Coyote (14 page)

The Professor and I agreed, though, that she’s definitely the right person for us to attach ourselves to. I don’t know how we would have dealt with the monsters at the farm without her. Probably just passed by, and the Professor and Medic would have slowly starved. And from the way we got cornered in the house, it’s obvious that Bait and I wouldn’t have been able to handle those bandits or any others we might have come across.

Hell, I probably would have never met Bait without her. He would have gotten eaten by those things he says were chasing him and I would probably still be wasting away in that warehouse, waiting for… I don’t know what I was waiting for back there.

Coyote has done well by us so far, even if it seems like she could care less. Is that an act, some sort of defense mechanism, or is that really the way she is? Maybe she’ll warm up to me, or us, in time.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and promised to be warm. Although it was early July, it felt like spring. In keeping with Oregon’s pre-Fall desire to be different than the rest of the states, the western part of the state often refused to allow summer to arrive until early August, and stubbornly held onto it through the end of September most years.

The group awoke more or less at the same time, scavenged again in the kitchen, finding a breakfast of canned vegetables and some stale Wheaties, and spent some time puttering around the house, gathering their things. This morning there was no debate about the fact that they were moving on—it was just assumed.

No debate, that is, until the group left the house and had stepped onto the sidewalk.

She turned left, headed back the way they had come, intending to move on down the same highway again. The dog followed, alert for trouble but seeming calm at the moment. The others hesitated.

“Wait,” said the Professor, “what about across the street?”

She stopped, looking at him. “What of it?”

“We should go over there and see who’s in the house.”

She looked to the house. She was pretty sure one of the downstairs curtains was pulled back ever so slightly, and she thought she could make out part of a face peeking through the gap. It was not a reassuring sight.

“You know they are watching you now?” she asked the Professor. He gave a startled glance toward the house. Evidently he had not known.

“Now you must ask, ‘Why are they not out here, greeting you?’ It doesn’t seem like friendly behavior, skulking there behind the curtains. Are you so sure that house is full of people you wish to meet?”

The others looked at each other and then at the house across the street, considering this point.

“Maybe she’s right,” said the Mule. “I mean, if that house has people in it, why aren’t they out here, saying hello? Why still hide inside? It is kind of suspicious.”

“And they sure as shit know we’re out here discussing them,” said Bait, “what with you all staring over at that house.”

The Professor frowned. “Listen, all of you. Those are people over there. We are people, out here. We should make contact. I know we met some bad people back at the farm, but we can’t let that sour us on everyone.”

‘I don’t know,” said Bait with a smile, “I’m pretty sour on everything that’s happened since the Fall.”

The Professor either didn’t notice Bait’s attempt at humor or decided to ignore it. “That’s just it,” he said. “A whole lot of bad things have happened to all of us, and I bet I’m not much different than the rest of you in that all I’ve been doing is trying to stay alive. Now if you just want to stay alive for one more day, then we move on. Why take a risk, and go see who’s in that house?”

The Mule looked puzzled. “So, you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all. I’ve been thinking about something. Thinking is what I did for a living, it’s who I am, and frankly, what else is there to do while we’re tramping about the countryside? And here’s what I’ve been thinking about: What is our purpose?”

He looked at the group as if expecting an eager student to raise their hand with an answer. They all just looked back at him.

“What is our purpose?” he repeated. “Why are we here? Why were we spared? What are we doing?

“We’re all out here, following her,” he gestured in her direction, “because we think going along in a group gives us a better chance of staying alive, right? And I’d say that’s pretty accurate. I sure wasn’t doing too well before we got together. I was stuck in a barn, wondering whether I’d starve or be eaten by metallic cheetahs.

“But if we keep moving and keep surviving, so what? We’re alive, and that’s good, but we’re nothing else. Eventually you’ll all get tired of it. A person needs a purpose, and why not a noble one? What if our purpose were to maintain the values that made our civilization great? Values like compassion and cooperation for the greater good. Another purpose might be figuring out what the root cause of the Fall was—how these things we’ve been running from came to be here—and then maybe figuring out what we can do about it.

“These are questions that matter and things that are worth doing. But we can’t begin to approach either of them if we ignore our fellow humans. Now maybe the people, or person, that’s in that house needs help. Maybe they want to join us. Maybe they’re happy where they are, and maybe they want to chop us up and eat us for dinner.” Several eyebrows rose at that last suggestion.

“Yes, it’s a risk to go over there. But let’s face it—it’s a small risk. And maybe there’s a reward. Maybe they’ve got food or supplies to share. Maybe they know something and can help us in some way. Maybe they know something that can help us figure out what caused the Fall.”

Bait snorted. “You think some guy stuck in a house in Sandy, Oregon caused all this, or can fix all this? Come on.”

The Professor gave an exasperated sigh. “No, that’s not what I mean. But what I do believe is that we need to apply the scientific method to this. Hypothesize, test, draw conclusions. And that method is based on data. We need data. We need to talk to people to get that data.

“I’m going over there, and I’m going to see who’s in that house. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do, because humanity needs to join together and pull ourselves up out of this, and because maybe it’s one small step in figuring this whole thing out.”

With that, he turned, walking slowly toward the house across the street. Medic, who had been silent through the debate, followed him. With some hesitation, Bait followed as well.

The Mule turned towards her. “Wait just a sec, OK? I know you’re not interested, but this can’t take too long, right?” He backed away a few steps, and when he seemed sure that she wasn’t turning around to leave them, he turned and jogged to catch up with the others.

She watched them go, standing in front of the house in question, gathered in a little group at the bottom of the porch steps. She looked at the downstairs window, and saw that the curtain was drawn all the way closed now. The face was no longer watching them.

She sighed. She should turn and leave them. She had no interest in meeting new people, bad or good.

But for some reason, she still doesn’t understand why, she did not leave. She walked slowly across the street, and stood a few steps behind the rest of the group. As she walked, she slung her rifle down from her shoulder, flicking the safety off and making sure it was ready for action.

The Professor was the one that had the courage to step forward and knock on the door. He waited a few minutes, and then knocked again, a little harder.

After a moment, a small voice came from behind the door.

“Who’s there?”

Bait yelled out “Candy-gram for Mongo!” Medic giggled, the Professor frowned, and the others just looked at him blankly.

“Hey, hi there,” called the Professor. “We know you’re in there. We just want to talk—to meet you. We aren’t going to cause any trouble. We’re the people that were in the house across the street last night. We saw your candle in the window, upstairs.”

There was a pause while the group waited for the voice to respond.

The silence was too much for Bait. He reached forward and rapped on the door. “Land shark!” he called.

Most of them laughed, shushing themselves as they saw the angry look the Professor was giving them. They were like nervous children giggling behind the back of the teacher.

The Professor spoke while looking at Bait. “One of my friends here is an idiot. You’ll have to excuse him. We just want to meet you—to say hello.”

“No trouble, right?” asked the voice.

“No trouble,” repeated the Professor.

The door slowly opened, just a crack, to the limit of the security chain they could see stretched across the opening on the inside. A face peered out. To everyone’s surprise, they had to look down to see the face. It was a boy, maybe seven or eight years old. They saw a pale face with dark hair falling down to partially cover the one blue eye they could see through the crack.

“Hi,” said the Professor.

“Hi,” said the boy.

Both were at a loss for words.

Medic spoke up. “Is your mom or dad at home?”

“No,” said the boy.

“Is there another adult we could talk to?”

“No.”

The group looked at each other.

“You’re alone in there?” asked the Professor.

“It’s OK. I know the rules.”

“The rules?”

“Yeah,” replied the boy. “No using the stove, stay inside, only answer the phone if it’s somebody I know, and don’t open the door to…”

The boy looked a little crestfallen at the end of his recitation, realizing he might have just broken one of the rules.

“It’s OK,” said Medic quickly. She knelt down close to the door, bringing herself to eye level with the boy. “We’re not bad guys or anything. And,” she gave a wink, “we won’t tell anyone you opened the door.”

The boy gave a small smile, looking a little relieved.

“Ok, then,” he said.

“So,” the Professor picked back up, “Your parents aren’t home right now?”

“It’s OK,” said the boy. “I stay home after school all the time until mom gets home.”

“Where’s your mom now?” asked Medic.

Suddenly the boy seemed more nervous. “At work.”

“Your mom’s at work?” Medic seemed puzzled, but didn’t want to question him. “What about your dad?”

“He’s at work too.” The boy looked to the floor. “I’m waiting for them. But it’s OK. I know the rules.”

Suddenly Medic’s eyes got big. “Honey, how long have you been waiting for them to come home from work?”

He continued to stare down at his shoes. It seemed like he might not respond at all, but he spoke up after a few more moments. His voice was quiet and even—the voice of somebody who doesn’t want their emotion to be heard in a quaver or crack.

“A long time.”

“How long? Days?”

“I guess.”

“When’s the last time you saw your mom or dad, sweetie?”

The boy thought for a moment. “Mom walked me to the bus stop, when I went to school. When I came home, she was still at work.”

“Oh shit,” mumbled Bait. “He’s been in here since the Fall. What’s that, weeks? More than a month?”

Mule shoved him. “Shut up, dude.”

Medic gave them all a distressed look, pleading for silence, for help, for something. She looked back to the boy behind the door.

“Are you really all right in there?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Do you have food, water?”

“Yeah, he mumbled.” then he looked up, as if about to tell a secret. “The pantry was almost full and, well, there’s still some left.”

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Sorry, no.” The boy was firm on that. “No strangers in the house. I’ll leave a message or something for you though. You know, for when mom and dad get home.”

The boy leaned back, looking like he might be ready to close the door.

Medic looked back at the group again. There were tears in her eyes. “Honey, wait. Wait. We can help you.”

“It’s OK, miss. I got some food. And I know the rules.”

“Come with me. Please.”

He just shook his head.

“Please.”

Again he shook his head. “I’m waiting for them to come home.” His voice faded to a whisper. Nobody was sure whether he was talking to them or to himself.  “It’s OK. I know the rules.”

He stepped back and gently closed the door.

---

For a moment, nobody moved. Medic stepped forward, then, knocking on the door and calling to the boy some more, but there was no response from the house. The rest of the group just looked at each other, unsure how to proceed. Medic’s pounding and calling grew louder, beginning to take on a desperate note.

Finally, she stepped up to medic, taking hold of her wrist, preventing Medic from knocking any more. Medic looked at her.

“He’s alone in there.”

“Yes, he is,” she agreed.

“He’s going to starve in there. He’s going to die.” Medic’s voice cracked as she said the words.

“Yes,” she agreed again. Her voice betrayed no emotion. “He is going to die.”

“We have to get him out,” said Medic, beginning to look desperate again.

“No,” she said. Medic stared at her, uncomprehending. “No, he does not have to come out. He has chosen.”

“But…” Medic didn’t even know how to argue her point. The pain was evident in Medic’s face, but she could not express it.

The boy had chosen. He did not want to come.

“But nothing,” she said. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Medic pulled away. “No! We can’t leave him! We have to get him out—take him with us!”

Medic turned to begin pounding on the door again, but she stepped in front of her.