Harry & Sue

Lightning slashed a path across the evening sky. In its brief flare, a solitary man examined the small huddle of cottages around a common yard. A child’s wagon had turned on its side, two wheels in the air too rusted to turn. Something was loose, banging in the gusting wind. The man turned toward the noise. He watched an unsprung screen door slap in time with the incoming storm. A fat drop splattered his cheek.

He moved toward the house with its thumping door, figuring no one inside could put up with its constant racket.

Up closer to the bungalow, he spotted the sputtering light inside. With no electricity, that meant someone was inside. As he pulled the screen door, the light extinguished. The top hinge came loose, and the door flopped open then tilted diagonally to the side.

He peeked in cautiously then entered, searching the gloom.

“Hello,” he said. “Who’s here?”

Slowly his eyes adjusted. The slim figure of a woman took shape.

“Stay back,” she ordered. She held a handgun.

He lifted his hands in surrender.

“Go!” she commanded. “Get out.” Both the revolver and her voice wavered off the mark.

“The storm,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” He looked at the gun, smiled crookedly at his ludicrous understatement. The hammer was cocked. Her finger was inside the trigger guard. He stopped smiling. “Don’t shoot. Please.”

Thunder shook the house and his heart stuttered.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Harold. My name’s Harold.”

The abrupt bark of her laugh filled the room.

“Harold? You don’t look like any Harold to me.”

“Oh?” he said defensively. “And how should any Harold look?”

A heavy downpour pounded the shingled roof. Through the open door behind him, a gust blew a wave of rain against the back of his shirt. He shivered.

She stared at him, assessing their predicament. He attempted another smile to put her at ease but kept his hands up, open flat, palms facing her. She lowered the gun slightly, used it to point at a candle on the table beside a cushioned chair. He saw a box of kitchen matches next to it.

“Light it,” she said.

He tentatively lowered his hands then reached toward the matchbox.

“Sit down first.”

He complied, then struck a match to the candle wick. His hand only shook a little. He looked up, was startled by her beauty in the guttering light. A redhead. No surprise there.

Taking several quick steps, she closed the solid front door, locked it, muting the storm. Harold looked from the door to the woman. Had he just fallen into a trap?

She held the gun by her side, pointed at the floor.

“My name’s Susan.” One corner of her lips lifted. “Some called me Suzie.”

He laughed. “Don’t look like no Suzie to me.”

She waved the gun loosely, looked at him in mock earnestness. “Shut up, Harold.”

Something struck the house, and they both flinched. After a moment, the tenseness in his shoulders eased a little. She wasn’t going to shoot him without cause.

“What do we do now?” He looked at the gun she still held at her side.

“You ever go by Harry?” she asked. He nodded that he had. “Okay,” she said, “call me Sue then.”

“Okay. What now, Sue?”

“Were you married?” she asked.

“Yes, she died right after.” He didn’t need to say after what.

“Me, too. He didn’t. Die, I mean. He left when I got sick.”

“Sick? I didn’t know people got over that.”

“Me, either. But I did. Maybe I just had the flu or something.”

“I’m glad.” There’d been too many deaths.

“Me, too.” They listened to the storm. “Why, I don’t know. Just to go through all this? Prolong the agony, I guess.”

“Huh.” He nodded again.

She dropped the gun into a blouse pocket on her side.

“You hungry, Harry?”

“Yeah. I could eat.”

“But are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “I’m hungry.”

“Something was in the comet,” Harry said. “Something deadly.”

Thunder burst overhead, rolled away.

She chewed her food carefully and watched as he bolted down several gravy-soaked biscuits in mere seconds.

“Slow down and live,” she said.

Harry grinned between bites. He’d truly been hungry.

He thought for a second, then continued more soberly.

“Listen. Whatever killed everybody is still around. Alive, I mean.”

“What? Germs? Aliens?” Rain beat harder on the roof.

“Maybe. Something. And we can’t do a damn thing but wait until it’s over.”

“It’s over,” she said, sounding hopeful that he’d agree.

He shook his head.

“I doubt it. We’re carriers.” The human animal should now be on the endangered species list.

She looked at him with apparent dread. “You’re saying any new babies will probably die, too?”

He shrugged. “I think so.”

“So when we’re gone, that’s it?”

“No, some should survive. I hope so, anyway. Maybe someday we’ll grow.”

“Then there’s hope,” she said. “More?”

He held out his plate to her.

“So,” Sue said. “Where do we go? Can’t we hide here?”

Harry knew she didn’t want to leave. The bungalow was warm and dry. But was it safe? He didn’t think so. The cottages had been built so that the gated courtyard opened directly onto the street. It was supposed to be cozy and convenient.

Too convenient. He’d spotted the circle of cottages in the near dark with a storm approaching. In daylight, no one could miss them.

The storm was passing, leaving a coolness partially negated by the clammy humidity.

“You have the handgun. Do you have others?”

“A shotgun. I’m not sure how to use it. It was Jimmy’s.”

“Your husband’s?”

She nodded. “There’s plenty of shells for it.”

“Show me.”

She went toward the back of the bungalow then returned with a twelve-gauge shotgun. She only hesitated briefly before placing it into his hands.