The Trunk Read online

  Moving down two steps, she held the glow stick out as far as she could. In the greenish light, she could make out a couple of overstuffed chairs…the corner of a table…

  It’s a basement. The owners converted their basement into a game room.

  “Hello!” Her words didn’t echo, which meant the place was sealed. She went down another step, then another. Reaching the bottom, she gripped her bat with her uninjured hand and advanced forward, to discover this room was larger than she’d first thought. In fact, it wasn’t a game room, but a bedroom, complete with kitchenette and living room area.

  Another door appeared to her right, and she pushed it open. It was a full bath, tub and all.

  Slowly, she walked around the room to get the full layout. Small horizontal windows provided a view outside. Emlee stuffed the glow stick inside her pocket, in case someone might walk by outside and be alerted to the unnatural light coming from inside the house. Once her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she continued to check the interior, but it soon became evident no one else was inside this basement bedroom.

  Another revelation hit her, and she scanned the room a second time with fresher eyes. “It’s all intact. There’s no damage in here.” The place appeared to be untouched by destruction.

  She caught sight again of the kitchenette. It contained a small oven with two burners, a miniature refrigerator, a shelf for pots and pans and dishes…

  And a pantry.

  Trying not to be hopeful, she hurried over and flung open the two narrow doors. Her knees almost went out from under her as she stared at the boxes and canned goods sitting inside. Unable to believe her luck, she burst into tears. She grabbed the closest can, pulling the tab on top that would open it and activate the heating element inside to warm the contents. Either the tab was defective, or in her eagerness she accidentally pulled on it wrong. Whichever it was, the tab broke off. Emlee grunted. Fortunately, this was a minor setback, and she took the can over to where she’d left her backpack to extract the manual can opener. A dozen turns, and the lid popped off. She sniffed at the contents, then poked her finger inside to taste test it.

  Marinara sauce. That meant pasta.

  Although it was cold, she scarfed it down, barely chewing as she quickly ate it all. She was tempted to go get something else, but feared she might throw up it up if she ate too much too quickly.

  She burped and wiped her face and fingers on a dishtowel draped over the rod attached to the cabinet near the sink. With her hunger satisfied for the moment, exhaustion returned. Emlee eyed the bed. But first I have to secure that door upstairs, in case someone else sees it and decides to inspect it.

  Since the door opened out toward the main part of the house, she’d have to find a way to keep it from being opened. Ascending the stairs, she pulled out the glow stick to inspect the handle, and found it locked from the inside. It was a simple punch-and-turn lock, but it might be enough of a deterrent to prevent someone from trying to break in. After all, if she’d thought it was a closet, the intruder might believe the same thing and leave it be, especially with all the damaged ceiling and roof surrounding it.

  Once she secured the door, she went back downstairs and walked directly over to the bed. Without removing her boots, she crawled on top of the comforter and collapsed, laying her bat next to her.

  She was asleep almost immediately.

  Chapter Three

  Settling

  It was daylight when she awakened, which didn’t surprise her, although it took her a moment to remember where she was and how she’d gotten there.

  Emlee slowly turned her head to where she could look out the narrow window. There didn’t seem to be anyone prowling around outside, but one could never be too careful. If she was going to stay here for any length of time, she had to cover those panes to prevent someone from seeing her in here.

  She managed to sit up, then stand with minimal pain or faintness. If anything, she felt stronger. She attributed that to the can of whatever it was she’d eaten last night. At the thought of eating, she smiled. “Time for breakfast!”

  Now that it was daytime, she could get a better idea of where she was, and what this basement bedroom looked like. She crawled off the bed and went to visit the bathroom, when her eyes lit on the pallets of bottled water sitting against the wall, next to the pantry. She hadn’t seen them last night because of the darkness. Eagerly, she pounced on them, withdrew and uncapped the first bottle she could grab, and thirstily chugged it down.

  It tasted heavenly.

  Gasping for air, she finished what little was left in the bottle on the second gulp. “So good,” she murmured, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. That drew her attention to the soiled bandage wrapped around her palm. “I need to clean and redress that wound, if there’s going to be any chance of it healing.”

  She went into the bathroom where she didn’t find any water standing in the toilet, not that she expected to see any. Neither did any water come from the faucet when she turned the knobs. Not a big surprise there, either. Once the aliens destroyed most of the power plants and factories, all electrical grids went down. Without electricity to pump water, the only way to get anything to drink was via bottled water. Or, if one was lucky enough, to live where a water tower was atop a roof. That way, gravity powered their ability to have water on-hand. All non-drinkable water could be used to bathe with, and that used water could then be poured into the toilets to flush them.

  She noticed the lone blue-striped towel on the rack as she relieved herself, then used the luxury of a little toilet paper to wipe herself. Smiling, she went back out in the kitchen area and glanced over the coffee maker and microwave. She didn’t dare open the refrigerator. Whatever it contained had spoiled long ago, and she didn’t want to see or smell what was left inside.

  Before she opened the pantry, she checked what was behind the doors underneath the small sink. There she found the usual cleaners and dish soap, as well as a dustpan. The four drawers to the right contained silverware and cooking utensils, more dish cloths, a junk drawer with batteries and chip clips, and the bottom one held an assortment of extension cords and other similar items.

  She picked up the empty can from where she’d sat it on the counter. “Yep. I was right. Spaghetti curls.” She tossed it into the trash can on the other side of the fridge, then went to check what else was in the pantry.

  Throwing open the doors, she allowed herself to drool slightly at the array of foods stocking the shelves. It was obvious this hidden retreat hadn’t been discovered because of the collapsed roof. There was enough food in here to last her a good two to three weeks. Maybe even a month if she was careful. Whoever had been here must have restocked it before hell descended on Earth.

  The remains of a bag of grayish-black bread was tossed into the trash, along with a bag of bagels that looked more like petrified rocks. Withdrawing a can of ravioli, she opened it and checked the contents first. Expiration dates no longer meant anything. Not when starvation was a daily threat. If an item smelled okay, looked okay, and tasted okay, chances were it was still edible. Not tasting anything that would tell her it had gone bad, this time she used a fork from the drawer to eat it.

  As she chewed, she walked around the area to examine the room more closely. A huge flat-screen TV was mounted to the inner wall. The chairs were well-used but comfortable. At first glance, she wondered if the basement was used for visiting relatives, or if someone actually lived down here, when she noticed a couple of magazines laying on the floor next to the recliner.

  “The Week in the World of Sports,” she read the title aloud. “This has to be a man cave of sorts. If that’s the case, why the bed?”

  She picked up the magazine, noting the date on the cover. It had arrived the week the aliens did. Flipping through the pages, she stared at the pictures of the way life had been back then, when she got an idea. Shoveling another forkful of ravioli into her mouth, she returned to the junk drawer in the kitchenette where she
’d seen some transparent tape. She had to get up on tiptoe to reach the windows, but she managed to tape pages from the magazine over them. Her efforts blocked out some of the light, but not enough to darken the room. With that done, she dropped into the recliner to finish eating.

  With her belly full, she continued to check everything out. She spotted a large trunk sitting against the wall, on the other side of the bed. It was bigger than any other trunk or footlocker she’d ever seen before, and made mostly of wood, with a large curved, dome-like lid. Metal straps wrapped around it, with two metal hasp latches on the front. The central lock was nothing more than what appeared to be a simple belt-loop like contraption.

  She checked the hasps and found them already undone. Same for the middle lock. She lifted the lid to check what was inside.

  Clothing.

  She glanced around the room, noting for the first time the lack of a bureau. “No closet or wardrobe. Guess he’d have to store his things somewhere.”

  Lowering the lid, she sat on the edge of the bed and finished off the can. With that done, she returned to the bathroom where she’d noticed a medicine cabinet hanging above the sink.

  There was little inside, other than an electric shaver, a tube of toothpaste, a stick of deodorant, and a bottle of pain killers. “Yep. Definitely a guy hideout. Singular. Only one toothbrush,” she observed, noting the item parked on the edge of the sink. She briefly debated with herself whether or not to go ahead and abscond with the medicine, but decided not to. If she was going to stay a while, might as well leave things as they were for the time being.

  There was also a cabinet above the toilet. Inside were towels and wash rags, and…

  “Bingo!”

  She took out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and box of gauze pads. Setting them next to the sink, she unwrapped the strip of cloth she’d used to cover her wound. Once she removed all of it, she noticed the visible line of grime edging her skin. The contrast between what had been covered and what hadn’t made her look like a zebra.

  “I need a bath. I must smell horrible. When was the last time I’d even taken a bath?” Again, it was all a hazy memory. Glancing down at her stained, filthy, and torn top and pants, it was hard to remember what they’d originally looked like when she’d first put them on.

  I’d been in some shopping area somewhere out East. I stripped right there in the store and put them on. The place was empty. Abandoned. Hardly anyone went inside that boutique, since there was no food to be found in there. She figured no one considered a change of clothes and a second pair of decent walking shoes important enough to bother with.

  She looked over at the wall where she knew the chest was located. “Maybe there’s something in there that’ll fit me. Screw that. I’ll make it fit.”

  She didn’t dare use the sink to hold the water, but needed to keep it at hand to pour into the toilet when it was no longer usable. A large blue bowl with the word POPCORN printed on the side would do for her spit bath. She emptied a bottle of precious water into it, got a clean rag from the cabinet, then grabbed the container of bath wash from the shower, glancing briefly at the dark blue puff dangling from the valve.

  She stripped off her grimy clothes she’d been wearing for at least a couple of months and kicked them into the corner. That done, she slowly undid the second makeshift bandage around her upper arm. This wound looked better than the one on her hand. Even though it was longer than the one in her palm, it was not as deep. Neither did she constantly irritate it by moving it like she did with her hand.

  “First clean, then medicate,” she told herself.

  She took her time, using no more than a dab of the body wash. The water in the bowl quickly turned brown, but it was still refreshing. She briefly debated whether or not to wash her greasy hair, but settled instead with wiping it and her scalp with the wet rag. After toweling herself off, she applied the peroxide to both wounds and covered them with the large gauze pads. She left the bowl in the sink to pour into the toilet later.

  Traipsing naked back into the main room, she went over to the trunk and knelt in front of it before lifting the lid. After a short dig into the contents, she discovered it contained mostly jeans and t-shirts, all carefully folded. “So who folded this stuff? You or your mother?” There were also a couple of nice shirts. Several pairs of crew socks and three pairs of black socks were balled up and stuffed in the bottom right-hand corner. She located a few white cotton undershirts and white briefs in the bottom left-hand corner.

  Pulling out a pair of jeans, she stood and held them up to her, checking the size. “They’re big but a belt will solve that problem.” She choose a dark blue t-shirt with a grizzly bear logo on the front, and a pair of the black socks.

  With her stomach full, a bath, and the fresh, clean clothing, she felt a thousand percent better. She knew her energy wasn’t fully restored, but another couple of days like this would do wonders for her physically and mentally.

  “I just pray I can remain here that long, if not longer,” she admitted to herself, when a yawn caught her by surprise. She knew she needed to get as much rest as possible. “Get it when you can.”

  Glancing up at the windows to make sure they were still covered, she returned to the bed, dusting off the cover before climbing on top. As she closed her eyes, she heard the familiar sound of rain coming down, even though she couldn’t see it. Normally, she’d take advantage of the weather and place a bowl or other object outside to catch the precious rainwater. This time, however, she decided it wouldn’t be worth the risk. Someone might get suspicious if they saw a pot sitting in the middle of the living room in an abandoned house.

  For a moment she also wondered if she should worry about water coming into the basement. Well, if it does, it does. With the roof gone, I don’t have much control over that.

  But a little precaution wouldn’t hurt.

  She got up, retrieved the towel she’d dried off with from the bathroom, and took it up the stairs. She stuffed it firmly against the bottom of the door in case there was any leakage, and returned to the bed.

  This time she was able to listen to the rain as it sang its comforting lullaby, knowing she would remain dry and in relative safety.

  Chapter Four

  Discovery

  A car horn honked.

  Emlee jerked awake. Instinctively, she rolled off the bed, toward the wall, hunkering down out of sight in the narrow space in order to take cover. She held her breath and listened for the sound to repeat, but her heart was beating so loud it almost filled her head.

  After nearly a minute, and the honking didn’t repeat, she gradually raised her head to peer over the bed, toward the stairs, when a deep growling sound came to her. It took a moment for her to realize what she was hearing.

  Was that a lawnmower?

  She glanced up at the windows, and pure fear nearly made her faint. The coverings were gone. The magazine pages she’d taped up there to prevent anyone from seeing into the basement had been removed. Sunlight now poured into where she was as the sun streamed directly through the glass panes.

  She needed to get out of here, and get out now.

  Jumping up, she ran over to where she’d left her backpack, but it was no longer there. Everything she owned in the world, everything she had left in the world…

  Emlee gasped, pressing a hand to her forehead. She didn’t remember moving it. In fact, she knew she hadn’t put it someplace else. But, to be certain, she checked inside the bathroom, then the kitchenette.

  There was no sign of her black backpack.

  Now she was beginning to panic. Not only had she misplaced her sole possessions, her bat was gone. Without a weapon, she was completely defenseless. Not unless she could get her hands on that fireplace poker that was still buried upstairs.

  She scanned the basement, searching for something she could improvise with, but nothing looked promising. There wasn’t even any sporting equipment. “Damn! The guy never played baseball when he was a kid?�
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  Without a weapon, and without her backpack, she knew her time here was over. She had to get out and find someplace else where she could start from scratch, her first priority being an object she could use to protect herself with.

  She hurried into the bathroom where she’d left her boots and slipped them on. She was about to head back upstairs when she remembered seeing a dust pan underneath the kitchen sink. If there’s a dustpan, there has to be a broom. All right, where would a guy stash a broom down here? In a corner?

  There weren’t very many nooks or crannies, until her eyes landed on the small fridge and the pantry. Running over to it, she shoved a hand between the two, and instantly felt the smooth wood of a handle. Triumphantly, she pulled the broom out from where it was kept and removed the brush head from the handle. She hefted the four-foot piece of wood. It wasn’t much, but at least it was better than nothing.

  She advanced toward the stairs, when she thought she heard footsteps overhead. Freezing in place, she listened as they drew nearer. One set. She could detect one person. Her grip tightened on the broom handle as the light tread approached the door to the basement. Her heart nearly lodged in her throat when the handle rattled, but the lock prevented the person from opening the door.

  She waited to see what the person would do next, when the sound of a dog barking caught her attention. Stunned, she stared out one of the windows which faced the direction where she’d heard the animal. There. There it was again. It was a dog barking! She hadn’t imagined it, no more than she’d imagined the lawnmower or the car horn.

  Something was happening outside, and it terrified her.

  The handle rattled again, then came the distinctive sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. As the door swung open, she pressed her back against the wall and tightened her grip on the wooden stick.