They knelt, shoulder to
shoulder, on the cold floor and peered out of their living room window. The
house across the street was on fire.
The flames danced up toward the sky and shadowy figures danced and twirled in front of the
house. Someone was beating on a drum erratically, without rhythm. There was
chanting, a togetherness of words in the group.
“I don’t think they got out. Sam
and Evelyn. I don’t think they got out,” the man whispered. She didn’t answer.
“Every night, a different house.
One by one, moving down the street. Why? What the hell are they doing?”
“Protesting,” she whispered.
“Protesting? Protesting Sam and
Evelyn? And Mary and John the night before? What the hell?”
“I don’t know. I’m cold.”
He put his right arm across her
shoulders and she leaned against him.
The roof of the house across the
street crumbled down in a thunderous roar. The shadowy figures jumped and
stamped some sort of victory dance. They spun faster and faster, the drumming was
louder.
“Where are the firemen?” she
asked.
“I heard they were all killed.”
“Who told you that?”
“I just heard it. Never mind
where.”
“And the police?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I’m still cold.”
He shifted his weight from his
knees, turned and leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of
him. “Is there any food left?” he asked.
“You asked that yesterday. And
the day before. Quit asking. Just vitamins.”
“Get me some,” he said.
She crawled on her hands and
knees across the room to their grab-and- go-bag. She opened and closed the zippered
compartments until she felt the round plastic bottle of vitamins. She shook two
of the vitamins into her hand.
“Here,” she said, handing him
one and chewing on the other one.
“No water left?” he asked.
“No.”
“We’ve got to do something.
Anything. Something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t
supposed to happen here. It happened over there. Faraway.”
“Yes, I know. We watched it on
the news. Over there.”
“Then it was here. But just big
cities.”
“I know. We watched it on the
news. While we ate pizza.”
“I’d love a pizza right now.
With anchovies.”
“Stop it.”
The fire continued to burn
across the street. It was the last house on that side of the street to burn.
The others on that side lay in ruins with carcasses of cars left in destroyed
timbers of garages.
“I think we’re next,” he
said. His voice was barely a whisper.
“I think you’re right,” She
said.
“You said God wouldn’t let this
happen. That’s what you said.”
“I know. I was wrong.”
“Let us pray,” he said, picking
up a rusty old crow-bar by the front door.
“Yes,” she said, picking up a
ball bat. Yes, Let us pray, let us pray.”
