and looks at me. When our eyes meet in the mirror, she turns to go, then stops.
“Denny must like you,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
Leslie drops her eyes and walks away.
With the door closed behind me, I take hold of my hair and slip it between the blades. It takes a couple of small snips until I find a groove, but I cut it away. By the time I finish, I look like a pixie.
There’s hair all over the sink. It takes me a while to clean up the mess. I’ve lost track of time, but really, time abandoned me a while ago.
When I go downstairs there is a small meeting going on in the living room. The former owners of the house decorated as much as they could with Victorian furniture. There’s a wooden frame couch with ball and claw legs, a pair of high-back chairs at either end of an oval coffee table, and an oval, hooked rug in the center of it all. An autumn landscape painting hangs above the sofa. It saddens me when I look at it. I am reminded of how much I once loved the fall. I used to love a lot about the old world. I just didn’t know I did.
But there are modern conveniences in the room as well. A flat screen TV sits on an entertainment center in one corner of the great room. A grandfather clock that is all too modern sits catty-corner from the TV. None of these electronic devices are operating. I wonder if they ever will again.
Auntie Alice sits in the high-back chair nearest the front bay window, the standing clock to her left. Denny sits in the one across from her, the flat screen TV to his left. Aubrey sits between two other women on the sofa. They are the women I saw with Leslie earlier. One of the women has bright, orange hair pulled back in a tight bun. The woman on the other side of Aubrey has long, black hair that frames her narrow face. The bald guy with the head tats and his scarecrow buddy sit on folding chairs, squeezed in between the high-backed chairs and the ends of the couch. Leslie stands off to the side behind the bald man. It’s a cramped family portrait. If I were to have come upon this scene in the days before the rash, I would have thought I was interrupting a Sunday afternoon brunch.
I can’t tell what the topic is, but Aubrey is visibly upset. He has been looking at Denny, but when Leslie looks up and sees me standing at the base of the staircase, she lets out a breathy “Oh!” and everyone looks from her to me. I move into the narrow hall that leads into the back kitchen and separates the cluttered dining room from the busy living room. Everyone is staring at me. I touch my hair self-consciously.
“I could still feel the runner’s hand in my hair,” I say. No one says anything. I look away from their stares and see for the first time what is strewn over the coffee table. It is all of my belongings. The wrist rocket. My hand axe. My knife. My disposable lighters have been piled off to the side. There are a couple of books of matches. I see a picture of Lane I’ve kept with me forever. There’s also the tennis ball I toss for Yuki. I have never felt so violated.
“You went through my backpack,” I say.
“It’s a good thing we did,” the orange haired woman says. “What were you planning to do with all of these?”
Denny holds up a hand for silence. “That’s enough, Bethany,” he says. Bethany shrinks back against the couch. Denny turns his attention to me. “You certainly are well equipped,” he says.
“It’s a dangerous world out there,” I say.
Bethany cuts in on me. “Smart people stick together for safety. Ain’t that what you always say, Denny?” Denny gives Bethany a lingering glare. She slumps deeper into the couch. “It’s what you always say,” she says. It’s basically to herself.
“Ever kill a runner?” Denny asks.
I nod. “Killed a few,” I say. “But it’s not really killing if it’s already dead.”
“Government propaganda,” Bethany says. Denny doesn’t even bother to look at her anymore. This seems to frighten
“Denny must like you,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
Leslie drops her eyes and walks away.
With the door closed behind me, I take hold of my hair and slip it between the blades. It takes a couple of small snips until I find a groove, but I cut it away. By the time I finish, I look like a pixie.
There’s hair all over the sink. It takes me a while to clean up the mess. I’ve lost track of time, but really, time abandoned me a while ago.
When I go downstairs there is a small meeting going on in the living room. The former owners of the house decorated as much as they could with Victorian furniture. There’s a wooden frame couch with ball and claw legs, a pair of high-back chairs at either end of an oval coffee table, and an oval, hooked rug in the center of it all. An autumn landscape painting hangs above the sofa. It saddens me when I look at it. I am reminded of how much I once loved the fall. I used to love a lot about the old world. I just didn’t know I did.
But there are modern conveniences in the room as well. A flat screen TV sits on an entertainment center in one corner of the great room. A grandfather clock that is all too modern sits catty-corner from the TV. None of these electronic devices are operating. I wonder if they ever will again.
Auntie Alice sits in the high-back chair nearest the front bay window, the standing clock to her left. Denny sits in the one across from her, the flat screen TV to his left. Aubrey sits between two other women on the sofa. They are the women I saw with Leslie earlier. One of the women has bright, orange hair pulled back in a tight bun. The woman on the other side of Aubrey has long, black hair that frames her narrow face. The bald guy with the head tats and his scarecrow buddy sit on folding chairs, squeezed in between the high-backed chairs and the ends of the couch. Leslie stands off to the side behind the bald man. It’s a cramped family portrait. If I were to have come upon this scene in the days before the rash, I would have thought I was interrupting a Sunday afternoon brunch.
I can’t tell what the topic is, but Aubrey is visibly upset. He has been looking at Denny, but when Leslie looks up and sees me standing at the base of the staircase, she lets out a breathy “Oh!” and everyone looks from her to me. I move into the narrow hall that leads into the back kitchen and separates the cluttered dining room from the busy living room. Everyone is staring at me. I touch my hair self-consciously.
“I could still feel the runner’s hand in my hair,” I say. No one says anything. I look away from their stares and see for the first time what is strewn over the coffee table. It is all of my belongings. The wrist rocket. My hand axe. My knife. My disposable lighters have been piled off to the side. There are a couple of books of matches. I see a picture of Lane I’ve kept with me forever. There’s also the tennis ball I toss for Yuki. I have never felt so violated.
“You went through my backpack,” I say.
“It’s a good thing we did,” the orange haired woman says. “What were you planning to do with all of these?”
Denny holds up a hand for silence. “That’s enough, Bethany,” he says. Bethany shrinks back against the couch. Denny turns his attention to me. “You certainly are well equipped,” he says.
“It’s a dangerous world out there,” I say.
Bethany cuts in on me. “Smart people stick together for safety. Ain’t that what you always say, Denny?” Denny gives Bethany a lingering glare. She slumps deeper into the couch. “It’s what you always say,” she says. It’s basically to herself.
“Ever kill a runner?” Denny asks.
I nod. “Killed a few,” I say. “But it’s not really killing if it’s already dead.”
“Government propaganda,” Bethany says. Denny doesn’t even bother to look at her anymore. This seems to frighten
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