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“Drink it through this, ” she says. She hands him a coffee filter. “I don’t know. A filter. Who knows? ”

Tom takes it. He looks her in the eye. Then he dunks the glass in the wooden well bucket.

When he pulls it out, he holds it up. The housemates stand in a semicircle around it. They stare at the contents of the glass.

The details of Felix’s story chill Malorie all over again.

Carrying the glass, Tom leaves the kitchen. Jules gathers some rope from the kitchen pantry and follows him.

The other housemates do not speak. Malorie places one hand on her belly and the other on the counter. Then she lifts it quickly, as if she’s just put her hand in a deadly substance.

Contamination.

But there was no water where she put her hand.

Upstairs, the door to her bedroom closes. She listens as Jules ties the rope around the doorknob and fastens it to the railing of the staircase.

Now Tom is locked in.

Like George.

Felix paces. Don leans against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the floor. When Jules returns, Victor goes to him.

A sound comes from upstairs. Malorie gasps. The housemates look to the ceiling.

They wait. They listen. Felix moves as if he’s going to go up there. Then he stops.

“He must have drunk it already, ” Don says quietly.

Malorie steps to the entrance of the living room. There, ten feet away, is the foot of the stairs.

There is only silence.

Then there is a knock.

And Tom yells.

Tom yells Tom yells Tom yells Tom Malorie is already moving to the stairs, but Jules passes her.

“Stay here! ” he commands.

She watches him climb the stairs.

“Tom! ”

“Jules, I’m okay. ”

At the sound of Tom’s voice, Malorie exhales. She reaches for the railing to steady herself.

“Did you drink it? ” Jules says through the door.

“I did. I drank it. I’m fine. ”

The other housemates are gathered behind her now. They begin talking. Quietly at first. Then excitedly. Upstairs, Jules unties the rope. Tom emerges from the bedroom holding the empty glass before him.

“What was it like? ” Olympia asks.

Malorie smiles. So do the others. It’s funny, in a dark way, right now, asking what drinking a glass of water was like.

“Well, ” Tom says, descending, “it was probably the best glass of water I’ve ever had. ”

When he reaches the bottom he looks Malorie in the eye.

“I liked the filter idea, ” he says. When he passes her, he sets the glass on the end table with the telephone. Then he turns to the others. “Let’s put the furniture back in order. Let’s put this place back together again. ”

sixteen

O n the river, Malorie feels the heat of the midday sun. Instead of bringing her peace, it reminds her how visible they must be.

“Mommy, ” the Boy whispers.

Malorie leans forward. Her palm is pierced by a splinter from the oar. This makes three.

“What is it? ”

“Shhh, ” the Boy says.

Malorie stops rowing. She is listening.

The Boy is right. Something moves on land to their left. Sticks break. More than one.

The man in the boat, Malorie’s mind screams, saw something on this river.

Could it be him? Could he be out in the woods? Could he be after her, waiting for her to get stuck, ready to rip off her blindfold? The children’s?

More sticks break. It moves slowly. Malorie thinks of the house they’ve left behind. They were safe there. Why did they leave? Is the place they are heading going to be any safer? How could it be? In a world where you can’t open your eyes, isn’t a blindfold all you could ever hope for?

We left because some people choose to wait for news and others make their own.

Like Tom used to say. Malorie, she knows, will never stop being inspired by him. The very thought of him, here, on the river, brings her hope.

Tom, she wants to tell him, your ideas were good.

“Boy, ” she whispers, paddling again, fearful that they are too close to the left bank, “what do you hear? ”

“It’s close, Mommy. ” Then, “I’m scared. ”

There is a moment of silence. In it, Malorie imagines a danger only inches away.

She stops paddling again, to listen better. She cranes her neck to the left.

The front of the rowboat connects with something hard. Malorie shrieks. The children scream.

We’ve run into the bank!

Malorie jabs a paddle at where she thinks the mud is but she does not connect.

“Leave us alone! ” she yells, her face contorted. Suddenly, she longs for the walls of the house. There are no walls on this river. No cellar beneath them. No attic above.

“Mommy! ”

As the Girl screams for her, something breaks through the branches. Something big.

Malorie jabs the paddle again but it only breaks the water. She grabs the Boy and Girl and pulls them close.

She hears a growl.

“Mommy! ”

“Quiet! ” she yells, pulling the Girl even closer.

Is it the man? Deranged? Do the creatures growl? Do they make any noise at all?

A second growl now and suddenly Malorie understands what it is. It’s doglike. Canine.

Wolves.

She doesn’t have time to coil before a wolf’s claw slashes her shoulder.

She screams. Immediately she feels the warm blood cascading the length of her arm. Cold water sloshes in the rowboat’s bottom.

Urine, too.

They smell it on us, Malorie thinks, frantic, turning her head in every direction and aimlessly wielding the paddle. They know we can’t defend ourselves.

She hears another low growling. It’s a pack. The rowboat’s tip is snagged on something. Malorie can’t find it with her paddle. But the boat swivels, as if the wolves have taken ahold of the bow.

They could jump in! THEY COULD JUMP IN! Crawl to the front of the boat. You have to set it free.

Swinging the paddle above the heads of the children, screaming, Malorie rises. The boat leans to the right. She thinks they’re going to tip. She steadies herself. The wolves snarl. Her shoulder is hot with a kind of pain she has never experienced before. Holding it, blindly, wildly, she waves a paddle at the boat’s tip. But she cannot reach it. So she steps forward.

“Mommy! ”

She drops to her knees. The Boy is beside her now. He is holding on to her shirt.

“I need you to let go! ” she yells.

Something jumps into the water.

Malorie turns her head toward the sound.

How shallow is it here? Can they get in the boat? Can the wolves GET IN THE BOAT??

Turning quickly, she crawls to the end of the rowboat and reaches out, into the darkness.

The children scream behind her. Water splashes. The boat rocks. Wolves bark. And in the darkness of her own closed eyes, Malorie’s hand feels a stump.

She yells as she reaches with both arms now. Her left shoulder aches. She feels the frigid October air on her shredded skin. With her second hand she feels a second stump.

We’re wedged. That’s all! We’re wedged!

As she pushes hard against the two stumps, something bangs against the boat. She can hear claws, scratching, trying to climb in.

The boat grates against the wood. Water splashes. Malorie hears it from every direction. There’s another growl, and heat, too. Something is close to her face.

She screams loudly and pushes.

Then, they are free.

Turning fast, Malorie stumbles and falls into the middle bench.

“Boy! ” she screams.

“Mommy! ”

Then she reaches for the Girl and finds she is pressed against the middle bench.

“Are you two all right? Speak to me! ”

“I’m scared! ” the Girl says.

“I’m fine, Mommy! ” the Boy says.

Malorie is paddling hard. Her left shoulder, already pressed past the point of exhaustion, resists. But she forces it to work.

Malorie paddles. The children are tucked at her knees and feet. The water breaks beneath the wood. She paddles. What else can she do? What else can she do but paddle? The wolves could be coming. How shallow is the river here?

Malorie paddles. It feels like her arm is dangling from her body. But she paddles. The place she is taking the children to may no longer exist. The excruciating trip, blindly taking the river, could result in nothing. When they get there, down the river, will they be safe? What if what she’s looking for isn’t there?

seventeen

T hey’re scared of us, ” Olympia suddenly says.

“What do you mean? ” Malorie asks. The two are sitting together on the third step up the staircase.

“Our housemates. They’re scared of our bellies. And I know why. It’s because one day they’re going to have to deliver these babies. ”

Malorie looks into the living room. She has been at the house for two months. She is five months pregnant. She too has thought of this. Of course she has.

“Who do you think will do it? ” Olympia asks, her wide, innocent eyes trained on Malorie.

“Tom, ” Malorie says.

“Okay, but I’d feel a lot better if there was a doctor in the house. ”

This thought is always looming for Malorie. The inevitable day she gives birth. No doctors. No medicine. No friends or family. She tries to imagine it as a quick experience. Something that will happen fast and be over with. She pictures the moment her water breaks, then imagines holding the baby. She doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen in between.

The others are gathered in the living room. The morning’s chores are finished. All day Malorie has had a sense that Tom is working something out. He’s been distant. Isolated with his thoughts. Now he stands in the center of the living room, every housemate in earshot, and reveals what’s been on his mind. It’s exactly what Malorie was hoping it wasn’t.

“I’ve got a plan, ” he says.

“Oh? ” Don asks.

“Yes. ” Tom pauses, as if making sure of what he’s about to say one final time. “We need guides. ”

“What do you mean? ” Felix asks.

“I mean I’m going to go looking for dogs. ”

Malorie gets up from the stairs and walks to the entrance of the living room. Just like the others, the idea of Tom leaving the house has dramatically gotten her attention.

“Dogs? ” Don asks.

“Yes, ” Tom says. “Strays. Former pets. There must be hundreds out there. Loose. Or stuck inside a home they can’t get out of. If we’re going to go on stock runs, which we all know we’re going to have to do, I’d like us to have help. Dogs could warn us. ”

“Tom, we don’t know the effect they have on animals, ” Jules says.

“I know. But we can’t sit still. ”

The tension in the room has risen.

“You’re crazy, ” Don says. “You’re really thinking of going out there. ”

“We’ll bring weapons, ” Tom says.

Don leans forward in the easy chair.

“What exactly are you thinking of here? ”

“I’ve been working on helmets, ” Tom says. “To protect our blindfolds. We’ll carry butcher knives. The dogs could lead us. If one goes mad? Let the leash go. If the animal comes after you, kill it with the knife. ”

“Blind. ”

“Yes. Blind. ”

“I don’t like the sound of this at all, ” Don says.

“Why not? ”

“There could be maniacs out there. Criminals. The streets aren’t what they used to be, Tom. We’re not in suburbia anymore. We’re in chaos. ”

“Well, something has to change, ” Tom says. “We need to make progress. Otherwise we’re waiting for news in a world where there is no longer any news. ”

Don looks to the carpet. Then back to Tom.

“It’s too dangerous. There’s just no reason for it. ”

“There’s every reason for it. ”

“I say we wait. ”

“Wait for what? ”

“Help. Something. ”

Tom looks to the blankets covering the windows.

“There’s no help coming, Don. ”

“That doesn’t mean we should run outside looking for it. ”

“We’ll vote, ” Tom says.

Don looks to the faces of the other housemates. It’s clear he’s looking for someone to agree with him.

“A vote, ” Don says. “I don’t like that idea at all, either. ”

“Why not? ” Felix says.

“Because, Felix, we’re not talking about which buckets we drink from and which ones we piss in. We’re talking about one or more of us leaving the house, for no good reason. ”

“It’s not no good reason, ” Tom says. “Think of the dogs as an alarm system. Felix heard something by the well two weeks ago. Was it an animal? Was it a man? Was it a creature? The right dog might’ve barked. I’m talking about searching our block. Maybe the next one, too. Give us twelve hours. That’s all I’m asking. ”

Twelve hours, Malorie thinks. Getting water from the well takes only half of one.

But the number, finite as it is, calms her.

“I don’t see why we need to round up strays at all, ” Don says. He fans a hand toward Victor at Jules’s feet. “We’ve got one right here. Let’s train him. ”

“No way, ” Jules says, rising now.

“Why not? ”

“I didn’t bring him here so he could be a sacrifice. Until we know how dogs are affected, I’m not agreeing to that. ”

“A sacrifice, ” Don says. “Good choice of words. ”

“The answer is no, ” Jules says.

Don turns to Tom.

“You see? The one dog owner we have in the house is even against it. ”

“I didn’t say I was against Tom’s idea, ” Jules says.

Don looks around the room.

“So, is everyone for this then? Really? All of you think it’s a good idea? ”

Olympia looks to Malorie, wide eyed. Don, seeing an opportunity for an ally, approaches her.

“What do you think, Olympia? ” he demands.

“Oh! I. . . well. . . I. . . don’t know! ”

“Don, ” Tom says. “We’ll take a legitimate vote. ”

“I’m for it, ” Felix says.

Malorie looks around the living room.

“I’m for it, too, ” Jules says.

“I’m in, ” Cheryl says.

Tom turns to Don. As he does, Malorie feels something sink inside her.

The house, Malorie realizes, needs him.

“I’ll go with you, ” Jules says. “If I’m not going to let you use my dog, I can at least help you round up others. ”

Don shakes his head.

“You guys are fucking nuts. ”

“Then let’s start making you a helmet, too, ” Tom says, planting a hand on Jules’s shoulder.

By the next morning, Tom and Jules are putting the finishing touches on the second helmet.

They are leaving today. For Malorie, it is all moving too fast. They just voted on them leaving, but do they have to leave right away?

Don makes no move to hide his feelings. The others, like Malorie, are hopeful. It is difficult, Malorie knows, not to be swept up in Tom’s energy. If it were Don about to leave, she might have less faith in his returning with Seeing Eye dogs. But Tom has an energy about him. When he says he’s going to do something, it feels like it’s already done.

Malorie watches from the couch. Both With Child and At Last. . . a Baby! talk about the “stress link” between mother and child. Malorie doesn’t want her baby to feel the anxiety she feels now, watching Tom prepare to leave the house.

There are two duffel bags against the wall. Both are half-stocked with canned goods, flashlights, and blankets. Beside them are big knives and the former legs of a kitchen stool, chiseled now into sharp stakes. They will use the broomsticks as walking sticks.

“Maybe, ” Olympia says, “animals can’t go mad because their brains are too small. ”

By the expression on Don’s face, it looks like he might say something. But he holds his tongue.

“It’s possible that animals don’t have the capacity to go mad, ” Tom says, adjusting a helmet strap. “Maybe a thing has to be smart enough to lose its mind. ”

“Well, I would like to know something like that before I go out there, ” Don says.

“Maybe, ” Tom continues, “there are degrees of insanity. I’m constantly curious to know how the creatures affect people who are already insane. ”

“Why don’t you round up some of them, too? ” Don huffs. “Are you sure you want to risk your life on the hope that animals aren’t as smart as us? ”

Tom looks him in the eye.

“I’d like to tell you I have more respect for animals than that, Don. But right now, all I care about is surviving. ”

At last, Jules straps his helmet on. He turns his head to see how it fits. The back of it snaps apart and the whole thing falls to his feet.

Don slowly shakes his head.

“Damn it, ” Tom says, picking up the pieces. “I had that worked out. Don’t worry, Jules. ”

Lifting the pieces, Tom reassembles them, then fortifies the strap with a second one. He places it upon Jules’s head.

“There. All better. ”

With these words, Malorie feels ill. She has known all morning that Tom and Jules would be leaving, but the moment seems to come too quickly.

Don’t go, she wants to say to Tom. We need you. I need you.

But she understands that the reason the house needs Tom is because he’s the kind of man who would do what he is doing today.

By the wall, Felix and Cheryl help Tom and Jules strap the duffel bags to their backs.

Tom is jabbing at the air with one of the stakes.

Malorie feels a second wave of nausea. There is no greater reminder of the horror of this new world than seeing Tom and Jules prepared the way they are, for a walk around the block. Blindfolded, armed, they look like soldiers of a makeshift war.

“Okay, ” Tom says. “Let us out. ”

Felix steps to the front door. The housemates gather behind him in the foyer. Malorie watches them close their eyes, then she does the same. In her private darkness, her heart beats louder.

“Good luck, ” she suddenly says, knowing that she would regret it if she didn’t.

“Thank you, ” Tom says. “Remember what I said. In twelve hours we’ll be back. Are everybody’s eyes closed? ”

The housemates tell him they are.

Then the front door opens. Malorie can hear their shoes upon the front porch. Then the door is shut.

To Malorie, it feels like something imperative has been locked outside.

Twelve hours.

eighteen

A s the rowboat glides, taken by the water slowly on its own, Malorie cups a handful of river water and washes the wound on her shoulder.

It’s not an easy task and the pain is severe.

“Are you okay, Mommy? ” the Boy asks.

“No questions, ” she answers. “Listen. ”

When the wolf struck her, Malorie saw red as the dark world behind her blindfold erupted into bright pain. Now, as she cleans, she sees purples, grays, and worries that this means she is close to passing out. Fainting. Leaving the children to fend for themselves.

Her jacket is off. Her tank top is bloodied and she shivers, wondering how much of that is the cold air and how much is the loss of blood. From the right pocket of the jacket, she removes a steak knife. Then she cuts a sleeve off the jacket and ties it tightly around her shoulder.

Wolves.

By the time the children turned three, Malorie had gotten complex with her lessons. The pair was instructed to remember ten, twenty sounds in a row before revealing what they thought they were. Malorie would walk through the house, then outside, then upstairs. Along the way she made noises. Upon returning, the children told her what she had done. Soon, the Girl got all twenty right. But the Boy was reciting forty, fifty sounds, adding the unintentional noises she made on her way to the ones she meant.

You started in our bedroom, Mommy. You sighed before leaving. Then you walked to the kitchen and on the way your ankle cracked. You sat in the middle chair at the kitchen table. You put your elbows on the table. You cleared your throat and then went into the cellar. You took the first four steps slower than the last six. You tapped your finger on your teeth.

But no matter how much she’s taught them, the children could not be prepared to name the beasts who roam the woods on the river. The wolves, Malorie knows, have every advantage. So will anything else they encounter.

She tightens the tourniquet even more. Her shoulder throbs. Her thighs ache. Her neck aches. This morning she felt strong enough to row the twenty-mile trip. Now, wounded, she needs rest. She debates this with herself. She knows that in the old world, a break would have been advised. But stopping out here could mean death.

A loud screech from above makes Malorie jump. It sounded like a bird of prey. Like it was a hundred feet long. Ahead, something splashes. It’s brief but the sound is unnerving. Something moves in the woods to the left. More birds call out. The river is coming to life and with each piece of evidence of this, Malorie grows more afraid.

As the life grows around her, it seems to diminish within.

“I’m okay, ” she lies to the kids. “I want us to listen now. That’s all. Nothing more. ”

Rowing again, Malorie tries not to think about the pain. She doesn’t have a clear idea of how much farther she has to go. But she knows it’s a lot. At least as far as she’s already gone.

Years ago, the housemates were unsure if animals went insane. They talked about it all the time. Tom and Jules took a walk, looking for dogs to guide them. As Malorie and the others waited for them to return, she was overwhelmed with terrible images of rabid animals gone mad. She experiences the same thoughts today. As the river comes alive with nature, she imagines the worst. Just like she did those years ago, before the children were born, when the inertia of the front door reminded you that things like insanity were lurking whether or not someone you cared about was out there with it.

nineteen

F ive months along now, Malorie’s pregnancy is developing. It’s the end of the “nauseous months, ” but some queasiness lingers. She experiences heartburn. Her legs ache. Her gums bleed. Her dark hair is fuller, as is all the other hair on her body. She feels monstrous, distorted, changed. But as she walks through the house, carrying a bucket of urine, none of these things occupy her thoughts like the whereabouts and safety of Tom and Jules.

It’s astonishing, she thinks, how much she already feels for each of her housemates. Prior to arriving, she heard so many stories of people hurting one another on the way to hurting themselves. Back then, the horrors worried Malorie because of what they meant for herself and her child. Now the safety of the entire house consumes her.

It has been five hours since the men left. And with each minute passing, the tension has grown, so that now Malorie can’t remember if the housemates are repeating their chores or carrying them out for the first time.

Malorie sets the bucket by the back door. In a few minutes, Felix will dump it outside. Right now, he’s at the dining room table, repairing a chair. Passing through the kitchen, Malorie enters the living room. Cheryl is cleaning the surfaces. The picture frames. The telephone. Malorie notes that Cheryl’s arms look pale and thin. In the two months she’s been living here, their bodies have gotten much worse. They do not eat well. They do not exercise enough. Nobody gets any sun. Tom is outside, chasing a better life for them all. But how much better can he make it?

And who would let the housemates know if they vanished out there, forever?

Anxious, Malorie asks Cheryl if she needs any help. Cheryl says no before leaving the room, but Malorie is not alone. Victor sits behind the easy chair, facing the blankets that cover the windows. His head is up. His tongue hangs and he pants heavily. Malorie thinks he’s waiting, like she is, for his master to return.

As if aware that he is being watched, Victor slowly turns toward Malorie. Then he looks back to the blankets.

Don enters the room. He sits in the easy chair, then gets up and leaves. Olympia comes downstairs. She looks for something under the sink in the kitchen. Malorie watches her as she realizes she’s already holding what she seeks. She heads back upstairs. Cheryl is back, checking the picture frames. She just did this. She’s doing it again. They’re all doing it again. Nervously passing through the house, trying to occupy their minds. They hardly speak to one another. They hardly look up. Getting water from the well is one thing, and the housemates worry about one another when they do. But what Tom and Jules are doing is almost impossible to suffer.

Malorie stands up and heads for the kitchen. But there is only one place in the house that feels less like the house. Malorie wants to go there. She needs to. To get away.

The cellar.

Felix is in the kitchen but he does not acknowledge her as she passes. He doesn’t say a word as she opens the cellar door and takes the stairs down to the dirt floor beneath.

She pulls the string and the light comes on, illuminating the space as it did when Tom showed it to her two months ago. But it looks different now. There are fewer cans. Fewer colors. And Tom is not here, making notes, counting in rations the amount of time the housemates have before starvation and desperation arrive.

Malorie steps to the shelves and distractedly reads the labels.

Corn. Beets. Tuna. Peas. Mushrooms. Mixed fruit. Green beans. Sour cherries. Lingonberries. Grapefruit. Pineapple. Refried beans. Vegetable blend. Chili peppers. Water chestnuts. Diced tomatoes. Plum tomatoes. Tomato sauce. Sauerkraut. Baked beans. Carrots. Spinach. Varieties of chicken broth.

She remembers it feeling crowded down here. The cans once looked like a wall of their own. Now there are holes. Big ones. As if a battle occurred, and their supply was targeted first. Is there enough food to last until the baby comes? If Tom and Jules do not return, will the remaining stock carry her to that dreaded day? What exactly will they do when they run out of canned goods? Hunt?

The baby can drink her mother’s milk. But only if her mother has eaten.

Caressing her belly, Malorie walks to the stool and sits.

Despite the cool air down here, she is sweating. The restless footsteps of the housemates are loud. The ceiling creaks.

Wiping her hair from her forehead, Malorie leans back against the shelves. She counts cans. Her eyelids feel heavy. It feels good to rest.

Then. . . she drifts.

When she comes to, Victor is barking upstairs.

She sits up quickly.

Victor is barking. What is he barking at?!

Crossing the cellar quickly, Malorie climbs the stairs and rushes into the living room. The others are already here.

“Cut it out! ” Don yells.

Victor is facing the windows, barking.

“What’s happening? ” Malorie demands, surprised at the panic in her own voice.

Don yells at Victor again.

“He’s just edgy without Jules, ” Felix nervously says.

“No, ” Cheryl says. “He heard something. ”

“We don’t know that, Cheryl, ” Don snaps.

Victor barks again. It’s loud. Sharp. Angry.

“Victor! ” Don says. “Come on! ”

The housemates are gathered close to one another in the center of the living room. They are unarmed. If Cheryl is right, if Victor thinks something is outside the house, what can they do?

“Victor! ” Don yells again. “I’m gonna fucking kill you! ”

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