Page 14

What the fuck is that? A bench? On a dias?
Nausea rolls through me. There’s bindings on the sides. Perfectly positioned for hands and feet to be arranged in several different ways.
I wonder if the dark stains on the floor are what I think they are. No, I don’t want to know.
Dry heaves take me and bile burns up my throat. My mother was likely strapped to that very bench. The hollow look in her eyes told me the story. She lost herself, right here. On this cracked leather and worn wood. How many others died here?
A pen across one end houses bones and dried remains. Dog and human skeletons are mixed in scattered piles. I don’t want to go any closer to the harsh reality of the toll.
Maybe they went quickly with the bombs. There seems to be charring on most of them. The sulfurous smell still lingers lightly in the still damp air, at least, to my sensitive nose.
A dark hallway calls to me. The first door stands ajar and faded pastels still hold their bright glare when I push in.
What are these piles? Clothes, trinkets, bags of old chocolates. A bed with a frilly pink blanket sits at one end.
Fuck. My mother’s room.
I can’t slam the door behind me quick enough. The fact she was trapped in that garish collage probably drove her crazy.
No wonder she said she didn’t like the color pink.
The next two rooms look empty. Nothing but broken beds and old dog shit piled around the edges.
But a wide arch makes a darker blemish in the gloom. It takes time for my vision to adjust. I wish I had brought my bag with my flashlight. It’s still in the truck at the airport.
Squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t hide the reawakened image of Angie. Her frozen scream will haunt me forever.
Shapes form from the shadows. Why does that back wall look, well, fuzzy? Long tendrils hang off of it in bunches. They’re stiff, coarse even. It’s patchy, like they’re all in different lengths.
A cold shiver runs up my spine and my stomach threatens to spasm again.
It’s hair. Holy fuck. From my waist to as tall as I can reach, the entire surface is covered with it, and it’s still attached to sections of skin.
It feels like spiders are crawling on my skin as I jerk my hand away. How many girls would it take to have a solid covering of scalps?
“What was wrong with you?” My throat burns with the shrill volume that erupts out of me, my voice cracking like I’m a teenager again as I stumble away.
A hard rolling sound surprises me when I bump into a wooden shelf. Several hard cracks punctuate the dim silence.
Another step and something hard crumbles under my foot.
Empty eye sockets stare up at me around the toe of my boot.
That’s it. I’m done.
My legs pump and my lungs burn as I run as fast as I can from the dark depths of the room. The rapid beating of my frenzied heart drowns out my feet hitting the ground.
It’s several blocks before the rush of adrenaline wanes and I slow back to a walk. Glancing around, I recognize one of the old grocery stores.
North. It’s as good as any direction. I need to get away from Boise.
And Sam.
I’ve taken his son, his daughter and his sister. Captain Russo will be on the warpath, too.
I’ll never be able to return.
Lush grass covers the streets with small trees already towering over my head. Nature is reclaiming the remains of the city. How long will it take for the evidence of humans to completely disappear?