No Man's Land

Chapter 5

        The sun, looming closer to the horizons edge, began to cast feelings of unease in Ken. The heat was dying down a little as the sky was growing shades more vibrant but temperatures will drop heavily tonight Beth said. Bloody crimson, marrow yellow, and flesh pink. The colors that filled the fleeting sky. Beautiful, Ken thought, it was the most vibrant a sky he has ever seen. The colors were like that out of some sort of acid ignited fantasy, colors attributed to fallout, particles in the air intensifying light's fervor. Beauty through destruction, it's how the story always goes. They spent the last hour looking for a good shelter but prospects were low. Mostly corporate farmland with no housing to keep them safe. They didn't hit a single town in between their point of origin and their path. America's heart is an empty place. They were tired and hungry. His bottle of water was drained but Beth had a small container she filled from the rain. They drank from it, choking down the acidic sludge; it was all they had. After about a half hour more of wandering along the road they saw a silhouette thrust upon a black mound against painted heavens. A farm house, large and ominous. They quickened their march, the sun melting flat against the black.

        Just as the moon and stars climbed to their position in the sky they reached the white gate of their savior, an old, extravagant Victorian styled home. They slid past the peeling white picketed fences that surrounded the forgotten yard. The posts were crooked and rotted. Their once brilliant, pure and pearly whiteness choked by neglect, stained by catastrophe. The yard was large and impressive, well, Ken thought, must have been when it was in its glory. What was once perfectly leveled, green grass was now a browned stain across the earth's surface. What once must have been giant, beautiful topiaries were now just withered, silvery skeletons in the moonlight. Even what once probably was the most beautiful home for miles around in every direction was now nothing more than a dusty corpse. As they approached the once glorious silhouette now turned menacing, appearing sagging, crooked, and hollow. Roof tiles arched towards the sky. Paint curled and fell away like peeling skin, revealing bones made of termite eaten wood. Broken windows and shutters had succumbed to gravity's graces. A flag jutted from the support beam of the sinking porch, tattered and fluttering ghostly against the icy wind. Red, white, and blue. As they climbed the creaking steps he fumbled in the emergency kit for the flashlight. Gone. He remembers when he threw it as a distraction for the hounds. Beth reached for the gilded door knob with gun in hand. It creaked loud enough to wake the dead. A square of light infiltrated the dusty interior, revealing the floor boards and central hallway. Ken's knife was out in a raised fist. They look at each other. Beth, pistol raised, gave a quick nod to him and entered cautiously. He quickly followed. Except for the small windows light from the moon, visibility is not existent.

        "Beth," Ken whispers as quietly as he could, "can you see anything at all?"

        "No." She responds trying to match his volume, "Just try and feel around." With hands outstretched, Ken walked down the central hallway. Beth, who felt a banister to her right, started ascending a stair case to the next level. Each step she took raised her nerves. Each board jerked and creaked against her slight weight. Her hand was on the bannister, sliding along its dusted surface, her only tether. Behind her she could see the light of the doorway but ahead there was nothing. Ascending deeper, she felt the final step onto the second floor. Darkness was all around her. Her eyes were trying to adjust but it was impossible. There was no light to help acclimate. Fumbling along the tattered wall, she felt the edge of a door way. Creak. Thud. Creak. Thud. Something was beyond the hard wood door. Her heart stopped. She realized how heavy her breath was. She's terrified of what lies beyond the door. Why am I scarred? She asked herself. She's faced what has seemed impossible before but fear never leaves you. Experience never washes away the anxieties. Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. You're not going to die, you're not going to die, not this time. She steadied herself and took one final breath and flung the door open, gun aimed at whatever awaited her. Light from the moon caught her off guard for a moment, its brightness blinded her momentarily. A horrifying, boney face shone through the haze. Terrified, she began screaming, unaware as the sound escaped from her throat. With a nervous twitch of the hand she dropped the gun.