The rain was back. Sherman had enjoyed the brief respite from its drumming on him.

The clouds hid the sun, so he couldn’t tell exactly how low it might be, but it seemed a little darker than earlier. Perhaps the clouds were thicker, warning of more rain to come.

He walked back to the creek and turned towards home, back the way they had come. He hoped he didn’t run into that hog from earlier. He didn’t have Smitty with him this time, and even if he had, Smitty would have been too worn out to help. Not that being tired would have kept Smitty from trying.

The ground was sloppy. Keeping an eye on the family and Smitty had distracted him. The hog hadn’t helped any, either.

An old farmhouse was about a mile back. He managed to keep his shoes. He had to hop back a few times to pick one out of the mud and put it back on. The mud liked to suck things in and keep them.

The house was set back a ways from the creek. Whoever had lived there must have gone into the city for the weekend. No lights were on, and no cars were in the driveway.

Sherman walked up to the small fenced yard surrounding the house. The grass hadn’t been mowed in a while but wasn’t high enough to hide the foundation. The screen door at the back of the house was open.

The metal gate to the backyard protested as he opened it, so he left it open after entering the yard. No use making more noise if someone was home. He’d need to leave quickly if he got caught.

He pressed his ear to the door to listen for movement. He didn’t hear anything. Not even the faint hiss of an air conditioner.

He jiggled the door handle. It was locked. He looked under the mat but didn’t see a key. The flower beds were filled with water. He fished around for any light rocks that might be near the steps. There were none.

The windows were low enough that he could reach them. The screens were still on but easy to remove and set aside. He’d done this at home several times when he didn’t want his parents to know he had gone outside, though Mother usually caught him if he got his feet dirty and then walked on his bed getting back in.

The first window was locked. Inside was a bedroom with a single twin bed. The sheets were messed up, and the bedspread was mostly on the floor. It looked like a kid’s room. The bedspread was decorated with ringed planets and pointed rockets with trailing cones of fire. A small bookcase was beside the bed and doubled as a nightstand. Sherman couldn’t make out the titles of the books, but they were big and thin.

The other window into the bedroom wasn’t locked. He climbed in and shut the window behind him. No use letting any of the rain in. It was bad enough that he was tracking mud everywhere.

He walked through the house to see if anyone was there. None of the lights worked. Enough light came in from outside that he didn’t need them, but he’d have to hurry.

A kerosene lamp was on the dining table. It had some fuel in it, but the chimney was dark.

He slipped his raincoat off and placed it on a chair. It dripped a little onto the floor, but most of the rain had already run off on the carpet. Most of the mud on his shoes had ended up there as well.

He placed his backpack on the table and opened it. He’d see what they had left behind that he could carry back. He wasn’t sure he’d find much since a stench came from the kitchen.

It grew stronger as he entered. It seemed to come from the refrigerator. Everything there was spoiling if the house hadn’t had power for a few days.

The smell was a faint whisper of what hit him when he opened the door. He slammed it shut. The light hadn’t come on. He hadn’t expected it to. He didn’t need to see what was inside to know he didn’t want any of it.

The cabinets didn’t have any food in them. There are plenty of plates, glasses, and dishes. Nothing useful for now.

The stuff in the freezer was still chilled but not frozen. He took a few bags of fruit, mostly blackberries and a lone bag of peaches, and shut the door. On second thought, he opened it back up and took out a package of venison for Smitty. At least, that’s what it said on the white paper wrapping.

He placed the bags in his backpack. He took a spoon from the silverware drawer and put it in his pocket. He’d need that to eat the fruit, though he wasn’t too worried about manners at this point.

Sherman froze.

Something bumped somewhere.

He listened for any movement.

It was probably the wind but didn’t sound like the screen door. The window screens weren’t heavy enough to be noticed.

The bump came again.