August Ansel - The Attic

“I want your name,” said Arie.

He paused mid-bite. It seemed to cost him some effort to stop. He laid down the food. “Curran,” he said. “My name is Curran. May I have some more water?”

Arie glanced at Handy. Handy refilled the mug and set it by him. When he tried to reach for it, the plate slid off his legs, tumbling the remains of the chicken onto the floor. Arie put it back on his plate and helped him drink the water. He took several deep swallows and belched.

“Don’t mention it,” she said lightly. “Now Curran. Tell me what the blue hell you intended here today, leaping in and scaring everyone witless. Because you know who does such a thing? Hm?”

He watched her, long fingers clutching the edge of the pie tin.

“A marauder, Curran. A cunning invader with black intentions breaks into a home and purposely terrifies those within.” She stared at him. “Your actions betray you as a marauder.”

“I accept the wisdom of that,” he said.

Arie stood. “Do you, now?” She looked at Handy and Renna, side by side on the sofa again, perfectly still, watching her. “Curran concurs. He is a terrorist.”

“No,” he said. He leaned his head, gently, against the post. “I had to do it that way.”

Arie rose and pulled her single hard-backed chair over so that all of them were in a rough circle. “No yourself,” she said. “You did not.”

“You jumped in here to scare us,” Renna said. “Don’t lie. You knew we were here—you said so. You crashed in and cut her, you cut her throat.” She was leaning forward, eyes blazing. “An old woman. A girl who can’t walk. You cut Arie and you tied us and you said—” She leaned on Handy’s shoulder and got herself to a standing position. He stood to help, but Renna waved him off. She managed two halting, awkward steps, unassisted. “You put a blade to her throat,” she said. “You said you’d take her eye out. That’s what you did. Tell me you didn’t. Tell me that.”

They all waited. Curran put his chin down and closed his eyes.

Renna’s fists were clenched and shaking. “Tell me!” she shouted.

“I didn’t know who was here until I came in,” he said. “Not for sure. I saw him leave, and I took a chance.” His voice was thin, a little slurred. “I saw you killing those dogs the other day, saw you hurling rocks, and—”

“And you figured we might be ready to kill you, too,” said Handy. He waited until Curran looked his way. “You were right,” he said in his soft and steady voice. “It looks like you should have stayed clear.”

Renna swayed a little, and Handy helped her sit again. He gathered the remains of their plates and dumped them in the pot as Arie had. He hunkered down close to Curran. “Looks like one more shot to the side of your head will do for you.”

“We had to get inside,” Curran said. “If we stay out there, we’re dead anyway.”

Handy jerked his head around to look at Arie. “We, who?” he said. His face opened with agitation. “Hey.” He darted forward and balled the front of Curran’s jacket in his fist, gave it a rough shake. “Who else is with you?”

Curran lifted his tied arms in a weak warding-off gesture, and Handy slapped them aside. “My dog,” Curran said. He stared up at Handy from his swollen, purpling face. “Just her. My dog, Talus.”

Handy looked at Arie again, his face still worried and confused.

“Enough,” Arie said. “Let go of him, Handy.”

Handy shoved Curran just enough to bump his head on the post, making him groan.

“Off,” Arie said, pulling Handy by the shoulder. He raised both hands to shoulder height, stepped away and paced as if those might get up to no good if he didn’t keep them lifted. Arie hadn’t seen him agitated this way since he’d first shown up in the woods. “Breathe,” she told him. “This isn’t helping.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms across her knees. “I’m not convinced, Curran,” she said. “What did you expect to accomplish breaking in here? As we used to say, what’s in it for you?”

“I mean it,” he said. “I’ve been living in the woods for weeks. I made us a camp.”

“For you and your dog. What was the name?”

“Talus.”

“But you haven’t answered my question. Why did you break in here?”

“We’re too exposed. It was working fine for a while—we’ve been out there for…” He frowned and shook his head. “All through the summer, however long that is. Four months, I guess.” He had been watching Handy tread the attic, as if at any moment Handy might lunge. But now he looked squarely at Arie.

Despite the condition of his scalp and the awful bruising on the whole left side of his head and jaw, she could see that he was in his right mind and was desperate to make her listen.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She watched him.

“Ma’am, I swear to you on my life that I didn’t mean to cut you. I wouldn’t. Those things I said were bullshit.” His expression was miserable with physical pain and what looked like bleak and hollow surrender. “I can barely make myself hunt for food,” he said. He finally looked away from her. “If I didn’t have Talus, I would have starved, probably. She’s like a damned magic fairytale dog—going out for food and bringing it back for me.”

“Where’s your fairytale dog now?” said Handy, not pausing in his nervy circuit of the open center of the room. “Is she invisible, too?”

“I left her at our camp. I tied her up inside so she couldn’t bust out and follow me.” He swallowed. “If anything gets in, though, she’ll—”

“She’ll be eaten,” finished Arie. “Man or beast. The beasts don’t have a choice, really. They look for food, they find it, they eat.”

“The dogs you killed have been pushing at us for a while. The first few times we saw them, they ran off when I yelled. But every time they got closer, even when I was throwing stuff and Talus was bushing out, ready to jump them.” His voice was raspy, but he sat as straight as the rope would let him, looking from person to person as he spoke. “There was something bigger coming around, too. Mountain lion, I think. It’s sneaky.”

“Bears don’t sneak,” said Arie. “Maybe people.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I set up trip alarms, a lot of them. It would be really hard for anyone to miss hitting one, day or night. I spent as much time stringing noisemakers through the bushes as I did looking for food.” With deliberate care he picked up his water and drank. “Every once in a while we hear something bump into a string, but it’s always just a little clatter like maybe a raccoon or something would make, and Talus barely pays any attention. In the last week, though, something bad has been in camp after dark. The noisemakers don’t rattle, but all of a sudden Talus stands up and starts growling.”

Arie watched him thoughtfully. Now that he was really talking, the man who had spoken of blinding her and snapping Renna’s neck was nowhere in evidence. This was a frightened person, not a malevolent one. Handy seemed to be feeling it, too, at least a little. He’d finally stopped pacing. He stood close, though, and Arie could sense the nervous energy rolling off him. “Curran,” she said, “how long have you been out there in your camp? Why are you in the woods?”

“Only since the start of summer, like I said.”

“Why are you in the woods?” Arie repeated.

He hesitated. “I was with a group,” he said finally.

“What group?” said Handy. “Where?”

“They were some guys I knew. A couple that I worked construction with here and there before the die-off. One from the apartment complex by my house. Just guys I’ve seen around all my life—you know how it is.” His mouth tightened. “How it was. Small town. You do stuff after work and start seeing the same people. Beers and ping-pong at the Shanty, or league softball. The yard monkeys at McNealy’s lumber.”