Chapter 9

We walk into my neighborhood and I look about in thanks that nothing was hit of ours. No smoke pillars lead away from the place that I live.

“Jiavanni respond?” I ask Caden as we make a right toward her house.

“No, I lost signal shortly after I sent the text,” He responds tightly. I consider asking if he left his parents a text to let him know where he was going. I decide against it. I vehicle speeds past us. We walk a little further before coming along this velvet colored house with an American flag iron decal hanging on the front door. The house next door is white with an American flag standing tall and proud in the smoke-filled sky. I think of “The Star Spangled Banner”.

I step onto the front steps and knock on the door. Several seconds later Mrs. Bain opens it up. I spot Mr. Bain behind her. He grasps a shotgun tightly in his hands. They welcome us with open arms. They look dismayed at how many they must welcome.

“Hey, I want to head over to my house and search for my parents,” I tell Mrs. Bain once I feel like we’re set. When everyone is comfortable.

“I don’t think that that’s wise…” Mrs. Bain warns quietly. The toilet flushes and the sink turns on. The room is quiet. Why?

“Why?”

“Looters, protestors,” Mr. Bain states without humor.

“You’re kidding?” Megan asks stepping out of the bathroom. We all turn to look at her. We all see that they aren’t kidding.

“Looting is stupid though,” Caden mutters.

“They want supplies and weapons. I want supplies and weapons. It better secures my survival,” Rippy adds without emotion. He sits up from the couch and comes to stand next to me, “I’ll go with him.”

“Me too,” My sister volunteers coming closer to me. My heart aches.

“No can do Shorty,” I tell her, “If this is serious…” I eye Mr. Bain’s shotgun.

“But!...” She sticks out her bottom lip and her eyes water up. She grasps my arm in a deadlock and squeezes until it goes numb. I bring her into a tight hug.

“Look, I love you Shorty, I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to grab clothes and stuff for us. Maybe some of dad’s guns as well…” I try to stand but she doesn’t let go. I wish we could just fall asleep right then and there. Not worry about it until morning. But if looters are out then we need what we can get now. I tap her lightly with the palm of my hand on her back a couple of times and whisper “Alright Shorty.” She automatically unclasps herself and takes a step back looking at the ground. I lean over and kiss her forehead.

“Alright, let’s go,” I tell Rippy glancing at the Bain’s for protest. When they offer none I follow Rippy out the door.

“Wait,” I hear Mr. Bain call. We both turn and look at him. He waves me closer. I do as is requested of me. He passes a handgun between us. A revolver of medium caliber.

“You know how to use it?” I take it and check the safety then see if it’s loaded. All six bullets are in.

“Yeah… Yeah. Yes.” He looks me in the eyes and I see a deep sadness. But under that sadness sits an anger. An anger perhaps aimed at those that have caused us this harm. Maybe that I am asking to do this against their better judgement. I almost want to tell him that it’s my choice and he needs not to arm me but I bite my tongue. He stares me down for what feels like an eternity before finally nodding. The sadness is still there.

“Come back safe.”

“I plan to.”

Together Rippy and I walk down the street. The pistol stowed in my pocket. I try not to limp at the pain that crawls up my leg. I glance around uneasily before stopping suddenly. Something happened, something new. Rippy stops next to me and tenses up, his head swiveling back and forth. A knife appears in his right hand. A kitchen knife. I wonder when he had the time to get it.

“What?”

“The ringing,” I state in bewilderment. I listen to the wind and the wind chimes and the birds. I listen to all of it with a new clarity. Though the birds feel almost like a taunt. How can the birds still sing on a day such as this? How can they bare to sing with so much death around them? I feel like shooting one. I have to stop myself for reaching for my pocket.

“What ringing? You mean from the bombs?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. It’s gone. I can hear again.” I respond honestly. I hadn’t realized I couldn’t hear that well before but thinking back on it I’m sure my ears have been ringing since the bombing. Rippy slips the knife into a fold of his jacket and begins walking again. I can sense irritation radiating from him like heat from a microwave burrito. My stomach stabs out in hunger. I catch up.

We make a left at the intersection several houses down and walk another four. About a hundred meters before we arrive at my exceptionally long driveway. Twenty four yards of concrete down to my garage that sits beneath my room on the second story.

My house looks so normal, the green house with a large window looking in on my room. The door in the center of the layout and two windows to its right to even it out (the garage being to its left). Then above it are three windows that match the door and windows below that look into my parent’s room. It’s all so strange that the birds sing and the beautiful green forest behind it sways in the sun’s rays. That the green grass and bees are unaffected by the terrors I went through. Rippy is already eight yards down the driveway and I have to jog to catch up.

“How do we get in?” He asks gesturing to the locked door. I dig into my right back pocket and pull out my wallet. I dig around in one of the smaller wallet pockets and pull out a clean blue key. I slide it into the locks and brace myself for a moment. Rippy continues to be impatient but I ignore him and count to three before opening the door. Opening it to whatever may be inside.