Cruel World (28 page)

~

When it was full light, they ventured up the stairs and into the ruins of the shack above. The little house had been destroyed. Two of the four walls were gone, torn away like wreckage from a high-speed crash. Pots and pans, old newspapers, shattered wood and glass all littered the floor. Outside the sun lit the small clearing and churned earth, the greening trees in the surrounding forest tipping with the breeze. The herd of stilts was nowhere to be seen.

The man murmured that his name was Hilton when Quinn asked. He didn’t say if it was his first or last. He seemed indifferent to their presence, and when Quinn suggested that they scout the immediate area, he merely fed more shells into his shotgun and headed out across the field.

Quinn followed and caught up with him after having Alice lock her, Ty, and Denver in the cellar. Hilton’s eyes were bright in the light of day, their gaze roaming the earth, the trees, and Quinn’s face from time to time. They moved across the field, its surface trampled by the long tracks of the stilts. When they entered the plantation, the air grew quiet around them. The birdsong that had accompanied them to that point, gone. Quinn hesitated at the border but continued after the old man when everything remained still.

When they arrived at the farmhouse where they’d left the truck the night before, Hilton stopped and slowly lowered himself to the ground. Quinn did the same, spotting movement a fraction of a second later.

Three stilts stood in the driveway, their arms at their sides, only their heads moving in a panning of the land around them.

“Damn,” Quinn said under his breath.

“They’re lookin’ for ya,” Hilton said.

Quinn glanced at him and then back at the towering creatures.

“No, they’re…” He was about to say,
they’re not that smart.
But were they? Were they staking out their vehicle in hopes that they would return? If they were, then was there a chance that there were more hidden and watching from other angles?

Quinn looked around, searching the plantation thoroughly. There was only the thin trees.

“We should go,” Quinn said, waiting until the stilts’ attention was focused on something opposite their location before standing and making his way back to the little field. Hilton followed, proceeding with a stealth that shamed even Quinn’s careful treading over leaves and branches. When they were back at Hilton’s home, he spoke again, producing a hand-rolled cigarette and lighter from his pocket.

“If they’re waitin’ there, they’ll be waitin’ all around. Be stupid to go traipsin’ off through the woods now. Specially with a blind boy and a dog.” He took a long drag on the cigarette, bright eyes squinting. “Don’t like dogs.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I’m sorry for your house. If things were different, I’d help you repair it.”

“Ain’t a worry. Wasn’t much to begin with, but it kept me dry.” Hilton studied him from behind the cigarette. “What you people doin’ out here anyway?”

“Trying to get to Iowa,” Quinn said, looking down at the trap door.

“Yeah. What’s there for ya?”

“The army, we heard.”

Hilton coughed out a laugh. “Army’s dead, sonny boy. Same as everything else.”

“Well, that’s where we’re headed. We lost our map the other day and—”

“Lost your way looks like to me,” Hilton said, dragging on the cigarette.

Quinn watched the other man, a tingling rising from the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah. Anyway, where are we exactly? Are we still in Ohio?”

“Nah. This be the great state of Indiana.” He pronounced it,
Endiana.

“Gotcha. You wouldn’t know of any other houses nearby, any vehicles—”

“You could steal?” Hilton asked, cutting him off again.

Quinn watched the old man, shifting the AR-15 on its sling. Hilton stared at him for another beat and then broke out laughing.

“You’re too tense, sonny boy. I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Stealin’s same as everything else in these days. Everything’s forgiven.” He tossed the butt of his cigarette away, not bothering to stamp it out. It smoldered on a floorboard, a razor line of smoke trailing from it.

“You’re probably right,” Quinn said, smiling. “We’ve been on the road awhile.”

“Well, you’re all welcome to stay as long as you need. Simply for the reason I don’t want those tall bastards coming down on my head again if you try to leave too soon.” Hilton barked another laugh and then motioned toward the rickety cot overturned in the corner. “Give me a hand so there’s somethin’ to sleep on down there, will ya?”

~

The day passed in a humid blur, the close air warming by ratcheting increments in the cellar. Hilton began to speak more and more as the hours went by, his mood improving so that he smiled most of the time when he talked. He had been a truck driver in his former life, years ago, he said. Never married, no kids. He belonged to the road until a bad back kept him from sitting for long periods of time. When he could no longer make a living driving truck, he came here to his father’s land and constructed the shack that sat above them. He said it was therapeutic to get away from the trappings of society. Raise his garden in the solace of each day and read in the evenings. He had no electricity, no running water, no indoor toilet, but he made do.

“Really, things didn’t change for me much when everything happened,” Hilton said, smoking another cigarette. “Walked into town one day a month ago, things were fine. Went back last week, everyone’s dead.”

“It really happened fast,” Alice said. She sat against the wall watching Ty play with an interlocking steel puzzle Hilton had given him earlier. The pieces slid together in a maze-like pattern. By turning and twisting them into the correct shape, they would come apart.

“I guess we really shoulda’ seen it all comin’,” Hilton said. “World was shit and just got worse as the years went by. Can’t keep takin’ line and not expect to get a hook in your hand eventually. Not that it was such a stretch, most people changin’ into monsters.” He gave Quinn a fleeting look and chewed on the cigarette that poked from his beard.

They passed around the last bottle of water from Quinn’s bag and shared two melted candy bars. In the evening, they heard the passage of several stilts through the woods beside the shack. Their calls were absent, but they could hear the snapping of branches, feel the heavy footfalls through the foundation. After the sounds faded away, Quinn approached Hilton who was arranging the dirty cot in a corner.

“I think we’ll have to stay another night, if it’s okay with you. I don’t think it would be safe enough today to travel any distance,” Quinn said.

“That’s more’n fine. Apologies about how I acted earlier. Wasn’t myself. Not used to guests,” Hilton said, straightening. “Got a feeling we should douse the lights early tonight, not make a spectacle of ourselves.”

“Sounds good. Thank you again,” Quinn said, putting out his hand. The older man shook it.

“No thanks needed. ‘Bout time I do some good deeds.” He grinned at Quinn, and there were two teeth missing from the top left side of his mouth. Quinn felt his upper lip curling. Hilton’s hand was clammy and cool, like something already dead, but his smile was genuine and radiated warmth.

Quinn made his way back to the opposite side of the room and sat down beside Ty who was still working on the puzzle.

“Getting anywhere with that, champ?”

“Maybe. I thought I had it figured out a little bit ago, but now I’m not sure.”

Quinn stared at Hilton who sat on the cot and flopped onto his back, closing his eyes with one last look around the room. The old man’s age spots gleamed with moisture. Quinn imagined them moving like black amoebas on the petri dish of Hilton’s scalp.

“Got it!” Ty exclaimed in a quiet voice. He held the two pieces of puzzle out in triumph.

“Great job, honey,” Alice said, stroking his hair. “We’ll have to find more of those for you. I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“Made it myself,” Hilton said, and they all glanced at him. Quinn had thought the man was sleeping. “You can have it if you want, little one.” He didn’t open his eyes.

“Really?” Ty asked.

“Wouldn’t lie to ya.”

“Cool! Thank you, sir.”

Hilton smiled and then rolled toward the wall. Soon soft snores drifted from him, and he broke wind loudly. Alice put a hand over Ty’s mouth before the laughter could slip out and shot a look at Quinn, a bemused smile on her face. Quinn shrugged and pulled out the revolver, rotating the cylinder around and around. Four shots left. He glanced at Hilton and then back at the brass shells before holstering the weapon and standing.

Quinn moved across the room and inspected the pile of tools. They were all rusted beyond use. Screwdriver tips blunted, saw blades clogged, chains coiled like snakes, hammers orange and pitted. Above the pile was a hole in one of the cement blocks, its edges rounded and smoothed. He ran a finger inside it. Nothing but the hollow center of the block.

“What are you doing?” Alice asked. He came back to her and sat down.

“Nothing. Looking around.”

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

“No.”

“You must be exhausted. Lie down for a while, I’ll keep watch.”

He leaned closer to her. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“With him,” he said, nodding toward Hilton.

“He’s eccentric and a hermit. Probably hasn’t talked much with people in years.”

“I know, but there’s something wrong with him. His eyes.”

“Quinn, what choice do we have? Those things are still around, it’s almost dark, and we have no idea where the next safe haven could be.”

Quinn grimaced and rubbed his brow. God he was tired.

“I know. Okay, let’s just get through the night. We leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Agreed. Now go to sleep. I can handle myself. Where are the matches? I want to light a candle before I can’t see at all.”

He handed her the small matchbook that he’d brought down from upstairs. She drew one of the matches across the striking strip and lit a candle. The darkness slowly lifted, light flickering on the block walls barely revealing the supports above them.

Alice handed him back the matches, and he laid down near Ty, his head resting against the floor. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep with the lump of dread that pulsed in the base of his stomach, but exhaustion gradually drew him deeper into darkness. His eyelids were immovable weights that drifted lower with each second. The candlelight wavered in his blurry vision before winking out like a firefly.

~

“Quinn.”

The whisper woke him like a dousing of ice water. He opened his eyes and blinked several times because there was no change. He was blind. Somehow he’d gone blind while he slept and now the world was only darkness.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked.

“It’s me,” Ty whispered.

Quinn looked around, searching for the boy’s face in the darkness. The candle had gone out. He remembered Alice lighting a candle. There was a muffled clink of steel across the cellar.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Denver was digging. I got him to stop, but what is this?” he asked, taking Quinn’s hand in his own. Ty guided his palm to the rough floor, over a rock, and onto something half-domed and smooth. He could feel loose dirt around the object where the dog’s paws had pulled the earth free.

Denver whined.

Quinn felt the object again. It was buried several inches beneath the cellar floor. It was dry, crusted with soil. His fingers met two depressions filled with dirt.

“What is it?” Ty asked again.

Quinn got on his knees and dug in his pocket, searching for the matches he knew were there. He got them out, fingertips prying one from the pack. He folded the cover over, pinning the match between it and the striking strip. He pulled.

Flame fluttered and flared, pouring light onto the hole where a human skull stared up at him, eye sockets packed with dirt.

“Shit!” Quinn said, dropping the match. His mind flooded with possibilities in the half second it took him to grab for the revolver at his hip—that wasn’t there.

A flashlight clicked from across the cellar and shone on him. Denver growled once, deep and long.

“Shut it,” Hilton said, pinpointing the dog with the beam he held in his left hand. In his right he gripped the revolver. Alice lay on Hilton’s cot, eyes clouded with pain, her wrists bound by the rusted chain he’d spotted earlier in the pile of tools. Her mouth was gagged with a strip of dirty cloth.

“Hilton, what are you doing?” Quinn said, rising to his feet.

“What’s it look like, pretty boy? Huh?” Hilton said, bringing the weapon to bear on his chest. “Shouldn’t have slept so hard.”

“Momma?” Ty said. Alice moaned a word through the gag.

“Damn, what a fortuitous meeting this was,” Hilton said. “To think, I was under the impression that I’d never get to have any more fun, and you people waltz onto my property.”