Cruel World(73)

“Pretty common hiding place,” was all she said before returning to the Tahoe.

The rotting fish smell met him in the little foyer like an angry host. He pushed past it, moving carefully and without sound deeper into the house. On the left was a sitting room, ahead a spacious kitchen and dining room. A dark bathroom met him off a hallway before a compacted set of steps rose to the second floor.

There he found the previous occupants, or what was left of them.

The smell that pervaded the house came from the two bedrooms. The right one held a sleigh bed and bright red and green throw pillows that were scattered on the floor like fallen leaves. The center of the mattress was stained with the clear, jelly-like substance. It seemed to move as he watched it, and after a moment, he realized it wasn’t his imagination. It was spreading out, soaking into the fabric.

They had just died. Maybe only hours ago.

The second room was undeniably a child’s. A boy’s by the look of it. Superhero posters papered the walls. GI-Joe’s and a dozen X-Box games littered the floor. A handmade quilt, threadbare and tattered at the edges, covered the bed, its middle soaked in a short outline of a body.

Their child had died, and there hadn’t been a thing they could do about it. They watched it happen, and when it was done, they went in the other room and curled up together to join him. Despite the smell, Quinn stood there, staring at the old quilt covering the boy’s bed. A boy that would never grow up, never have a chance to see the world or have children of his own. He found himself wondering who had made the quilt for him, its incongruency blaring in the small room. Probably a grandparent who was gone now too.

Quinn’s legs wobbled as he neared the hallway, and he had to brace himself on the bannister. After a long minute of breathing slowly, he steeled himself and returned to the parents’ room, stripping the bed of its sheets and blankets. He carried the armload downstairs and hauled it outside, depositing it in a garbage can near the driveway. Alice had Ty in her arms and was gazing at the house.

“It’s clear. They’re gone, but only a little while ago so the smell is pretty bad.” She nodded and went inside. The woman slept on in the passenger seat, her head against the window, each breath fogging a circle of glass. Quinn went inside the house, checking the lights when he stepped into the foyer. They worked. Alice had laid Ty on a loveseat in the sitting room and was covering him with a blanket when he entered.

“We have power,” he said in a low voice.

“That’s a plus. We all need a bath.”

“Definitely.” He searched the room as if the words he wanted might appear on the walls. “About back there…” His voice trailed off as Alice looked up at him. Those blue eyes, always so piercing, like being skewered no matter where he stood. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t leave her behind. I know you don’t agree, but if there’s not people out there willing to help one another, then what are we looking for? If that’s all gone, what’s the point?”

Alice gazed at him as if she were peering into the workings of some machine she’d never encountered before.

“The only thing I’m looking for is a safe place for my son. To still be here. For both of us to be immune. It’s…” she shrugged. “I’ve never deserved him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him up for someone else.” She glanced out the window and then back to him. “I know why you did what you did, Captain America, but that’s what separates you and I.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll go wake her.” He moved from the sitting room to the hallway and out the door, his stomach a ball of knots. Why did he think he needed to explain himself to her? What was there to gain? Her trust? She’d already said he had that, whether he believed her or not. It was something else, some unsaid notion that rose and fell in the back of his mind, distant and then near all at once. He shook his head and jogged down the steps, stopping before the beaten Tahoe’s open passenger door.

The woman was gone.

He spun, bringing up the rifle, and scanned the small yard. The trees were still and silent, nothing hid behind them and the air smelled clean, untouched by blood or decay. Quinn circumvented the vehicle, checking the backseat and rear hatch. The woman was nowhere to be seen. He ran back up the steps, meeting Alice in the hallway.

“She’s gone,” he said, shooting a look past her deeper into the house.

“What? Where could she go?”

“I don’t know. The door was open, and she was gone.”