The sphere. It was my be-all and end-all, my grand prize. The thought had crossed my mind several times, but this time I focused on the strange instrument. It was left up in that building like it wanted to be found, like I was supposed it use it. Strange as it was, it felt right in my hands as I pulled out the device and examined it. The perfectly, round metal sphere, with its etching that failed to light up. It was weightless. I should have been able to crush it, but I couldn’t. The metal was so firm.
“Tell me,” I ordered, shaking the sphere like it would talk back. If it was only so easy. Returning the sphere to my sweatshirt’s front pocket, I noticed the intersection coming up ahead. I turned left and continued toward our block. Soon enough I passed the Palmer’s house, though I couldn’t bring myself to look up at the giant yellowed building.
Maybe I feared that someone would be looking out those windows, and those were faces I still couldn’t look upon. What happened two nights ago was just too much. I pushed past the home and walked in the middle of the street, keeping my eyes glued on the pavement.
It was quiet out here. I couldn’t say if that was really normal or not. This place stood in stark contrast to how alive downtown was the night before. Only the sound of the wind whistled against my ears, and maybe the scrub of my old tennis shoes that were a size too big scraping along the concrete. When I was well enough away from the big yellowed house, I looked around. Everything seemed normal enough. Yet something was different, was wrong.
Angling towards Kyle and Susan’s, nothing appeared out of place. It wasn’t like the door was kicked in, or windows were broken. I didn’t know what I was expecting. But a little girl hadn’t come running out of that house yet, nor was she staring through a window. Everything remained still, soundless.
I approached the front door and pushed an ear against its surface, waiting. Nothing.
I didn’t knock, just grabbed the doorknob and pushed through. The place was in shambles, broken furnishings tossed from one side of the room to the other. Silverware was flung about the floor. Knives stuck out of the wall. Glass shards were scattered about, the carpets stained a deep crimson, and a smell emitted from somewhere deep within the mess.
That scent stung, attacking my senses like I was slugged in the ribs, ribs that still burned from the night before. An overpowering fear grasped the back of my neck.
“Hello?” I struggled to ask. “Kyle? Susan? Olivia?” I pushed through the debris. There was nothing but destruction, not a sign of my friends or my little girl. Spots of blood drove me nearly mad with worry.
I followed the stains on the carpet as the blood twisted and turned. The smell that hung in the air tasted coppery and reminded me of days in the past, days of war and death. It smelled so awful that I had to pull my shirt above my nose and mouth.
The aroma grew stronger as it led me to a set of stairs heading into the basement. My heart leapt into my throat. That deep crimson seeped into the carpet at the top of the steps. It looked fresh, and even had chunks of flesh mixed in. Flinging the door open to the basement, my senses screamed as a whoosh of stale blood-fueled air flew up. Glaring into the darkness of the basement only raised more fear.
The most sickening thought was the lack of noise, no crying or screaming, just the awfulness of nothing. I flew down the steps, not worrying about being graceful, and slipped on the blood-soaked wood, nearly breaking my neck after falling down the rest of the way.
Only the light from the open door allowed me to see. There wasn’t so much as a whisper of help coming from the space, but the smell remained coppery and shocking. I only wished I wouldn’t find anyone down here. I flung my arms in all directions and strained to discover something against the bleakness.
An outstretched leg tripped me and sent me tumbling. A moan escaped. Someone was alive enough to make a sound. I got up quickly and felt my way around. I touched skin, wet skin. It was someone’s arm, and a big one at that.
“Kyle? Kyle!” I shouted. “Come on buddy, talk to me!” I shook, my hands slipping from his skin as I tried to get a grasp on him.
My vision adjusted just a bit to catch a glimpse of his face and body, but what I saw was beyond imaginable. His face was pulp, puffed up beyond recognition. Drool mixed with blood oozed from his mouth, his jaw offset and broken. Dried blood mixed with sweat clung to his shirt and body.
“Jacckkksssonnn…” Kyle choked out.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. He was dying.
Unable to talk, I felt around Kyle’s legs and arms. There were no bindings tying him down; he was just sitting in the chair, somehow upright and awake.
“Jackson,” he whispered again.
“Come on Kyle, let’s get you outta here,” I said.
I wrapped his massive arm around my shoulder and lifted with all my might. Somehow he rose to the occasion, though slowly. We stumbled across the darkness towards the stairs. This way I could get a better look at him, and deal with it from there.
Climbing the stairs with Kyle clinging to my shoulders was difficult. My ribs and shoulders burned from my earlier wounds, but I remained focused on the task at hand. Kyle nearly collapsed twice, but we managed not to slip on the blood.
Bursting through the opening, we both crashed to the floor. I lay breathless for only a second before turning my attention to him.
“My god,” I whispered. I had to look away.
Kyle’s face was smashed like it had been beaten with a brick. His eyes were puffed enough that he wouldn’t be able to see. I didn’t know how he could even talk. His jaw was a half inch off-center. His shirt was white in places, but the rest was red. I lifted his shirt to see the damage and counted eight, no, nine stab wounds. Vomit rose from my stomach.
This was all wrong, and it was all my fault. I should have been here. I shouldn’t have left.
“Jackson,” Kyle spoke with an almost certain clarity. The words slurred through his fractured jawbone. “You… have… to…” He tried to talk. He lay there, unmoving.
Shallow breaths came far too few. He still bled. I took a blanket from nearby and tried to hold it against all of his wounds. He didn’t even groan with the pressure. He wasn’t feeling anything.
“Shhh… shhhhh… just keep quiet. We’re going to get you outta here, get you some help,” I choked. I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking. Tears trickled down my face and I wiped them away with the back of my sleeve. I noticed how bloody my own shirt had gotten from carrying Kyle.
Kyle’s hand found mine. When I looked down, I imagined he was looking at me.
“No,” Kyle whispered. “You have to… have to… find her.” His voice was deep, like it wasn’t his own. His head rolled back, and tension gripped his body and shook a few times. He held my hand tight for a moment before his chest rose one more time, then settled forever.
“No,” I whispered. “No, Kyle, come on. No, no, no, no….” I shook him, felt for a pulse on his neck. I moved my hand to his chest but there was no heartbeat. He wasn’t here anymore. My friend died right in front of me. Yet, he wasn’t thinking of himself when he went.
“I’ll find her. I promise,” I whispered. With renewed vigor I set out to find my Olivia and Susan.
I stumbled away from Kyle and rushed into the living room. The room was spinning, and I chocked down vomit.
“Olivia!” I shouted. “Susan!”
I screamed, not caring if the murderers were still here. I needed to find the girls, to fulfill my friend’s dying wish. I stormed through the rooms on the bottom floor. There was only scattered remnants of the struggle. Kyle must have put up one hell of a fight, he would have done his best to protect his kin. Everything was silent, though. There wasn’t a trace of the girls at all so I turned my attention to the top floor.