High Ground: House of Adair

[Tetra Grammaton Cleric]

Nice work Dogbane.

Really shaping up nicely, both the background and the dude in the foreground.


Welcome to Tin Pan Alley.

-

[Manliest]

Suuuuuuuubscribed.
Thanks for the frequent updates. Makes reading while I drive easier. Lol

Sent from my SCH-I800 using Tapatalk 2

[dogbane]

Chapter Two*

The soup simmered on a hissing flame on the dual-fuel camp stove in the kitchen. It didn’t have much in it, and what was in it wasn’t in many cookbooks. A cheap Chinese lantern gave thin light to the room. Cindy stirred the pot absently while the baby fussed feebly on a pallet on the floor. Caleb and Janey argued half-heartedly over the rules of checkers, played with plastic bottle caps on a board drawn with sharpie on some cardboard.

Cindy was resourceful that way.

“When’s Daddy comin back.” Janey stated.

“Soon, I hope, honey.”

“That means she doesn’t know,” said Caleb.

“It means I believe he’s coming back and I hope it’s soon.”

Caleb scooted his chair back and it made a hollow grating noise that rang out like a shot in the silence. Cindy gave him a reflexive sharp look. “Sorry, mama.”

“It’s all right. We just need to remember to always practice being quieter, okay?”

“Okay. May I go look out the window?”

“Let’s go look together from the bedroom.”

Cindy turned off the stove. She picked up the baby and the lantern and climbed a short flight of stairs and opened a door. The children followed and they entered a bedroom whose floor had been made into a great bed with pallets and blankets and pillows of many designs. The windows had blackout curtains.

She laid the baby on the bed and gave it a toy. She turned the flame down to a whisper.

Cindy, Caleb and Janey pulled the curtain aside and peered out into the twilight. The street was empty as far as they could see, but the house sat back further from the street than its neighbors and it was near the end of the street, next to the big house.

“Mama, there’s a light on in the big house,” said Britney.

They had a carelessly animated moment with the curtain before their eyes all settled on the light glowing in the foyer of the Adair House. It wasn’t bright and it wavered—like a flashlight.

At first she thought Rob! but he would have come straight here. Immediately her mind demanded to know how they (They? How many?) got in. And what did they want? And would they look here?

[“Who is it, mama?” “Is it Daddy?”] she heard through the cotton of panic in her ears.

“No no no,” is all she could say. Then, “I don’t know.”

The light faded until they weren't sure if they could see it or not, and then they were sure it was gone; and had the three of them not all seen it, they might not have been sure if they had ever seen it at all.

Please, Rob, get back here soon.

In the last of the twilight, they saw a cat race the breadth of the front yard. Cindy thought of her next soup.


* A previous post was erroneously labeled "Chapter 2". The author regrets the error, which has been edited.

[wee drop o' bush]

I forgive you.
KEEP IT COMING

[dogbane]

Cindy brought soup to the children in the bedroom, ate some of the thin stock herself, then lay down to nurse the baby. Her milk was drying up too soon. They weren’t getting enough to eat. There was some forage and small game to be had here, but not much in the way of food stores.

The grocery down the street was an empty shell and all of the houses were completely empty. The last residents had moved everything out when the county acquired the Adair Community for a historic park in some sort of complicated buyout. Only the big house was furnished, a museum dedicated its former owners, particularly James Adair, Textile Magnate and Patron of the Arts. The really valuable stuff was gone and replaced with reproductions, but it still had tables and chairs and beds. But there was no food.

Even here, in the caretaker’s house, there wasn’t much. The electric stove was useless for anything but counter space, and the refrigerator only kept vermin out of the food. The packaged processed foods they brought with them were consumed fifteen days ago. They were living on condiments, sourwood leaves, wild onions and trusting house cats when Rob left four days earlier to find supplies.

He had taken the Explorer. They all drove down the hill to the gate together. Rob unlocked it—he had a key because before he had been the county park and recreation employee who took care of this site, which was only open to the public for special events due to funding cuts. He had keys to the gate and to every house and building except the big house, whose keys were kept at some county office. Rob parked the Ford on the bridge and walked back, kissed his family, and locked them inside, binding the chain so tight a child could not squeeze through. They touched fingers through the chain link.

“Stay inside the house as much as possible,” he told them, “but you’ll be safe in here. Nothing will get inside this fence.”

“When are you coming back?” Janey looked up at him, her mouth adorably slack. Rob squatted and held her little fingers poking through the wire.

“As soon as I can, honey. I have to go to Uncle Dave’s because there is food and other things we need at his house.

“Why can’t we all go to Uncle Dave’s?”

“Because it is safer for you all here, and safer for me to travel by myself. Okay?”

“Okay.” She looked at his hands. “But you’ll be back today, right?”

Rob laughed. “No, it’s at least a day there and a day back the way thing are. So two days at the soonest. A week at the most.” He stood up and addressed all of them, almost the way he did when he had tour groups or visiting officials. Cheerful, courteous and informative.

“When I come back, I’ll have food, gas, tools, weapons,” he ticked them off tapping his right index finger on each finger of his left hand, then closed his fists and gave two thumbs up, “and toys!”

“Yay!” The kids cheered, but in a trained whisper, so their voices didn’t echo in the valley.

Rob climbed into the Ford and driven away across the creek and around the north side of the ridge to the east. He was out of sight in fifteen seconds. The valley became very quiet. They could hear the creek, the blue jays, and the wind.

And they had walked back up the steep road to the little ghost town on the hill which sat in the middle of a big ghost town that stretched for miles. A ghost town that had at least one speck of life, working its way west toward the river in a Ford Explorer on a fool’s errand.

[dogbane]

The kids kept peeking out the window at the big house. With mama’s permission, Caleb opened the window (no monsters could get them at this second-story window) a few inches so they could hear the outside. They could hear the katydids and the tree frogs and the cats. The cats were scariest because they had voices like people—like babies crying.

The watched the house for any sign of a light. They listened and thought they heard singing but they couldn’t be sure because the noise of the night creatures was full of hidden voices.

Janey said she was tired and lay down next to mama. Caleb kept his eye to the window through a chink in the curtain until his eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.

Cindy wore her calm on the outside only. Four days Rob had been gone, he said he could be gone a week. But she had hoped he’d be back in three. It wasn’t time to worry about that yet. He said there could be poles down, roads blocked with cars, who knows? He had the gear in the county truck to deal with obstacles of that nature. And he had an aluminum baseball bat, just in case.

But now there was something—was there?—in the big house, and they were locked inside the fence with it. She just wanted morning to come so she could go check it out in the light of day.

Cindy got up and tip-toed out of the room. She crossed the hall in the dark to the back bedroom and peeked out the window. She could see black treetops and the sky full of stars—never had so many stars been seen in this country since before the Valley Electric Authority lit up the world, and that was well before Cindy’s lifetime. She crept down the hallway. The front door was barred with a serviceable combination of repurposed shelving brackets and a two-by-eight board. Plywood was screwed over the side panes. The living room windows had been modernized with shatterproof energy-efficient windows. They were covered with insulated blackout curtains. Everything was tight and secure.

They would have to get water tomorrow. The water tower still had some water in it, but it no longer supplied the homes, which had been connected to municipal water in the 1970s. There was a faucet at the base where she could fill the jugs and bring them back to the house in the wagon.

Cindy peered through the front window up at the Adair place. She thought she saw a light again, this time in the library at the southwest corner. She pulled the curtain open about twelve inches. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the empty living room and watched the library windows.

[wee drop o' bush]

MOAR

[dogbane]

The next part can't be hurried.

[wee drop o' bush]

It's a really good read so far DB, congratulations.

[Nancy1340]

The next part can't be hurried.

Sumbudy get a roap!

Lovin' it. Thanks

[dogbane]

I just reread what I have so far, and though I see some mistakes that need correcting, I'm pretty pleased with it. Thanks for the feedback and encouragement so far. I'm having a good time writing this.

[dogbane]

James made his supper in the courtyard outside the wine cellar. He ate three servings of dehydrated chicken soup, an energy bar, and a box of raisins. He drank a 1962 Chateau Latour, from Pauillac, France out of a metal camp cup. It had a nice kick to it.

He re-entered the wine cellar, noting that the cellar was the only passage to the courtyard from the house, other than the back gate. He was somewhat surprised that nobody had climbed down from the roof to try the cellar door, but judging from the depth of the mat of vegetation over the tiled patio, the area looked to be long untouched. He found a case full of bottles of Canadian whisky with a date of 1928. He pried the lid with a screwdriver, removed a bottle and shoved it in his shell bag.

He found stairs leading up from the cellar. At the top was a landing and another heavy door. It required a key and his key turned the lock, but when he pushed the door, it refused to budge. He tried shoving it a time or two. Then he found the handle and pulled and it opened toward him. On the other side of the door were shelves, empty, and a bare pantry. He examined the reverse side. Again, an ornate carved medallion swiveled up to reveal the lock.

He closed the door and locked it, and stepped out of the pantry into the large kitchen.

There was the gate to the lift that carried his Pop-Pop downstairs for the last time. There were the French doors leading to the great dining room. There was the hall that led to the foyer. James’ flashlight led the way to the foyer. He stood in the middle of the room, staring up at the arched ceiling, shining his light this way and that to look at the details. He clicked off his light and sat on the tile floor. He opened the whisky and swigged from the bottle.

The floor was cool and he lay on his back, staring at the dim vaults above. He shouted Hey! It echoed back immediately, Hey! Then he sang out a pentatonic scale. The reverberation was just as he remembered it. James took another swig from the bottle. Then he began to sing, in baritone, Johnny Cash, Johnny Horton , and Marty Robbins.

All day I face the barren waste without a taste of water, cool water…

He sang until his voice played out, warming his throat with nearly century-old whisky. He rolled onto his hands and knees and stood up swaying. He staggered across the marble floor to the grand stair, which looked a lot smaller to him now than it did before, but when he began to climb it, it stretched out again to seem insurmountable, and he dragged his heavy feet up each step until he reached the landing.

The landing was a balcony that overlooked the foyer. He could go right or left, and either direction took him to doors. To the right were closets, bedrooms, and lavatories, and to the left, the conservatory. The central hall led to the library. He straightened and walked with as much dignity as he could manage down the hall, in as close to a straight line as he could muster.

He reached the door to the library and it was open. He stepped in. The bed was gone. The books remained, though, and reading chairs and tables. There were lamps, globes, maps, and curiosities that James could not recall being here before. He picked up a globe and found a label: “Made in China.” This was contemporary set décor. James Adair the First’s library was a tribute to his modernism, and this Victorian furniture is someone’s idea of what a rich man’s library should be.

James the Second walked to the panel between the shelves. He put his hand on it. He bowed his head, resting his forehead on the wall. He found the carved wood detail on the wall and touched it. Slowly, he swiveled it up, revealing the keyhole. He put the key in the lock and turned it. The panel opened, revealing a shallow closet, with shelves full of ledgers and boxes, and one light green box, which held photos, and two rings, and a bone-handled knife.

***
Cindy watched the library window. She saw the wavering light for a little while. And she was sure she saw, in the window, a human figure standing looking out for a long time.

[wee drop o' bush]

I just reread what I have so far, and though I see some mistakes that need correcting, I'm pretty pleased with it. Thanks for the feedback and encouragement so far. I'm having a good time writing this.

I'm having a good time reading it

[FlashDaddy]

Great story! Keep 'em coming!

[deadcat7382]

well done...looking forward to the next installment

[KYZHunters]

Digging this story, DB, thanks.

[dogbane]

A friend is pushing me to start going the Amazon self-publishing route. When he discovered I have an entire book of short stories sitting in a file cabinet, he really started pushing me.

I plan to write this story here on ZS, to a logical conclusion, for free. If there are any sequels, I may go the publishing route. I do have ideas for this to be a trilogy or even a chronicle.

[Tetra Grammaton Cleric]

A friend is pushing me to start going the Amazon self-publishing route. When he discovered I have an entire book of short stories sitting in a file cabinet, he really started pushing me.

I plan to write this story here on ZS, to a logical conclusion, for free. If there are any sequels, I may go the publishing route. I do have ideas for this to be a trilogy or even a chronicle.

-

[wee drop o' bush]

Fair enough DB so long as you also publish the sequels to iBooks

[Nancy1340]

This story is excellent! Thank you.

[mr_slappy75]

DB this is very good Sir. Waiting on baited breath for you next post(s).

[dogbane]

James woke with a throbbing head on the polished floor where his Pop-Pop’s bed once stood. Morning light streamed through the library’s south windows. His tongue was wooly and his body ached. He lay still, blinking, for a few minutes, then rolled over and got to his hands and knees, which reminded him of that time long ago when he crawled across this floor, enthralled by a box. This time, he thought, he would be enthralled by a flush commode.

Fighting the nausea, he stumbled down the hall to the foyer looking for his backpack. He found it in the kitchen and grabbed his water bottle from a side pocket. He drained the few swallows the bottle held and washed some of the fur off of his tongue. He walked to the sink and turned on the tap. A small trickle of red mud dripped from the faucet. He rummaged through his pack and found his filter bottle. He then went to the lavatory across the hall from the kitchen and reflexively tried the tap with the same result.

James removed the lid from the toilet tank and rejoiced. It was about a quarter full of stale, metallic-looking water. He dipped the bottle in and filled it, replacing the cap. Back in the kitchen, he poured the water through the filter into his drinking bottle and then guzzled half the contents. He had had worse.

Gotta solve this H20 problem ASAP, he thought. If nothing else, I can go back down the hill to the spring for water. But the spring was thick with poison ivy, he reflected.

James gathered all of his gear together—excepting his water bottles and shell bag—and carried it upstairs to the library. On impulse, he opened the secret door and put the pack and rifle in it. He took the folding knife from the green box and put it in his pocket. He went to the front door and looked out through the asymmetrical geometric leaded glass panes.

The sun said eight o’clock and the street lay straight and empty before the house. He could see all the way to the firehouse. The flag at the firehouse was at half-staff, and a bit faded and torn. He looked to his left toward the water tower.

That may be the ticket, he thought. He pulled the key from around his neck, unlocked the big front door and stepped out.

The porch was broad and paved, with no cover. A carved stone balustrade ran along each side of a central stair of concentric, semicircular steps. The yard had once been landscaped by an architect, and the stone patterns of the garden were yet visible. Weeds and untended shrubs ran riot, but within the tangle were thousands of blooming lilies.

James smiled, knowing just where his supper was going to come from.

He turned to the water tower and contemplated it.

***
Cindy watched from her window as a rough-looking man with a shock of dark hair and a beard stepped onto the porch. He wore old-fashioned woodland pattern army pants—not the newer kind made for desert wear. She was puzzled at the way he smiled at the flowers in front of the big house. It almost appeared that he said something out loud to the flowers. But he quickly turned his attention to the water tower, and that alarmed her.

What are you going to do with our water? she wanted to know.

Cindy turned to the children. “All right, kids. Let’s get ready.”

[dogbane]

This story is excellent! Thank you.

DB this is very good Sir. Waiting on baited breath for you next post(s).

Thank you both. It's still rough, but I am trying to put my very best into it. I shouldn't let all those writers' workshops go to waste.

[Diesel2]

This is a very enjoyable read. Thanks for sharing it here...and continuing to do so!!