Strangelets Page 9

  “No answer,” Nico muttered.

  She knocked again, more loudly. They waited another minute, then Declan said, “Step aside.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m getting us in.” Fumbling in his left pocket, he drew out a set of narrow metal tools and went down on one knee to examine the deadbolt. “Easy.”

  “You’re going to pick the lock?” Sophie asked dubiously. “How the hell do you know how to do that?”

  Declan didn’t answer. He’d already set to work, inserting the pins with his eyes half closed.

  “But—” Sophie protested.

  “We need to find a telephone,” Anat interrupted. “A landline. There might be one inside.”

  They all watched in silence. Declan was impressively adept, a minute after he started there was a click. He rose to his feet and turned the knob with a flourish, opening the door.

  Sophie frowned at him. The others offered muted congratulations.

  “Don’t all thank me at once,” Declan said peevishly.

  “Nice job,” Anat said, squeezing his arm as she walked past.

  He gave her a curt nod.

  Her nose wrinkled at the stale air inside. It had apparently been a long time since anyone cracked a window. The door opened onto a dark, narrow hallway, empty save for a coat rack and small table where a vase held fake flowers. There was a staircase on her left, and farther down the hall a wide entryway. She strode toward it, figuring that was a good place to start looking for a landline. The living room was crammed with chairs, end tables, lamps, and an upright piano. An elderly person’s home, Anat guessed; all the furniture was worn and dated, the wall-to-wall carpeting cheap but functional. She swallowed. Everything was covered in a thick film of dust, much like the insides of the cars they’d encountered.

  There was a messy stack of old newspapers on the coffee table, the edges brown and curling. Framed photos lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace, many in black and white. Anat examined them: most were typical family photos where everyone posed self-consciously, special occasions like birthdays and holidays recorded for posterity. Seeing them gave her a pang—a similar array lined the windowsill at her parents’ house back in Tel Aviv.

  “In here!” Nico called out. “Come see what we’ve found!”

  Anat gathered herself, then returned to the hall. It dead-ended in a kitchen with a worn linoleum floor, a marred wooden table in the center. Nico was standing next to the sink holding a phone in his hand. Anat snorted at the sight of it. Definitely an old person’s home, the phone actually had a long cord dangling from the receiver. She hadn’t seen one like that since she was a kid.

  “No dial tone,” he said, disheartened.

  Sophie groaned and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

  “No lights either,” Declan said, flicking the switch. “So we’d best not open the refrigerator.”

  “The rest of the house is empty,” Yosh announced, entering the room.

  “There are still dishes in the drying rack.” Sophie noted.

  Declan opened the nearest cupboard and gave a crow of joy. “Have a look at this!”

  The shelves were filled with boxes of food. Anat’s mouth watered at the sight of them. After two straight meals of room-temperature peaches, garbanzo beans, peas, and diced tomatoes, anything else seemed like gourmet cuisine.

  “Crackers,” Declan said, taking down a box. “Canned tuna—the can looks good, it’s not dented … oh, and, biscuits. That’s just grand.”

  As he went through the inventory, stacking things on the counter, they all pressed forward.

  “Thank God. I’m starved,” Sophie said. “Let’s bring it all over to the table.”

  Five minutes later, they were gorging themselves. Everything tasted stale, but edible. Anat had never cared for tuna fish; it always reminded her of cat food. But now she piled it on crackers, gobbling them down as quickly as she could shove them in her mouth. Everyone else did the same. Nico had crumbs on his cheek, and Declan was digging into a jar of pickles.

  Finally seated, Anat sat back in her chair. “Where do you think the people are?”

  “Just here, or in general?” Declan asked after a pause.

  Anat shrugged.

  “They must have been evacuated,” Nico said.

  “Not like this.” Sophie shook her head. “After an earthquake or hurricane they might condemn whole neighborhoods, but there would still be repair crews, and the roads would’ve been cleared, right? The street we’ve been walking on looks pretty major, but we haven’t seen anyone else yet. That’s really weird.”

  So she’s noticed too, Anat thought.

  “This is the first house we’ve seen,” Declan remarked. “Maybe there are people just up the road.”

  Anat guessed everyone was thinking the same thing: doubtful. Whatever had happened obviously wasn’t limited to the area around the facility. What if they reached town and found it abandoned, too? What if Nico’s father was long gone?

  “It could have been …” Nico said, then shook his head.

  “Could’ve been what?” Anat asked, although she already knew what he was going to say.

  “Nuclear.” He kept his gaze on the warped table. “I’ve seen pictures of Chernobyl, and it looks like this. People left their houses and cars in a hurry and never went back.”

  Silence again. Tuna fish and crackers rose up the back of Anat’s throat; she choked them back down. Israel lived under the constant threat of nuclear annihilation, and from a young age she had been educated about the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. What if the food was irradiated, and they’d been eating poison? Or they might have been walking through an invisible cloud of fallout this entire time.

  “You had the same thing in Japan after the tsunami, right?” Declan asked Yosh. “When all those reactors started to go?”

  A look of panic flitted across her face. After a moment, she said, “Yes. After the tsunami.”

  Anat frowned. Yosh was obviously lying. She exhibited all the classic signs: tensed jaw, rapid blinking, avoiding eye contact. But that tsunami had been huge, devastating; a bunch of nuclear power plants had basically almost melted down. Anat had heard all about it in Israel; there was no way someone who actually lived in Japan wouldn’t know about it.

  But Yosh didn’t seem to. How was that possible?

  “So what do we do now?” Sophie asked.

  “We keep walking,” Declan said with forced cheer.

  Sophie groaned in response.

  Anat abruptly pushed back from the table. “There are newspapers in the living room. Maybe they say what happened.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Nico offered.

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was obviously developing a crush on her, which was ridiculous given the circumstances. All she wanted was to get back to her fiancé. But she didn’t want to be rude, so she kept silent as Nico followed her down the hall.

  Anat bent over the papers splayed across the table. The words were faded almost to the point of illegibility, and English wasn’t her first language, which made it harder. Still, the date in the upper right hand corner was clear enough but the year was smudged: August 31st. Yesterday.

  There was nothing of note on the front page, at least with regard to any sort of disaster. The usual news: Iran making trouble again; financial strain in Europe …

  All things she already knew. Frustrated, Anat dropped the paper back onto the table.

  “Nothing?” Nico asked, watching her.

  “No.” She plopped down on the couch and blew out a breath, aggravated. Something sharp dug into her thigh, and she pulled it out. A small book, leather. Flipping it open, she discovered tight lines of neat script.

  “What’s that?”

  “A journal, I think,” Anat said.

  “You shouldn’t read that, it’s private,” Nico said hesitantly.

  Anat ignored him, absorbed. She flipped forward a few pages, then a
few more. It was written in a cramped, tight scrawl. She scowled; she wasn’t a big reader to begin with, letters tended to jumble up for her. Mild dyslexia, according to her teachers; fortunately, soldiers weren’t expected to read much more than warning signs and weapons manuals.

  “What’s it say?” Nico asked, curiosity apparently overcoming his objections.

  Anat shrugged and tossed it on the couch. “Who cares?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’ll tell us what happened here.”

  “You look, then,” Anat said with a shrug. “I’m going to check out—”

  A thump outside, followed by a piercing shriek. They both froze.

  “What was that?” Nico asked in a hushed voice.

  Before Anat could answer, there was a sharp cry from the opposite end of the house, followed by the sound of something heavy lumbering across the front porch.

  What the hell is going on? Declan wondered. One minute they were tidying up from lunch, debating which food to take and how to carry it. The next, screams from both sides of the house, punctuated by Anat and Nico calling for help.

  “Something’s trying to get in!” Nico yelled, his voice strained. “We need help!”

  Declan rushed down the hall, the others at his heels. The door had been forced open a slit: Anat and Nico were pushing hard against it, clearly struggling against something. A large shadow, impossibly big, was silhouetted in the curtains at the top of the door.

  “What is it?” he said, stopping dead. “Another bear?”

  Anat had her shoulder braced against the door, but her socks kept slipping against the floorboards.

  “Nothing good,” she grunted. “Help us!”

  A high, keening whistle pierced the air. It raised all the gooseflesh on Declan’s arms. He didn’t care to meet anything that sounded like that. He angled in between them, throwing his weight against the door with his right shoulder. It closed a fraction of an inch.

  “Jaysus, it’s strong,” he gasped. Sophie fell in beside them, pressing with the flats of both hands, but even with their combined strength the door wouldn’t close.

  The pressure from the other side increased. The door yawned open.

  Declan yelled, “Get something to help!”

  “Like what?” Nico asked, looking terrified.

  “I don’t care. Something!” Declan screamed. The pressure on his shoulder was intense. Sophie’s head was inches from his; stray pieces of her hair brushed his cheek, tickling him.

  The door cracked another inch.

  “It’s too strong!” Sophie hissed. “It’s—”

  Yosh suddenly opened her mouth and screamed. Declan cringed; it was the kind of shriek that could break glass. As it echoed through the house, the pressure ceased. He nearly slipped and dropped to the floor as the door abruptly slammed shut. Anat threw the bolt and leaned back against it, panting.

  Declan peered through the upper curtains: the shadow had vanished.

  “Lord,” he said, turning to Anat. “What was that?”

  She shook her head grimly. “Nothing good.”

  “Another bear?”

  Anat cocked here head to the side. “Maybe. But I couldn’t see it clearly.”

  “Yosh, are you all right?” Sophie asked with concern.

  Declan turned. Yosh was standing in the center of the hallway. Without warning, her eyes rolled up in her head and she dropped to the floor. Sophie gasped and darted to her side.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Declan asked.

  “I don’t know. That scream, it was …”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said.

  Sophie carefully drew the girl’s head on to her lap and stroked the hair away from her forehead. The lass didn’t look good. She was white as a sheet and her breathing was shallow. Her chest rose and fell in short pants.

  “I’ll get a wet cloth for her forehead,” Declan offered. He had no idea if that would actually help, but it was the cure-all his mum always recommended. Feverish? Hungover? Stuck in bloody Long Island? Try a wet cloth.

  Declan found one in a kitchen drawer and ran it under the tap. The backyard was silent, but as he looked out the window above the sink, he caught a flash of movement by the trees at the edge of the property. Frowning, he leaned forward for a better look, but whatever it was had vanished. He returned to the hall to find Yosh still lying in Sophie’s lap, blinking absently at them.

  “Here.” He passed the cloth to Sophie, who gently laid it across Yosh’s forehead.

  “Better?” she asked.

  Yosh nodded slightly.

  “Good. Why don’t we move you to the couch so you can lie down?” Sophie looked at Declan, then Nico.

  “Right. Let’s get you up, bird.” Declan took hold of her under the shoulders, and Nico got her feet. Sophie supported her waist as they carried her into the living room and deposited her gingerly on the couch. Yosh was limp in his arms; he could feel the shoulder blades jutting out from her back. She really was tiny as a bird; he probably could’ve managed her weight all on his own without breaking a sweat. He wondered if they hadn’t been feeding her enough in Japan. Maybe that’s why she seemed a bit off and didn’t want to talk about the tsunami. He hadn’t a clue what things were like over there. He bent down beside her, concerned. “All right, then?”

  Yosh didn’t answer. She gazed at the ceiling. He was no doctor, but she didn’t look well.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked in a low voice. “Why’s she keep doing that?”

  “I think she might be in shock again,” Sophie said. “It should pass, we just have to give her some time and keep an eye on her.”

  “I thought we were leaving soon,” Anat said impatiently.

  “I think we should read the journal first,” Nico said.

  “Hang on,” Declan said. “What journal?”

  “This one.” Nico held up a small brown leather notebook. “Anat and I found it right before we heard the scream.”

  “You said it was private,” Anat muttered. “None of our business.”

  “Maybe whoever kept it wrote about what happened here.” Nico swiped an arm across his damp forehead.

  Declan found himself absurdly pleased by the fact that the lad’s hands were shaking; the big blonde bloke was just as scared as the rest of them. Then his eyes fell on Yosh. “Best bring it in the kitchen, yeah? So we don’t rattle her further.”

  Sophie nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  “First we make sure that whatever was outside is gone,” Anat stated flatly.

  “Right,” Declan said, remembering the other scream. “How about Nico and I check the rear, and you lot take the front?”

  “We are not opening that door again,” Anat protested.

  “Course not,” he said. “You should be able to see the porch through the living room windows, yeah?”

  “Probably,” she conceded.

  “All right, then.”

  Anat hefted the long iron bar she’d brought with her. In silent accord, the rest of them picked up the weapons they’d discarded upon entering the house.

  Nico was hanging back, clearly waiting for him to lead the way. Frankly, Declan had no idea how he’d become the de facto leader. Hadn’t Nico wanted that job? It wasn’t a position that suited him. He’d never been in charge of anything, not in his entire life. He tended to go his own way, and to hell with everyone else.

  They were staring at him expectantly, though, so he picked up the rail he’d pried loose from his bed this morning. It felt flimsy in his hands, pitifully inadequate against whatever had been on the other side of that door. Still, better than nothing, he supposed.

  Declan tried to stride confidently back down the hall, but the whole time his insides quailed. What had been trying to get in? The kitchen, which minutes ago had felt like a refuge, now seemed like just another prison cell. He swallowed hard and went over to the rear door. A window was set in the upper portion, identical to the front door but minus the curtain. He’d barely paid it
any mind earlier, distracted by the discovery of real food. Looking through it now, he saw a good-sized backyard: wildly overgrown, the grass gone to seed, hedged in by towering oak trees. Declan could easily imagine something nasty hiding behind each of them.

  He went back to the window over the kitchen sink, which provided a wider view. A white cap poked up in the exact center of the yard—probably a statue of the Virgin, like the one his mum had in their garden back home. More trees, the same wild grass. Looked like years since anyone had mowed it.

  There was nothing else in sight.

  “It’s strange,” Nico said. “If anything had been here, it should have left a path through the grass.”

  That hadn’t occurred to Declan, but he was right. The grass moved uniformly, not a blade knocked out of place. That reassured him.

  “I’m going to join them in the front,” he said. “You mind staying here to keep an eye out?”

  “Of course,” Nico said stiffly, brandishing his bedrail like a sword. Declan resisted the temptation to give him grief about it. He went back down the hall to the living room. Sophie and Anat were each positioned at a window.

  “Looks clear back there,” he reported.

  “Clear here, too,” Anat said.

  “What do you think it was?” Sophie’s eyes were anxious, but she looked steadier on her feet. The walk had probably done her some good. Least she had color in her cheeks again, they were browning up to nearly the same shade as her hair.

  Declan glanced at Yosh; she still lay rigid on the sofa. Keeping his voice low as he stepped closer to them, he said, “Didn’t sound much like a bear to me.”

  “Me, either,” Sophie said.

  “Look at this track,” Anat said. “Like the one in the cafeteria.” She held aside a corner of heavy brocade curtain to show him. Outside, the dust on the front porch had been scuffled. But that could have been their own doing. He scanned the rest of the yard: empty. No sign that anything had come through the grass here, either, although there were bent fronds around the path they’d taken to the front door.

  “I don’t see—” he started to say.

  “There,” Anat interrupted, jabbing at the window with her forefinger.