F Wilson - The Dark at the End

“But no way you’re gonna get to one tonight. The phone’s not working worth a damn, and even if it was, I don’t see anyone coming out in this storm. So we’re gonna have to ride it out together tonight and see what the morning brings. I’ll get the boat out here as soon as it can make the trip.”

He could not allow her to call for help, but how could he stop her? He fought to stay conscious, but it slipped away…

… until he felt himself rolled onto his side.

“Here,” she was saying.

His head was propped on pillows or cushions. He knew only that they were soft. He felt a straw pressed between his swollen lips.

“Drink some of that.”

He drew on the straw. Hot salty liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed and greedily sucked more.

“I heated you up a can of chicken broth. Drink as much as you can. With the electric blanket cooking you on the outside and this working from the inside, we’ll have you warmed up yet.”

This cow… if he survived this, she would be rewarded.

He swallowed more and took a breath. He tried his voice. He had to know.

“Where…?” was all he could manage. His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. He must have inhaled smoke, perhaps even a little flame.

“Oh, so you can speak. Well, your voice don’t sound too good. Maybe you better save it. As for where you are-little place called Sadie’s Island, in the middle of Gardiner’s Bay. And me? I’m Sadie. Sadie Swick. I own this little hunk of rock and I’m its sole resident. And how about you? What are you called?”

What name to use? He’d had so many of them. He chose an old one at random.

“Roma,” he croaked.

“Like the quarterback? Any relation?”

So many people had asked him those questions when he’d started using the name. He had no idea what they were talking about at first, but he’d soon learned.

“Rome-AH,” he said.

“Like the city then. Got a first name?”

“Sal.”

“A real Italian, ay? You don’t look Italian, but then I’ve known a bunch of Italians who don’t. Welcome to Sadie’s Island, Sal. Wish it could have been under better circumstances but…”

She talked on but her voice faded with his consciousness.

The scream jolted Weezy from her sleep. A child’s scream-not the baby’s trademarked shriek. A little girl “Vicky!”

She jumped off the couch and ran for the bedroom. She’d given it to Gia and Vicky. The bedroom light came on almost immediately, and when Weezy arrived she found a terrified Vicky huddled against her shaken mother…

… and the baby standing at the edge of the bed, chewing on the sheet.

Vicky was babbling. “I-I-I opened my eyes and he was right in front of me, staring at me! I was so scared!”

Weezy couldn’t blame the poor kid. She’d left a night light on in case Gia or Vicky had to find their way to the bathroom. She imagined Vicky opening her eyes and seeing that face just inches away.

Gia had her arms around her and gave her an extra squeeze. “It’s okay, hon. He was just looking at you. He likes you.”

“No! He bit me!”

She held up an index finger. Weezy stood near the foot of the bed, but even from there she could see reddened scrapes where his sharp little teeth had broken the skin.

Gia frowned as she examined it. “Well, now we’ve got a problem. Let’s go clean that up.”

“Should I wake Jack?” Weezy said.

He’d wanted to stay close by but Weezy had no room for him here-Gia, Vicky, and the baby maxed out her sleepover capacity-so he’d crashed across the hall on Dawn’s couch.

Gia shook her head as she hustled Vicky toward the bathroom. “We can handle this. Let him sleep.”

Weezy glanced at the bedside clock- 3:32 -and then stared at the baby. How on Earth had he gotten from the crib to the bedroom? As Vicky rounded the corner and disappeared, the baby screeched, then dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl after her.

An infant… crawling… and biting.

What had she brought into her home?

“Breakfast time!” said the now-familiar voice.

He opened his eyes to daylight. The cow was back. She had awakened him periodically during the night to feed him warm broth. He wondered if she had set an alarm to rouse her to the task. No matter. He had gulped whatever she had offered, then returned to sleep.

Though he felt stronger-and certainly warmer-than he had last night, he remained terribly weak.

“Time to get something a little more solid into you.”

He tried to raise himself to his elbows and gasped at the bolt of pain that shot up his left arm. He gaped at the charred stump of his wrist. He’d forgotten about his hand.

Slowly he became aware of pain all over his body.

The cow was talking again. She seemed to love to talk. Not surprising. If she was as isolated as she had said, her only conversations would be with her dog and whoever she phoned.

What had she called herself? Last night was such a blur… Sadie, was it? Yes. Sadie.

She gestured toward her dog. “Rocky seems afraid of you. That’s not like him. He usually adores people.”

Idiot cow. You’ve taken in a pack animal that behaves according to a set of instincts honed by breeding and evolution. It adores nothing.

She pursed her lips and spoke to the dog in an inane tone. “Isn’t that twue, Wocky-wocks. You’re a good dog, aren’t you, Wocky-wocks. Yes, you are.”

Nauseated by this display of affection for a creature that was little more than a bundle of reflexes, he regarded the dog. The big brown mutt sat in the corner and stared at him. Animals tended to fear him, and that was just as well. He did not understand the concept of a pet and had not the slightest desire to own one.

When the Change came and food became scarce, pet owners’ sickening anthropomorphisms would evaporate as they devoured their formerly beloved companions… those that did not devour them first.

But this mutt… had he watched like that all night?

The cow prattled on. “We cooked you some oatmeal, but made it real thin since we don’t know how your digestion is doing. We put it in a cup.”

“‘We’?” His voice was still harsh and faint.

“Sure. Rocky and me. We’re the only ones here. And no, he didn’t help cook the oatmeal. It’s just the way I talk.”

He nodded, hoping that would end her prattle. But no…

“If you can’t drink it yourself, I’ll spoon it into you. But if I were you, I’d try the cup. With my eyes I’ll probably miss your mouth more often than I’ll hit it.”

He took the cup and sipped the gruel. It went down easily.

“Ooh, look at your face,” she said, leaning close to his left cheek. “It’s all burned. Really bad.”

That didn’t surprise him. He was probably burned to varying degrees over most of his body.

She had her face close to the remnant of his wrist, not touching, but examining with her rheumy eyes. He disliked anyone being this close.

“Glasses?” he said.

“I got some-got a dozen pair, at least-but they’re not worth a damn. With this wet AMD, I can’t see a damn thing unless I get real close. And even then…”

His weakness left him no choice but to allow her to continue her inspection.

“I don’t see any sign of infection yet, but it’s coming. Can’t get hurt like that and not get infected. We’re going to have to get you to a doctor soon or-”

“No…”

“No arguing. You’ve got to have a doctor.”

“No… please.”

Words were agony.

“Why the hell not?”

“Later.”

“‘Later’? That mean you’ll explain later? Well, it better be a damn good explanation. But don’t you worry about any of that now. The phone’s still out and the storm’s still going strong. So it’s just you and me and Rocky for a while.”