid kit.

“I’ll throw those in the
car.  And no, I don’t mind.”   He got up and carried the load to
the garage.  While he was gone I used the kitchen sink to wet a hand
towel, and wiped my face and arms.  I braided my dirty hair behind my
head, and tied it with a rubber band from a collection that Mrs. Boggs kept in
a small drawer below the microwave.

Boggs returned from his task in
the garage.  “It’s all packed.”

We sat together at the kitchen
table drinking the Coors I had left on the counter.  We hunched over the
atlas, mapping a route.  The plan was to head south, using smaller roads
to shadow the Interstate.  If Highway 2 was clear, we’d follow it east
toward the foothills.  I had never been good with using maps, and Boggs
was well aware of that from past road trips we had ventured on.  I would
drive while he navigated, even before I was old enough to legally sit behind
the wheel.  He plotted the course with a black Sharpie pen, and then
downed the last gulp of his beer. As he set the empty can on the table we heard
the loud shattering of glass breaking somewhere below us.  Instinctively
we both stood, and my wooden kitchen chair fell over with a thud.

“Get to the garage, Zoe, NOW!” yelled
Boggs as he grabbed the atlas from the table.

I was frozen in place from fear,
and he gave me a shove toward the cold concrete room that housed our mode of
escape.  The sound of the dead grew louder, moans rising from the
basement.  The accompanying stench filled the house, causing us to move
faster to the waiting vehicle.  Boggs directly behind me, I stumbled on
the carpet that was fraying at the threshold to the garage.  We tumbled to
the concrete floor in a heap, the sound of danger close behind.  The
guttural moans were terrifying.  Boggs was on his feet before I could gain
my own footing, so he grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me upright.  Boggs
had readied his handgun as I ran for the closest car door, the passenger side,
and slid in.  I could see in the side mirror that the first of the
creatures had reached the door from inside the house.  The sound of the
Kahr expelling a bullet was deafening, and the corpse was launched backward
into three more of the creatures.  I covered my ears with my hands and
screamed.  I felt a whoosh of air as Boggs scrambled into the driver’s
seat, and felt the car shake from his weight.  I kept my ears covered and
my eyes shut, trying to crawl into an internal black hole.

The engine roared to life as the
creatures slammed into the rear of the car in pursuit of us.  I felt the
SUV lurch forward and closed my eyes tighter as I felt the impact of metal
against metal when Boggs drove into the large aluminum door his parents had
installed only a couple of years back. We were nearly blinded by sunlight, our
eyes having become accustomed to the darkness inside the house.

“Zoe, take the gun.”  My
hands were still over my ears.  Boggs was hurriedly driving down the
gentle slope of the driveway, and became irritated.  He smacked my left
shoulder and yelled.  “
God damn it, Zoe! Take the gun!
”

I looked at him, in shock by both
his tone with me and from the unreal events of the morning.  He reached
over and set the gun in my lap, and I placed my left hand over it.  Tears
were streaming down my face.  Boggs slammed his fist against the steering
wheel with a sound of frustration deep in his throat.

Turning to the
right, away from the earlier car crash, Boggs headed down the road while I sat
useless.
   I was trying to
hold in my sobs before I lost all control.  I wiped my eyes with an old
tissue that was shoved between the center console and the driver’s seat. 
Boggs slammed his fist into the steering wheel again, causing fresh tears on my
part.  I wasn’t familiar with this side of him and it scared me.

“Zo, don’t cry.  I just need
to think.  I need to get you out of here safely.”

 I reached forward to turn
the radio on, but was met with a broken knob. 

“The damn radio’s broken,” said
Boggs in a frustrated tone.  “Only the CD player works. Fuck.  We
need to know what the hell is going on.  Damn it.”  He beat the
steering wheel with his fist again.

I dabbed at my tears some more,
and turned away from him to look out the window as we drove.  We had
cleared our small neighborhood and were headed south along a roadway that
served a handful of farms.  The road was oddly absent of vehicles, and our
path was clear.  To the east was a hay field that had recently been harvested. 
Rolled bales covered in white plastic dotted the hillside.  We continued
to drive in silence, the shock of events causing me to tune out Boggs as he
mumbled under his breath.

Not wanting to face him, I kept
watching the countryside pass by.  A large pasture came to view.  A
Black Angus calf lay in the distance while the rest of the herd was in a far
corner.  I could see four human figures crouched over the animal’s body,
ripping into its hide with bare and bloodied hands.  They were cramming
chunks of flesh into their mouths and feasting while the dying calf flailed in
pain and protest. 

 I looked away and wiped my
runny nose with a bare arm, leaving a trail of slime and tears.  In a
monotonous tone and now looking out the windshield I spoke to Boggs. 
“They eat animals.”

“I saw.”

“I need to pee.”

“Me too.
  I’ll stop soon, but we’ll need to hurry.  We’ll
need to watch out for each other.  And you need to know how to shoot that
pistol, Zo.”

I nodded, and picked it up.

“Ok, Zoe. 
First
rule.
  Never point it at someone unless you intend to shoot
them. 
Second rule.
  Never squeeze the
trigger unless you mean to shoot. 
Third rule.
 
Don’t be afraid of it.”  He looked at me.  “Got it?”