red hill - jamie mcguire

moaned like a grandmother complaining about her aging joints. The former occupants were definitely
grandparents, easily deduced from nearly every surface and wall space covered in mismatched
frames. Protected behind a slate of glass were their loved ones, frozen at each age, still alive and
smiling. Some of the photos were decades old, some new. They surrounded us, a bright and cheerful
wall holding out the hell outside.
The gold sofa’s arms were worn, matching the rest of the house. The seat cushions were sunk in
from years of visits from friends and family. I sat on the floor because it felt wrong to sit on their
furniture. The house didn’t belong to me, even if the owners were lumbering aimlessly on the
highway, forgetting all about anything that mattered to them before.
I wasn’t sure which old couple in the pictures were the owners of the home, but I liked them. The
home they left behind made me feel safe, the love they left behind hopeful. The strangers in the
pictures were fighting their own battle to survive like we were, and probably making their way to
each other, too. At least that was what I wanted to believe.
The wind picked up, moving the house just enough for the moaning to begin again. It was eerie,
like the groans of the dead ones when they noticed prey and got excited about the prospect of feeding.
Other than that, the night was quiet. Even Joey’s movements seemed to be absent of sound.
Bryce had fallen asleep downstairs several hours before. I’d tried to relax beside him, but my eyes
were wide in the dark as I listened and assessed every sound the old house made. I finally peeled the
covers away and climbed the stairs of the basement, joining Joey in the living room.
He had stood dutifully beside his favorite crack in the boards, his eyes straining to see in the dark.
I bumped into a side table and gasped, prompting him to ask if I was okay and a subsequent offering
of shared light in the middle of the room.
“Sorry,” he said, sitting across from me. “I’m not sure yet if they’re attracted to light.”
I shrugged, even though it was pointless. He probably couldn’t see the gesture. I still didn’t feel the
need to voice my answer, possibly from spending so much time with Bryce, who already knew my
next thought.
We sat there for some time without speaking, neither one of us uncomfortable with the silence. I
was listening for any sounds that might mean trouble, and I assumed he was doing the same.
His hair was just starting to grow out from that weird military buzz cut. The dim light gave me an
excuse to study his face; his prominent chin with a faint indentation in the middle, and his upper lip
that was a little on the thin side. His eyes were deep set and a little buggy, but it didn’t make him
unattractive. I wasn’t sure there was anything about him that was unattractive. It all sort of fit him and
made him that much better, kind of the way imperfections give a house character.
The wind hissed through the trees, and a low rumble sounded in the distance.
“Shit. Is that thunder”
Joey nodded, pointing a few times with his handgun. “It’s going to go south of us, I think.”
I opened a can of cashews and popped one into my mouth. “I can’t stop wondering where my mom
is. If she’s okay. I wonder if she’ll ever get back here.”
“Where is she”
“She and my stepdad went to Belize.”