Everyone Dies in the End #58
Todd
1
They saw nothing, nothing except a young maple tree, the edge of its leaves fluttering golden with the early turning. Susan stepped through the gate, her dark, spiky hair rippling in the breeze. Stepped without a drawn weapon, stepped, and spoke.
“Hi.”
Arty and Todd exchanged glances, then shrugs, and then lowered their guns before following Susan through.
The yard was well trimmed and green. Short, thick bushes lined the back of the house, and in front of the bushes sprawled a colorful quilt. On the blanket sat a little girl, short brown hair, freckled face, and clean, long dress, surrounded by dolls. She examined Susan without concern.
“Hello,” she replied to Susan’s earlier salutation.
Todd tore his eyes from the girl, and scanned the remainder of the yard. It felt strange, not bad, but maybe not good, and certainly not right. Three strangers, two of them toting guns, stroll into your back yard, and all the girl offers is “hello”? She should have run screaming, or at least calling for her mom and dad, but instead she spoke as if Susan was expected company. So Todd scanned the yard. And he saw nothing, but he heard the screen door that led into the house screech open, and Arty raised his pistol.
A woman appeared. Somewhat pretty, thought Todd. With long, brown hair, a plain yet pleasing face, simply cut, lengthy dress, worn tight across her bosom, top button undone, a crease dark between her breasts. She wiped her hands on a towel she carried. Todd could have sworn he saw streaks of red on those hands, but the towel was dark, and the darkness left no clue. The woman smiled. “Hello.”
Arty lowered his gun.
“This is my mom,” the little girl announced.
2
The tea was warm, sweet, and as surreal as everything else since they had stumbled onto the white house in Henry , Virginia
“Is it okay?”
The kitchen table was stout, made from thick wood, polished to a gleam, and thickly coated with polyurethane. The mother sat at the head, anxiously peering at him, eager to please. Too eager by Todd’s reckoning.
He smiled over the tea, savoring the strong smell; maybe he was just too suspicious.
“Yeah, it’s more than okay, it’s…” Before he could utter the description that fit not only the tea, but the entire white house, and the daughter, and the mother, Susan spoke.
“Wonderful, that’s what it is. It’s wonderful. I haven’t had a cup of tea since I don’t know when.” She paused, tilting her head, lost in thought. Nodding, she spoke again. “Charlotte
“I know,” their host replied. “This world is ending. I often wonder if it is worth holding on, grasping at the straws of the past.” She shook her head. “The things I must do to keep us keep us alive.” The woman stared into her tea, her guest’s presence seemingly forgotten.
Todd caught Artemis’s eye from across the table. He arched his eyebrows, Todd gave a little shrug, Susan frowned at them both and slid her hand across the table and patted their host’s. Through the open screen, Todd could see the daughter playing.
“Is it just the two of you?” asked Susan.
The woman’s eye’s shot up. “Oh yes, no one else, just the two of us.” She shook her head. Shook it a little too decidedly, Todd thought. Over the sink, it was an older, white porcelain sink, a small wind chime caught the afternoon breeze and tinkled. The screen door squealed, and the young girl came in, doll in hand, smile on face. She went to her mother’s side, who drew her affectionately close.
“Will you stay for dinner?” the mother asked.
“Oh yes, please stay,” the girl echoed excitedly.
“Well…” Todd began. There was no reason they shouldn’t. They all could use, hell, they all needed, a good meal, but something plucked the back of his mind, something that wasn’t quite right. “Well…”
“Well, sure we will,” Susan answered for him.
“Yes,” the girl cried with delight, and then turned to her mother. “Will the others be coming?”
The mother avoided the question. “Run along now, Akasia.”
“But…” the girl began to protest, a look passed from mother to daughter, and Akasia closed her mouth. She left and the table was silent save for the tiny clicking of the mother’s spoon in her tea as she stirred it, her eyes focused on the steaming brew. She shook he head. Slowly.
“She,” the word hung in the air until she looked up, meeting Todd’s eyes, “She’s better.”
“This,” she gestured with her hand toward the window, “has been hard.” She laughed, a mirthless noise. “Hell, paying mortgage was hard. This,” now she pointed at the window, “this is insane. Everything she knew is gone.” The mother bit her lip, and Todd studied her face, her pretty face, made up as if it was just another day in middle-class country town. His eyes fell to the dress, the top button undone, revealing that hint of cleavage. To Todd, it appeared to be a calculated hint, a hint of cleavage belonging to a body that was too healthy, too well fed to be living in a post-apocalyptic country where food was as scarce as friendly strangers. “Her father was in the Guard.”
Susan reached for the mother’s hand, and the mother smiled, tears glistening on her cheeks. “He never came back.”
Todd didn’t believe her, not for a minute. Not about the Guard. Not about the Father, not about not coming back.
Abruptly she pushed back her chair and stood. “Really, it doesn’t matter,” She began picking up the dishes. Susan stood to help, grabbing the pitcher of cream—the woman had claimed they still had a cow giving milk, and fuel for the generator to run the refrigerator. Susan reached for the white appliance’s handle, but the mother hurriedly laid a hand on Susan’s arm. “No, that’s okay. Let’s leave it out. Someone might want another cup of tea.”
Susan shrugged and set the pitcher on the wooden table. The mother set the dishes carefully in the sink. “You’ll stay for dinner?” she queried as the washed the dishes. Todd noticed that water still ran from the faucet and guessed that was okay, both the water and the dinner. The home probably used well water, and the mother had already explained that the generator still ran. That was all that you needed. Electricity to run the well pump and well water would run. Not like living in the city. And the dinner? There was something Todd didn’t like about the mother, daughter, and the house, but he didn’t really see what harm a dinner would do. On top of that, he didn’t really see where he had a choice. Susan was already accepting, and Artemis seemed no less eager. Hell, the idea of a solid meal sounded pretty, damn good to him also.
The mother turned, beaming a smile at them. “That is lovely. We never have company. And you’ll want to stay the night, I’m sure. Wouldn’t it feel nice to sleep in a nice soft bed?” Her eyes held Todd’s and his dropped, of their own volition, to the cleavage. He pulled them away, back to her face. A smile spread slowly across her lips. “Let me show your rooms.”
She turned and walked to a thick, wooden arch, which obviously led to the rest of the house, paused and looked back. “Well?”
Susan laughed. “A bed sounds great.”
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