Issue Three

JAMIE KINN
She got to her feet, her entire body stiff
and sore. But she ignored the pain,
limping up the basement stairs. She
came through into a kitchen with a
battered table and a rusting refrigerator
in the corner. Inside was a massive
cooler filled with water—once ice, she
was sure—sunken soda cans and a
dozen bottles of booze. Next, she
checked the cabinets and found a whole
stockpile of canned food and piles of
junk food. Whoever had put these here
had done so recently. The dust was
disturbed inside the cabinet but all the
packages were clean. She pulled out a
can of chili.
She found a can opener and a box of
plastic spoons in the top drawer below
the counter. She opened the can and
retreated back into the basement.
She ate the chili in silence, standing
beside one of the windows. She
watched for any sign of movement,
listened for any sound from the outside
world. Nothing.
After she finished her food, she tossed
the empty can on the ground and
shimmied out through the window.
This part of town was even sadder
looking in the daylight than it had
seemed the night before. Sparse, dry
weeds filled every lawn. Every house,
every store was boarded and sagging;
colourless paint flaking away under the
hot summer sun. Plants poked out
through smashed windows and the dead
eyes of mom-and-pop storefronts
watched her with mistrust.
The abandoned area stretched about
ten blocks in either direction. After that
the buildings began to seem healthier, if
still a little dilapidated. She saw people
milling around far down the street, heard
their voices carrying on the wind.
She turned on her heel and headed
straight back to the house. She waited
until the figures were out of sight before
breaking out into a run.
The relative safety of the basement
greeted her like a lover. She sank to the
floor and held a hand to her
chest. Definitely not safe out there.
Days passed. Charlie puttered around
the house, eating occasionally, taking
naps on the couch, on the one of the
three beds upstairs, or curled up in the
bathtub. She spent her nights in the
basement, keeping her head up,
listening for any sign of the dogs or their
masters. When she had to go to the
bathroom, she snuck into the bushes a
few houses down and went there.
She found a couple of packs of
cigarettes stashed away in the one of
the drawers in the kitchen as well as a
lighter. She sat on the back porch and
tapped a cigarette out of the pack,
lighting it while it dangled between her
lips. She hadn’t smoked in years.