August Flowers

Part 4: Dark House

It proved to be a pleasant walk from the temple to the edge of the city below. The sky was bright blue. A sweet breeze teased boughs of trees as they ambled into a cozy residential area---their friends' neighborhood. 

Sanzo wore dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a fitted green T-shirt with black ankle boots. Goku, clad in denim shorts and a bright tie-die hoodie, skipped along happily, singing an improvised tune about pork buns and festivals.

With a cigarette hanging between his lips, Sanzo glanced aside at something on the side of the road that didn't belong: a burnt tree. 

That's new. Sanzo took a long draw on the cigarette. The tree had been full and blooming less than a week ago when he was last in town. 

The tree appeared freshly roasted like an over-sized charcoal log sticking out of the ground. The direction of the breeze changed and a rush of grotesque scents---burnt wood, plastic, fabric---overwhelmed them with a stench that made Goku cough. 

"Whoa!" cried Goku. He covered his nose and mouth with the front of his hoodie and scowled at the tree until he noticed houses beyond it. His eyes widened. "What happened?"

A few years ago, Hakkai and Gojyo had moved to a quiet neighborhood of quaint little houses on meek plots of land with new sidewalks. It was the epitome of ordinary, almost painfully so. The location had been Hakkai's idea. Convincing Gojyo was a cinch, especially once he realized all of his favorite kinds of places were within walking distance. 

Sanzo removed his cigarette to stare at the houses down the street. "Well, shit." 

Presently, the collage of colored fences along the left side of the street were stained with vicious scorch marks and, in places, black with ash. Faces of homes were marred by intense heat, some materials showed signs of warping. Mailboxes were toppled, melted, or untouched, as if the fire had skipped around. A few roofs had caved in, the beams bare against the sky like the ribs of a skeleton. Down by the stop sign, another devastated tree stood sentry, gnarled and naked, cracked and ebony, flaking its own skin. 

Damage grew more intense as they proceeded farther down the street, but only on the left hand side. The homes on the right side were untouched, a stark and chilling contrast to the merciless architectural slaughter across the way. 

"Let's hurry," said Goku worriedly, pointing and striding ahead eagerly. "C'mon, their place is over here."

Instead of following, Sanzo stopped. He spotted a uniformed man in white hard hat inspecting the front of one of the untouched houses, scribbling on a clipboard. "Excuse me, sir!" 

The man looked up. He introduced himself as a fire investigator from the city---one of several who were prowling the area that afternoon. 

The inspector let out a resigned sigh. "The fire broke out around midnight last night," he explained. "We're still assessing the damage. No one was killed, thank God, although a few people had to be taken to the hospital."

Sanzo ignored Goku's alarmed look. "Would you know which hospital?"

The inspector shrugged. "Probably Hackney General Hospital. It's the closest." 

Sanzo thanked the inspector who nodded and then continued about his business. 

Goku bounced anxiously. "Now can we go check out Gojyo and Hakkai's house?" 

In reply, Sanzo strode purposefully in the direction of their friends' residence, and Goku bolted ahead. 

*     *     *     *

The signs of destruction intensified until they reached Hakkai and Gojyo's home of which there was nothing left but a jagged pile of unrecognizable debris roped off my yellow danger-do-not-cross tape. The surrounding structures were scorched but most were standing. None had sustained as much damage at this one. This house was utterly obliterated. At first glance, nothing appeared to be left. The house number was painted on the curb, which Sanzo had Goku double check just to be sure they had the right place. 

No roof, no walls, at a glance it kind of looked like an ugly pile of charcoal. 

Goku stared but didn't venture closer than about halfway up the walkway to where the door would have been. 

Sanzo wordlessly stepped inside.  He picked his way around. Everything crunched, popped, and crumbled underfoot like packing popcorn and dried twigs. It was difficult to move around with the remains of the roof smothering everything. 

The dull glint of a sauce pot caught his eye. He was in the---what used to be the kitchen. Shouldering a glossy ebony structural beam aside, he located the remains of the major kitchen appliances. No cook accompanied them. 

Thank God. 

Sanzo eased the beam back to the floor and moved on. His quick eyes sought signs of human remains. A hand, a foot. He glanced back at where Goku waited, anxiously studying the ground around the house. 

The fire inspector said no one was killed so they're probably not here, Sanzo thought. But it pays to be thorough. 

Sanzo stepped over the disfigured melted body of a vacuum cleaner onto an uneven surface, and rolled his ankle. He stumbled but saved himself from going down. 

That would've been bad. Heart pounding, he eyed glinting shards of broken glass underfoot, crackling under his weight as he straightened. 

Satisfied there weren't any bodies in the house, Sanzo made a mental note of a couple of interesting things. 

First, the front door. It was on the ground on the front path in one heat-warped piece with the keys still in the front outside lock. The door post, one of them partly standing, had several slashes in it. Deep and fine. Not caused by the fire, but made by a superb weapon and wielded by a professional. The angle of the cuts indicated the attacker had been inside. 

Some bastard was waiting for them then they walked through the front door... 

The second interesting thing was the back door. 

Sanzo stepped around the fallen back door, busted and splintered at hip height as if it had been kicked out. The ground beyond showed signs of foot traffic in the dirt path behind the homes. A smattering of footprints, old and new, showed faintly, many overlapping, in the packed dirt. 

Squatting, Sanzo scrutinized the footprints. He found five fresh sets of large boots. Military grade boot tread. Two were being dragged, two were injured but mobile, and one covered their retreat. The good news? No one covers a retreat if the enemy behind them is dead.

Sanzo flicked a glance up the empty path. Looks like Hakkai and Gojyo are well enough to be a pain in someone's ass besides mine.

"Sanzo!" Goku had wandered around the house next door to the same footpath Sanzo was on and ambled a few doors down. He was waving excitedly and pointing at something between two houses.

Rising, Sanzo walked over and followed his point. "F-ck."

A small paved patio under an awning with only the ribs remaining. The patio was darkly but irregularly colored, but not in an intentional or ashy sort of way. It took a full minute for Sanzo to fully appreciate what he was looking at. It was as if someone had dragged a 70 kg bag of paint full of holes across the grass from the path and dropped on the patio where the bag leaked, and leaked, and leaked. There were hand prints and smears, in blood but not ash. And then the bag appeared to have been dragged off again, painting the grass dark red until the trail vanished, erased by fire. 

That's way too much blood. 

Resisting a shudder, Sanzo wiped his mouth, looking up and down the path. The military boots had departed in the opposite direction. 

So this was... 

Whoever this blood belongs to is probably dead.