Chapter 26
The sun finally dips below the tree line along the river, and the mosquitoes start biting.
Hours of waiting have left me feeling a little anxious and very hungry, but we have a solid plan, and, to put it mildly, I’m excited.
I can practically taste the adrenaline. We leave our hiding place under the shady tree and start to make our way back to the farm.
To be on the safe side, we decide to make a wide loop around the farmhouse and come from the opposite side of where the farmer saw us leave.
He won’t expect us to come from that direction.
Soon, the three buildings that make up the farm come into view.
The shed, the small white barn, and the gray house.
When we reach the fence surrounding the front yard, we duck behind its white pickets, hiding ourselves from the windows. I shrug off my backpack, unzip the front pouch, and grab one of my lighters. This is our weapon of choice tonight.
Keisha takes a deep breath, then grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze, making my heart jump.
When my eyes meet hers, I can see the excitement in them, and maybe just a hint of fear. I give her a small smile and whisper, “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” she whispers back, looking a little less bold than she did earlier. “Lucia, are you ready?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Stay low.”
As fast and as quietly as we can, we creep to the back of the little white barn behind the farmer’s house.
When we reach it, we duck behind another nearby tree and pause.
In the quiet of the night, something inside catches my attention.
Movement and strange muffled noises come from behind the latched door.
“Are those… Oh my god, I think there are chickens in there,” Keisha says.
“I think you’re right. This is perfect. There’s no way he’ll let this place go up in flames. Those chickens are as good as gold.”
I lift the latch on the barn’s back door, and we slide inside.
The chickens startle and make more noise than I’d like.
I can’t see a thing, so I flick the lighter in my hand.
Bags of cracked cornmeal sit next to several piles of dry straw bedding.
This place will go up in flames the second I touch my lighter to that straw. It’s perfect.
“Maybe we should leave the back door open so the chickens can get out. I don’t want them to die,” Lucia says a little self-consciously.
“You’ve got a soft heart for the chickens, but you don’t mind us killing the farmer?” I ask, a little annoyed.
“The chickens aren’t a threat to anyone,” she says sadly.
“I bet if I roasted one over the fire, you’d—”
“I don’t want the chickens to die either, Lu,” Keisha says, cutting me off, obviously trying to keep her happy.
I sigh. “Fine. Leave the door open if it makes you feel better. Are you ready?”
Keisha gives me a single nod, so I flick the lighter again and hold it to the pile of straw closest to me. It catches instantly, lighting up the entire barn. For a moment I’m mesmerized by the heat and the flicker of the flames. The fire is spreading so fast. I shake my head, breaking the spell.
“Go, go, go!” I say, heading out the back door. As we escape the flaming chicken coop, Keisha leaves the back door wide open. One of the chickens follows us out, clucking wildly as we run.
Sticking to the plan, we sprint back toward the house, crouching low.
As we get closer, I pick up a couple of twigs and toss them at the nearest window.
Then we race around the side of the house to hide in the front bushes.
From inside the house, Penny’s bark sounds the alarm.
So far, everything is unfolding just as we planned.
In the relative safety of the bushes, we breathe heavily, waiting for what comes next. My heart beats hard, and the excitement of it all sings in my chest. I draw my machete and wait.
It’s the middle of the night, but if you didn’t know better, you would think the sun was rising. The light from the flaming chicken coop gives off a glow we can see even from the opposite side of the house. I peek around the corner, and the flames flicker with life, crackling louder and louder.
Over the sound of chickens squawking and wings beating the air as they flee, we hear a door slam from the other side of the house. “What on god’s green earth!” the farmer grumbles as Penny adds to the noise with a furious bark.
“Now!” From the bushes, we leap onto the front porch toward the door.
I turn the knob hopefully. It’s still unlocked.
We duck into the house, trying to stay in the shadows, but the light from the chicken coop continues to grow.
Through the back windows I can see the farmer with a garden hose trying to quell the flames. It’s futile, but it’s keeping him busy.
With one eye on the farmer, I put my hand on Keisha’s shoulder and whisper to her and Lucia, “Stay ready and don’t leave my side. Grab as much as you can, but keep your knives out.”
Keisha nods, her eyes wide but confident, and Lucia does her best to act brave.
I go for the coffee table next to the empty La-Z-Boy first, snatching the book and the binoculars I’d seen earlier this morning.
I scan the bookshelf on the wall and find a pocket atlas.
It’s not nearly as nice as the one I lost, but I tuck it into my backpack.
Next, the kitchen. From under the sink, I pull out a wad of old plastic grocery bags and start piling in as much food as possible.
I grab a few cooking pots too, knowing how useful they’ll be. Soon, we have way too much to carry.
“We need to stash this outside. Put it in the bushes where we were hiding,” Keisha says. It’s a smart idea. I grab as many as I can and haul them toward the front porch. We hide them in the bushes, then run back for more.
“Let’s try the bedrooms. Stay together. We might not have much—”
The sound of a shotgun cocking cuts me off. I whip around, stepping in front of Keisha instinctively.
“Not a bad plan, girls,” the farmer says slowly, his eyes narrowed down the barrel of the shotgun. Penny growls behind him, her jaws dripping.
“We just outran fifty of the dead to get back here; it’s probably best not to ring the dinner bell with that thing, sir,” Keisha says, delivering the perfect lie to buy us some time.
He hesitates, just for a second, but it’s enough for me to make my move.
“Get down!” I shout to Keisha and Lucia as I duck and sweep my machete toward the farmer’s legs.
I can feel when my blade meets his calf muscle, slicing through it easily.
His knees buckle, and a shot goes wild. Plaster rains from the ceiling as he hits the floor with a thud.
Penny yelps, then darts out the back door, leaving the farmer on his own.
Keisha kicks the shotgun out of the farmer’s grip and stands on his right hand.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Lucia cowering in the corner of the kitchen.
I raise my machete over my shoulder, preparing to swing at his throat, but he surprises us both when he rolls toward Keisha with way more force than I expected from a skinny old man.
Keisha tumbles, freeing his right hand as he rolls onto his feet.
He’s bleeding badly and has to be in a lot of pain, but he’s surprisingly fast. He darts through the kitchen with only a hint of a limp, and I hear a door slam, then a loud clatter.
“What the hell?” Keisha asks. I don’t have an answer. I’m just as shocked as she is. We may have really underestimated this guy.
“Don’t let him get away,” I say, following the trail of blood through the kitchen.
The side door opens into a small garage.
I can just barely see the dark, wet stains of the farmer’s blood on the concrete floor shining in the moonlight.
The big garage door has been rolled up, which explains the noise.
My head snaps up as I hear an engine start.
The headlights blind me as the tires of the old red truck spin out in the gravel, then tear down the driveway and away from the house.
“He got away,” I say, still not believing how quickly the old man moved.
“He could be going for help,” Keisha says.
“Or more weapons,” I add.
“Then we need to get what we came for and get out of here before he comes back. I’m not fighting this guy again,” Keisha says, and I get it. I don’t want to mess with him either.
“Let’s do a quick sweep of the house, then get the hell out of here,” I say, moving to grab more plastic bags from under the sink. I hand a few to Keisha as she heads toward the back of the house.
The house’s small size makes it easy to search.
Besides the kitchen and living room, there are only two bedrooms and a small bathroom.
We sweep the bathroom, hoping for medication, but we come up empty-handed; then we move into the bedroom to the right.
It’s clearly a child’s bedroom, but there’s a thin layer of dust on everything, telling me it hasn’t been used in a while.
The walls are covered in wallpaper with tiny horses.
The shelves are filled with small plastic horses as well.
In fact, everything is horse-themed: the bedspread, the pictures on the walls, and the books next to the bed.
“Obsessed much?” I say under my breath. Annoyance itches at me.
Just a few short years ago I would have killed for a bedroom like this.
It’s just a reminder that nothing was fair before the apocalypse.
Some little girl grew up here with a dad and maybe a mom too.
She had this entire room all to herself.
She got to play outside and probably got a new toy horse whenever she wanted, while I was trying new meds in a group home and coming up with new ways to keep the older kids from stealing my shit.
Now she’s gone, and I’m still here. The apocalypse evened the playing field, and now it’s the strong who survive, not the nurtured.