Chapter 29- Fragments

"Are you okay?" Tracy asked, gesturing toward the man's hand. He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes focused on me. "Did you bury something there?" I asked. He sniffed and kept his eyes locked on me, not answering. "Is that an old woman?" I asked, my voice shaking. The man kept staring, but when he spoke the emotion was fading from his voice. "It started in my hand, but it moves quickly." He twitched and a shudder ran down his body, straightening his back. "It's like an itch you can't scratch." I took a step forward and shine my light into his eyes. The color was fading from his retinas, and the whites were a familiar, faint yellow. It wouldn't be long, maybe an hour, possibly less.

Tracy motioned toward the house. "You go look, I'll stay and watch him." I nodded and walked slowly toward the front door. Turning off my light and pocketing it, I held my shotgun cautiously, walking through the half open front door. The hallway table had a picture of a family, the man outside, a woman, and a small boy about 6 years old. Other pictures of the same people dotted the hallway. One picture of the woman had a red stain on it, and I noticed a few other drops on the floor. I stepped into the living room cautiously. "Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone here?" I circled around the couch and turned off the TV. Turning to listen, I waited for some sound, something to tell me where the other members of the family were. I couldn't hear anything but the rapid thump of my own heart pounding in my chest.

I moved into the kitchen and stopped short. On the floor a great red stain seeped into the hardwood floor. Drops were splattered all over the room, even on the ceiling. "Hello?" I called out again. "Is someone there? If you need help say something!" I heard a thump upstairs, and looked toward the ceiling as if to identify the location. Looking around, I located a stairwell and moved slowly, cautiously upstairs. "Mom, is that you?" I asked hopefully, knowing in my heart that if it was, it wouldn't be the mother I knew.

I stepped cautiously onto the landing and scanned the hallway. Two doorways on the left, one on the right, and a bathroom at the end of the hall. All the doors were open. As I moved slowly toward the door that seemed to be the source of the sound, I glanced toward the other doors. The lights were off in every room. Nervously I pulled out my flashlight and switched it on, keeping the muzzle of my shotgun facing forward.

The room was decorated in blues and greens, with toy trains in shelves and a bedspread with cheerful caboose stitched across it. Behind the bed something shifted, and I froze as a chill ran down my spine. I listened intently, and could hear the slow, labored pace of something small breathing. Cautiously I moved around the bed and found a dog laying in a pool of red. It's fur was matted and there were large scratches in it's side. Its eyes watched me intently but it did not move, and I heard a faint whimper as though it was asking for help. I bent down and examined the gashes. I couldn't tell what made them, but it was clear the animal could not survive much longer. It was laying on a small green rug trimmed with a little train driving around its edge, and I folded the corners to wrap the dog up like a giant burrito. Lifting it carefully I walked back into the hall.  I glanced toward the doorways of the other rooms.  They needed to be searched.

Laying the dog down carefully I looked into the next room.  From the hall I could see the shape of a desk and a chair.  I shone my light into the room and could see shelves of little plastic bins, each one containing thread or colored paper.  It appeared to be some sort of office/craft room.  A long table backed against a wall held half finished pages of a family camping trip, the man standing next to the boy, who was holding up a fish proudly for the camera.  The smile on his face was so innocent, so happy.  There were other pictures of the woman cooking a marshmallow over a fire, and smiling as she rolled up a sleeping bag inside a tent.  I placed my hand on the photos, like I could somehow soak in some of the happiness they had.  Looking out the window I could see the front yard, still shrouded in darkness, the faint light from the windows outlining the shapes of the tree line.

I walked slowly and cautiously to the next room, my light leading me along the darkened hallway.  The master bed sat ominously in the middle of the room, and through the large windows on the opposite side the moonlight lit the room with an almost silverly glow.  After checking the side of the bed I turned to the closet door.  My light reflected back into my eyes from the mirror over the bathroom sink.  Looking cautiously inside I saw a walk in closet, stand up shower and a large garden tub.  The tub was spattered with bloodstains and the curtain was missing, leaving the rings dangling alone, a few remnants of shredded plastic hanging from the loops.  I backed up slowly and moved to the hallway.  Slinging my shotgun to my shoulder, I lifte the animal and walked slowly downstairs and out the front door.

Tracy stood outside, her flashlight and gun trained on the man. She looked nervously at the bundle in my arms. "It's a dog." I said. "Still alive, but probably won't be for long." I set the dog down on the ground behind the man. "Has he said anything?" I asked. She shone the light directly into his eyes and I could see his retinas had changed to a sickly, pale yellow. The whites of his eyes were swollen and veiny, the yellow tinge fading to a brown like an overripe banana. "He hasn't said a word" Tracy said. "And hasn't moved an inch." I knew what would be coming next, and I didn't want to face a rampaging behemoth with a shovel. Tracy looked to me for counsel. "What should we do?" She asked, her eyes submitting to my judgement. I looked at her and held up my shotgun. "We protect ourselves."