The light was bright yellow instead of the soft grey it had been for the last week.
He opened the door and looked out.
The rain was still coming down, but the morning sun shone from the horizon. It had found a break in the clouds far to the east for just a few minutes. It would rise soon above the clouds, and the day would be as grey as it had been.
He knelt beside Smitty and rubbed him on the head.
“We have to head upstream some more,” he said.
He played with his ears and scratched him under his chin.
“Think you can make it?”
Smitty looked up at him and thumped his tail. He might still be stiff, but he seemed eager to leave the shack.
“We’ll see if we can find a better place than this.”
There had to be something else up in the hills.
He took one of the bags of dry dog food and set it in the rain to make it palatable.
After finishing one of the bags of fruit, he tried to collect some rainwater without a lot of success. The rain was light, more of a mist, so it didn’t collect quickly. He should have looked for some bottled water back at the house.
The dry dog food wasn’t getting much water, so he added the water from his bag. He needed Smitty to eat.
Smitty sniffed at it a little at first but then started eating.
Sherman packed everything else into the backpack. He’d leave the two bags behind. They didn’t take much room, but he didn’t want to get Bop dirty.
Sherman saw a piece of cloth snagged on a branch an hour from the shack. It hung limp in the mist, but the bright red stood out against the grey-green of the brush.
Smitty sniffed at it and whined.
They couldn’t be too far behind the others if the scent were this fresh. He hadn’t seen any tracks in the mud, but he hadn’t been looking for them either. He was more concerned with getting somewhere with food and perhaps a place to rest a bit more.
If they found a place with power, he’d try to use his pad to contact Gramps.
A small canyon ran into the hills here with the creek running strong. Sherman and Smitty stayed above it, walking along the edge of the growing gash. It was past noon when they came upon a house backing up to what had become a cliff.
A deck ran right to the edge. Along the foundation were a couple of small windows into a basement. Unlike the river bottom, the hills were jumbles of rock with little soil. Mesquite and juniper were about all that could grow here.
They walked around to the front of the house, looking for lights or any other sign that anyone was home.
Up here, any bridge he found wouldn’t be underwater. The adults would have crossed over as soon as they found one, assuming they were trying to get to the other side.
He didn’t like breaking in any more than he liked starving and running, but his family had prepared him for this day since he was much younger. The townspeople didn’t let him join the Boy Scouts. Not explicitly. They were too polite to do that. But the other children his age had made sure he didn’t want to be around them.
Father had found a collection of pamphlets that Gramps had given him from when he was a kid. They had read through them, practicing everything. They had Gramps test Sherman to ensure he could take care of himself if something did happen to the family.
Sherman walked around the house and looked through the windows. He didn’t see anyone, but the porch light was on at the front. There was power.
He found an extra key hanging behind a giant round thermometer. A rainbow smiley face with the temperature marked in ten-degree increments up to one-twenty. It sat at sixty.
He put his ear to the door as he had at the other house and listened for any movement inside. Nothing.
“Wait here,” he said to Smitty. “I’ll see if anyone is inside.”
He’d go out the back and let Smitty onto the deck if no one was home. No use having Smitty getting the house dirty. Best not to leave any obvious evidence.
He unlocked the front door and slipped in. He dropped his gear and shoes on the linoleum near the door. He’d keep his backpack on just in case. One less thing to mess with if he had to run, though he doubted anyone was home since he hadn’t heard anything and the porch light was on during the day. They’d probably be back at night, though he wasn’t sure which night it might be.
The living room had a deep carpet. It felt softer than he remembered from home. Even Gramps didn’t have carpet like this in any of the places they had visited him. And Gramps had money to buy whatever he wanted. Leather couches formed a semi-circle watching the fireplace. It never got cold enough for a fire around here, but people still built them.
A large piece of mesquite formed a coffee table. The edges were rough, following the natural form of the tree. It must have been an enormous tree when it was cut down. The top was covered in polyurethane, forming a smooth, sealed surface and enhancing the natural color and shimmer of the wood.
An old clock hung on the stone chimney—a skeleton of metal with a block of wood housing the timepiece. Fancy hands pointed to the time. Twelve past one. No second hand.
A vaulted ceiling rested over everything, leaving open space to the kitchen and den.
He walked down a hall to bedrooms and looked in each.
Doors open.
Empty.
Comments (0)
See all