attached two car garage jutted off the left side. Black shutters graced the average looking windows. Junipers grew large and scraggly around the foundation. Enormous lilac bushes bordered the neighbors on both sides.
Ty pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. “This is it? Looks like they’re on vacation.”
No signs of life were apparent. Windows were closed on a hot summer day. No trash cans at the curb like the neighbors. Must be trash day. Several newspapers rested on the mat by the front door and the grass could have used a mow.
I took off my seatbelt and climbed from the car. Away from town the wind was stronger. It blew my hair into my eyes and I swiped it behind an ear. Ty stood behind me when I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again. Still nothing. I looked around as I waited.
“They must have put all the stuff that didn’t sell in the garage,” I guessed.
Ty walked up to the garage door and peeked in the dirty windows. He tilted his sunglasses up to get a better look. “No car. A workbench, an old fridge. You’re right. There’s a pile of junk in the middle of the floor.”
By then I’d joined him. I wasn’t as tall and didn’t get the same view, but I got the gist. Nothing interesting. “Now what?” I asked, disappointed. Frustrated.
“Let’s look around back.” Ty slipped his sunglasses back on.
Montanans were very particular about their personal liberties, especially gun rights. Everyone had a gun and they knew how to use them. Mostly for hunting and a lot because they were constitutionally able. When it came to personal protection, in other states people shot first and asked questions later. In Montana, people were so friendly to a stranger they’d give them a cup of coffee before they shot them. So, I wasn’t too concerned about being shot while exploring around a stranger’s house. But I let Ty go first.
Ty’s long legs ate up the distance around the garage and beat me to the concrete patio out back. He wasn’t in a rush, but he wasn’t one for dilly-dallying either. He peered in the glass of the back door then shook his head. I was walking up to join him when the wind kicked up again and I smelled eggs. Rotten eggs. I froze in my tracks. My heart stopped. Uh-oh.
“Ty,” I said. He must have heard something in my tone because he turned to look at me from the patio without hesitation. “I smell—”
I saw his eyes change with awareness to an ‘oh shit’ look. “Gas!” Ty grabbed my arm in a heartbeat and we bolted around the house away from the garage, opposite of the way we’d come. “Propane tank,” he said, breathing heavily as we jumped over an old lawnmower. “On the back side of the garage. We walked right past it. Not always dangerous, but we’re not sticking around to find out.”
I practically sprinted to keep up with him, my arm still in his grip. We’d turned the corner and were back in front of the house when I heard a whoomph . Not overly loud, but a weird sound as if a balloon had imploded. Ty practically yanked my arm from the socket as we sprinted to the drainage ditch by the road. Obviously he knew what whoomph meant and it wasn’t good. One second I was vertical, the next I was face down in weeds and dirt with all of Ty’s weight crushing me. I contemplated how his heavy breathing tickled my ear when…KABOOM.
Batman comic ‘KABOOM’ with the big word bubble and huge capital letters big. Debris rained down on us for a full ten seconds. Ty slowly extricated himself from me and raised up onto one knee, brushing small bits of drywall and pink insulation from his back. I pushed myself up on my hands to see what had happened even though I had a pretty good idea.
“Not dangerous?” I questioned.
The left side of the house was no more. The garage had been blown to kingdom come. Only stumps of the lower walls remained attached to the foundation. The main part of the house was mostly intact, but the side closest to the
Ty pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. “This is it? Looks like they’re on vacation.”
No signs of life were apparent. Windows were closed on a hot summer day. No trash cans at the curb like the neighbors. Must be trash day. Several newspapers rested on the mat by the front door and the grass could have used a mow.
I took off my seatbelt and climbed from the car. Away from town the wind was stronger. It blew my hair into my eyes and I swiped it behind an ear. Ty stood behind me when I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again. Still nothing. I looked around as I waited.
“They must have put all the stuff that didn’t sell in the garage,” I guessed.
Ty walked up to the garage door and peeked in the dirty windows. He tilted his sunglasses up to get a better look. “No car. A workbench, an old fridge. You’re right. There’s a pile of junk in the middle of the floor.”
By then I’d joined him. I wasn’t as tall and didn’t get the same view, but I got the gist. Nothing interesting. “Now what?” I asked, disappointed. Frustrated.
“Let’s look around back.” Ty slipped his sunglasses back on.
Montanans were very particular about their personal liberties, especially gun rights. Everyone had a gun and they knew how to use them. Mostly for hunting and a lot because they were constitutionally able. When it came to personal protection, in other states people shot first and asked questions later. In Montana, people were so friendly to a stranger they’d give them a cup of coffee before they shot them. So, I wasn’t too concerned about being shot while exploring around a stranger’s house. But I let Ty go first.
Ty’s long legs ate up the distance around the garage and beat me to the concrete patio out back. He wasn’t in a rush, but he wasn’t one for dilly-dallying either. He peered in the glass of the back door then shook his head. I was walking up to join him when the wind kicked up again and I smelled eggs. Rotten eggs. I froze in my tracks. My heart stopped. Uh-oh.
“Ty,” I said. He must have heard something in my tone because he turned to look at me from the patio without hesitation. “I smell—”
I saw his eyes change with awareness to an ‘oh shit’ look. “Gas!” Ty grabbed my arm in a heartbeat and we bolted around the house away from the garage, opposite of the way we’d come. “Propane tank,” he said, breathing heavily as we jumped over an old lawnmower. “On the back side of the garage. We walked right past it. Not always dangerous, but we’re not sticking around to find out.”
I practically sprinted to keep up with him, my arm still in his grip. We’d turned the corner and were back in front of the house when I heard a whoomph . Not overly loud, but a weird sound as if a balloon had imploded. Ty practically yanked my arm from the socket as we sprinted to the drainage ditch by the road. Obviously he knew what whoomph meant and it wasn’t good. One second I was vertical, the next I was face down in weeds and dirt with all of Ty’s weight crushing me. I contemplated how his heavy breathing tickled my ear when…KABOOM.
Batman comic ‘KABOOM’ with the big word bubble and huge capital letters big. Debris rained down on us for a full ten seconds. Ty slowly extricated himself from me and raised up onto one knee, brushing small bits of drywall and pink insulation from his back. I pushed myself up on my hands to see what had happened even though I had a pretty good idea.
“Not dangerous?” I questioned.
The left side of the house was no more. The garage had been blown to kingdom come. Only stumps of the lower walls remained attached to the foundation. The main part of the house was mostly intact, but the side closest to the
Similar Books
