“We’re only going to dig the trench a certain number of feet,” Jamie said, tapping the empty section of the rectangle around the three properties. “Once we set the foundation, we’re going to fill it up with concrete, then install support beams along the inside of the property.”
“You seem to have it figured out,” Dakota sighed, looking up at Desmond. “What do you think about all of this?”
“I think it’ll work,” the boy said. “What about the ice though? I’ve heard something about concrete breaking apart if moisture gets into any cracks and freezes.”
“We’ll cross that barrier when that time comes,” Jamie said. He looked down at the figures, reconsidered the detailed sketch before him, then looked back up at Dakota and Desmond. “Guess you guys know what comes next.”
Dakota reached forward and grabbed his gun.
They went into the other two houses one-by-one. Guns drawn and clips full, they scoured each room on every floor, searching for anything or anyone that might have managed to stumble into the building and lock the door behind them. Several times, Dakota thought he heard something groan, then turned with his pistol at eye level only to find nothing behind him. It scared him, thinking that a house could possibly speak and reveal all of its secrets, but he didn’t think about it for long after Jamie mentioned every house he’d stayed at in Idaho did such a thing.
It’s like they’re talking, he’d said, echoing Dakota’s previous sentiments. Like they’re waiting for someone to stop and listen.
By the time noon turned to dusk, they returned to Jamie’s childhood home, sweat staining their shirts and hair plastered to their foreheads.
“You think we could take a bath?” Desmond asked, stripping his soaked shirt off his skinny frame. “I haven’t showered in days.”
“I could probably get the generator out back working,” Jamie said, casting a glance toward the door sitting at the very end of the hall. “But I don’t think now would be a good idea to try.”
“Best not to do it now,” Dakota said, frowning when Desmond sighed. “I’m sure we can figure something else out.”
“We can,” Jamie said. “Even if we have to use some of the bottled water, we can always get more.”
“And we can purify it now that we’re here,” Dakota added, reaching out to set a hand on Desmond’s sweaty shoulder.
“I just don’t want to use anything we don’t have to,” the boy said.
“You want a shower, you got a shower,” Jamie smiled, heading toward the door. “Dakota, care to help me bring some stuff in?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“It’s nice to have a little alone time,” Jamie said, “isn’t it?”
Dakota nodded. Tilting his head back, Dakota smiled at Jamie and took a moment to readjust himself on the bed Jamie had slept in for most of his life before allowing his eyes to continue their endless pursuit of the room. Most of the walls were bare, evidence of a room long uninhabited, but a few things sprinkled their surfaces, giving birth to personality found solely in a patriotic young man. An American flag blanketed a corner, while a miniature display of what appeared to be the Civil War covered a shelf just above a writing desk, upon which a photo of Jamie’s father sat—post Gulf War, a chest-up shot with the man flashing pearly whites.
“Jamie,” Dakota said, “do you remember anything about your father?”
“Sure.”
“Like what?”
“The way he used to throw me into the air and catch me in his arms. Scared my mom half to death whenever he did it.”
“What else?”
“Him taking me for ice cream, going to church on Sundays, playing baseball in the park.”
“It sounds like a dream come true.”
“Did your dad not do anything like that with you?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember. It seems like everything was going just fine up until everything went to hell near the very end.”
“We both had pretty fucked up childhoods.”
“Guess that’s why we go together so well,” Dakota laughed, bowing his head into Jamie’s chest.
“I used to resent the fact that my friends all had dads when I didn’t. It’s taken me a long time to get over that, but now that I have, I realize that I’d never wish anything I went through on anyone else. It’s hard growing up without your dad.”
“I wish I could say the same thing.”
“You have any idea what happened? I mean, with their relationship?”
“I don’t know,” Dakota sighed. “Even if I could know, I don’t think I’d want to. Whatever happened, or was happening, it was bad. That’s all I know.”
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Jamie said.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“Don’t ever be sorry for anything, Dakota. There’s no point in regretting asking something that gets you closer to someone.”
He could live with that logic.
The night once more bestowed them with a healthy dose of rain. Come morning, after it had fallen all night and slicked the dying ground with fresh dew, Dakota slipped from the realms of sleep and into the reality of consciousness, head light and eyes heavy in the chill that lingered in the air.
Where am I? he thought, then reconsidered this when he felt Jamie moving next to him.
Idaho. He remembered now. They’d arrived yesterday morning after a near-three-day flight from South Dakota. It seemed nearly impossible to think that they’d just traveled halfway across the country only to end up in an old farmhouse his boyfriend had spent the first eighteen years of his life in, but he tried not to think about it. His mind cloudy and his body numb from sleep, he squirmed back against Jamie and drew the blanket tighter around him.
It’s so cold.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the window, noticing the frost that covered it.
Snow?
No, it couldn’t be. Frost didn’t necessarily mean snow, nor did it foreshadow it in any shape or form.
Dakota pushed himself into a sitting position and dangled his feet over the side of the bed, bowing his head to shield his eyes from the light stabbing into the room. Once he realized that it might be bothering Jamie as well, he stood, crossed the room and pulled the curtains over the window, sighing when the cold bit his skin and nipped at his ankles.
No use in going back to bed now.
After gathering up his clothes and dressing, he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, taking extra care to close the door as quietly as possible before making his way into the living room. There, in the nearly-white light of the early morning, he found Desmond sitting in the recliner, reading a massive hardcover book that he had balanced on his knees.
“Morning,” Dakota said.
“Morning,” Desmond said, frowning when he looked up at Dakota.
“What?”
“Your cheeks are red as hell.”
Dakota reached up to touch his face and realized it hurt to the touch.
“Maybe it was just the weather,” Desmond shrugged, sliding a piece of paper into the book and slamming it shut. Its echo traveled across the house, instantly forcing Dakota to grimace.
“It’s nothing to worry yourself over. Jamie’s not waking up anytime soon anyway.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think he got to sleep until late this morning,” Dakota said. He pushed his fingers into his armpits and looked out the window. Just as he expected, frost tipped the yellowing blades of grass like false hats atop a jester’s head. “You want to go get some stuff out of the truck?”
“In this weather?”