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But Victor won’t stop.

And Don, yell as he might, is as afraid as Malorie is.

“Felix, ” Malorie says slowly, staring at the front window. “You told me there was a garden outside. Are there any tools? ”

“Yes. ” Felix is staring at the black blankets, too.

“Are they in the house? ”

“Yes. ”

“Why don’t you get them? ”

Felix turns toward her and pauses. Then he leaves the room.

Malorie goes through the items of the house in her mind. Every furniture leg is a potential weapon. Every solid object ammunition.

Victor keeps barking and it’s getting worse. And in the brief spaces between his barks, Malorie hears Felix’s anxious footsteps, searching for the paltry garden tools that might protect them from whatever it is that’s out there.

twenty

I t is noon the next day. Tom and Jules have not returned.

Tom’s twelve hours have been more than doubled. And with each one, the emotions within the house grow darker.

Victor still sits by the blanketed window.

The housemates were up late, gathered together, waiting for the dog to stop barking.

They’ll eventually get us, Don said. There’s no reason to think otherwise. It’s end times, people. And if it’s a matter of a creature our brains are incapable of comprehending, then we deserve it. I always assumed the end would come because of our own stupidity.

Eventually, Victor did stop barking.

Now, in the kitchen, Malorie dunks her hands in a bucket of water. Don and Cheryl went to the well this morning. Each time they knocked to present Felix with a new bucketful, Malorie’s heart leapt, hoping, believing it was Tom.

She brings the water to her face and runs her wet fingers through her matted, sweaty hair.

“Goddamn it, ” she says.

She is alone in the kitchen. She is staring at the drapes that cover the room’s one window. She is thinking of all the infinite terrible things that could’ve happened.

Jules killed Tom. He saw a creature and dragged Tom to the river by his hair. He held him underwater till he drowned. Or they both saw something. In a house. They destroyed each other. Their ruined bodies lie on the floor in a stranger’s den. Or only Tom saw something. Jules tried to stop him, but Tom got away. He’s in the woods somewhere. Eating bugs. Eating bark. Eating his own tongue.

“Malorie? ”

Malorie jumps as Olympia enters the kitchen.

“What? ”

“I’m really worried, Malorie. He said twelve hours. ”

“I know, ” Malorie says. “We all are. ”

Malorie reaches out to put her hand on Olympia’s shoulder and hears Don’s voice from the dining room.

“I’m not convinced we should let them back in. ”

Malorie quickly goes to the dining room.

“Come on, Don, ” Felix, already in there, says. “How can you mean that? ”

“What do you think is going on out there, Felix? You think it’s a nice neighborhood we’re living in? If anybody’s alive out there, they’re not surviving on manners, man. Who’s to say Tom and Jules weren’t kidnapped? They could be hostages right now. And their fucking captors could be asking about our food. Our food. ”

“Fuck you, Don, ” Felix says. “If they come back, I’m letting them in. ”

“If it’s them, ” Don says. “And if we’re sure there’s not a gun to Tom’s head on the other side of the door. ”

“Will you two shut up! ” Cheryl says, passing Malorie and entering the dining room.

“You can’t be serious, Don, ” Malorie says.

Don turns toward her.

“You’re damn right I’m serious. ”

“You don’t want to let them back in? ” Olympia asks, standing beside Malorie now.

“I didn’t say that, ” Don snaps. “I’m saying there could be bad people out there. Do you understand that, Olympia? Or is that too complicated for you? ”

“You’re a fucking asshole, ” Malorie says.

For a second, it looks like Don might come at her.

“I don’t want to have this discussion, ” Cheryl says.

“It’s been over twenty-four hours, ” Don says chidingly.

“Just. . . go do something else for a minute, will you? ” Felix says. “You’re making this worse for everybody. ”

“We need to start considering a future without them. ”

“It’s been a day, ” Felix says.

“Yeah, a day out there. ”

Don sits at the piano. He looks like he might relent, for a moment. Then he continues.

“The good news is that our stock will last longer. ”

“Don! ” Malorie snaps.

“You have a baby coming, Malorie. Don’t you hope to survive? ”

“Don, I could kill you, ” Cheryl says.

Don gets up from the piano bench. His face is red with anger.

“Tom and Jules aren’t coming back, Cheryl. Accept it. And when you live an extra week because you were able to eat their share of the food and then you were able to eat Victor, too, then maybe you’ll understand that there’s no such thing anymore as hope. ”

Cheryl steps toward him. Her hands are in fists. Her face is inches from Don’s.

Victor barks from the living room.

Felix gets between Don and Cheryl. Don shoves him away. As Malorie steps toward them, Felix’s hand is raised.

He is going to strike Don.

He brings his fist back.

There is a knock at the front door.

twenty-one

M alorie is thinking of Don specifically.

“Mommy, ” the Boy says, “the blindfold is hurting me. ”

“Scoop some water out of the river, carefully, ” Malorie says, “and rub it where it hurts. Do not take off your fold. ”

Once, after the housemates had finished dinner, Malorie sat alone with Olympia at the dining room table. They were talking about Olympia’s husband. What he was like. His desire to have a child. Don entered the room alone. He didn’t care what Olympia was saying.

“You oughta blind those babies, ” he said. “The second they come out. ”

It was as if he’d been thinking about it for a long time, then decided to tell them his decision.

He sat down with them at the table and explained himself. As he did, Olympia grew more withdrawn. She thought it was insane. And worse, she thought it was cruel.

But Malorie didn’t think so. A deep part of her understood what Don was saying. Every moment of her pending motherhood would be centered on protecting the eyes of her child. How much more could be done if this worry were taken away? The seriousness Don wore when he said it conveyed more than cruelty to Malorie. It opened the door to a realm of harrowing possibilities, things that might need to be done, actions she might have to take that nobody from the old world could ever be fully prepared to endure. And the suggestion, dark as it was, never entirely vanished from her mind’s eye.

“It’s better, Mommy, ” the Boy says.

“Shhh, ” Malorie says. “Listen. ”

When the children were six months old, she already had them sleeping in their chicken wire cribs. It was night. The world outside the windows and walls was quiet. The house was dark.

In the early days with the babies, Malorie would often listen to them breathe as they slept. What may have been a touching observation for some mothers was a study for Malorie. Did they sound healthy? Were they getting enough nutrients from well water and the breast milk of a mother who hadn’t had a decent meal in a year? Always, their health was on her mind. Their diet. Their hygiene. And their eyes.

You oughta blind those babies the second they come out.

Sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, Malorie understood clearly that the idea did not pose a moral dilemma as much as it presented her with something she wasn’t sure she was physically capable of doing. Looking toward the hall, listening to their tiny exhales, she believed Don’s idea wasn’t a bad one.

Every waking moment is spent protecting them from looking outside. You check the blankets. You check their cribs. They won’t remember these days when they’re older. They won’t remember sight.

The children, she knew, would not be robbed of anything in the new world if they weren’t able to see it to begin with.

Rising, she stepped to the cellar door. Downstairs, on the cellar’s dirt floor, was a can of paint thinner. Long ago she’d read the side label and knew the danger the substance posed if it made contact with the eyes. A person could go blind, it said, if they didn’t wash it out in thirty seconds.

Malorie went to it. She took its handle and brought it upstairs.

Do it quick. And do not rinse.

They were just babies. Could they possibly remember this? Would they forever fear her, or would it one day be buried beneath a mountain of blind memories?

Malorie crossed the kitchen and entered the dark hall leading to their bedroom.

She could hear them breathing within.

At their door, she paused and looked into the blackness in which they slept.

In this moment, she believed she could do it.

Quietly, Malorie entered the bedroom. She set the can on the floor and removed the cloth lids covering their protected cribs. Neither child stirred. Both continued to breathe steadily, as if experiencing pleasant dreams, far away as possible from the nightmares coming to them.

Quickly, Malorie unhooked the wire lid to the Girl’s crib. She bent and lifted the can.

The Girl breathed, steadily.

Malorie reached into the crib and lifted the baby’s head. She removed the Girl’s blindfold. The Girl started to cry.

Her eyes are open, Malorie thought. Pour it.

She forced the Girl’s head closer to the crib’s edge and then brought the open can of paint thinner inches from her reddening, crying face. The Boy woke behind her and began crying, too.

“Stop it! ” Malorie said, fending off tears of her own. “You don’t want to see this world. ”

She tilted the can a little farther and felt the contents slide over her hand before splashing on the floor at her feet.

Feeling it on her skin made it real.

She couldn’t do it.

She let go of the baby’s head and the Girl continued to cry.

Setting the can on the ground, Malorie slowly backed out of the bedroom. The children wailed in the darkness.

In the hall, Malorie pressed herself against the wall for support and brought a hand to her mouth. Then she threw up.

“Mommy, ” the Boy says now, on the river, “it worked! ”

“What worked? ” Malorie says, torn from her memories.

“The blindfold doesn’t hurt anymore. ”

“Boy, ” she says. “No more talking. Unless you hear something. ”

Malorie breathes deep and feels something akin to shame. The pain in her shoulder is worse. She is dizzy with fatigue. A deeper sense of disorientation sets in. It feels like something is very wrong within her. Yet, she can hear the children: the Boy breathing in front of her, the Girl fingering puzzle pieces in the back of the rowboat. They are not blind beneath their folds. And today could end with the possibility of an ever newer world, one in which the children would see things they’ve never seen before.

If she can get them there.

twenty-two

M alorie hears something moving on the other side of the door. She hears panting, too. Something is scratching the wood. She and the others are in the foyer. Felix just called out, asked who it was. In the moment between his asking and getting a response, it sounds like the scratching could be made by anything.

Creatures, she thinks.

But it is not creatures at the door. It is Tom and Jules.

“Felix! It’s Tom! ”

“Tom! ”

“We’re still wearing our helmets. But we’re not alone. We found dogs. ”

Felix, sweating, exhales in a big way. For Malorie, the relief is so rich it hurts.

Victor is barking. His tail is wagging. Jules calls to him.

“Victor, buddy! I’m back! ”

“All right, ” Felix says to the housemates inside. “Close your eyes. ”

“Wait, ” Don says.

“For what? ” Felix says.

“How do we know they’re alone? How do we know they’re not being followed? Who knows what could follow them in? ”

Felix pauses. Then he calls to Tom.

“Tom! Are you two alone? Just you two and the dogs? ”

“Yes. ”

“It doesn’t mean it’s true, ” Don says.

“Don, ” Malorie says impatiently, “if someone wanted to break in to this house, they could at any time. ”

“I’m trying to be safe, Malorie. ”

“I know. ”

“I live here, too. ”

“I know. But Tom and Jules are on the other side of the door. They made it back. We have to let them in now. ”

Don holds her gaze. Then he looks to the foyer floor.

“You guys are going to get us killed one day, ” he says.

“Don, ” Malorie says, seeing that he is, at last, relenting, “we’re going to open the door now. ”

“Yes. I know. No matter what I fucking say. ”

Don closes his eyes.

Malorie does the same.

“Are you ready, Tom? ” Felix calls.

“Yes. ”

Malorie hears the front door open. The sounds of paws on the foyer tile make it sound like many people have entered at once.

The front door closes quickly.

“Hand me a broomstick, ” Felix says.

Malorie hears the bristles against the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.

“All right, ” Felix says. “We’re ready. ”

The moment between deciding to open your eyes and then actually doing it is as scary a thing as there is in the new world.

Malorie opens her eyes.

The foyer erupts into color. Two huskies move quickly, smelling the floor, checking out the new people, checking out Victor.

The excitement Malorie feels at seeing Tom’s face is all-encompassing. Yet, he doesn’t look good. He looks exhausted. Dirty. And like he’s been through something Malorie can only imagine.

He holds something in his hand. It’s white. A box. Big enough to carry a small TV. Sounds come from within it. Clucking.

Olympia lunges forward and hugs Tom, who laughs as he’s trying to remove his helmet. Jules has his off and kneels to embrace Victor. Cheryl is crying.

Don’s expression is a mixture of astonishment and shame.

We almost came to blows, Malorie thinks. Tom was gone a day and a half and we almost came to blows.

“Well, oh my God, ” Felix says, looking wide-eyed at the new animals. “It worked! ”

Tom and Malorie’s eyes meet. He doesn’t have the sparkle he left with.

What did they experience out there?

“These are the huskies, ” Jules says, fanning a hand toward the dogs. “They’re friendly. But they take a minute to warm up. ”

Then Jules suddenly howls with relief.

Like war veterans coming home, Malorie thinks. From a trip around the block.

“What’s in the box? ” Cheryl asks.

Tom raises it higher. His eyes are glassy. Distant.

“In the box, Cheryl, ” he says, holding it out with one hand and lifting the lid a little with the other, “are birds. ”

The housemates gather around the box in a circle.

“What kind are they? ” Olympia asks.

Tom slowly shakes his head.

“We don’t know. Found them in a hunter’s garage. We have no idea how they survived. We think the owners left them a lot of feed. As you can tell, they’re loud. But only when we’re near. We tested it. Whenever we got close to the box, they got louder. ”

“So that’s dinner? ” Felix asks.

Tom smiles a tired smile.

“An alarm system. ”

“Alarm system? ” Felix asks.

Jules says, “We’re going to hang the box outside. By the front door. We’ll be able to hear them in here. ”

Only a box of birds, Malorie thinks. Yet, it does feel like progress.

Tom closes the lid slowly.

“You’ve got to tell us everything that happened, ” Cheryl says.

“We will, ” Tom says. “But let’s go in the dining room. The two of us would love to sit down for a minute. ”

The housemates smile.

Except Don.

Don who declared them dead. Don who was already counting their rations as his own.

In the hall, Tom sets the box of birds on the floor, against the wall. Then the housemates gather in the dining room. Felix gets some water for Tom and Jules. Once they have their glasses in front of them, they tell the story of what they experienced out there.

twenty-three

T he moment the door closes behind them, Tom is more afraid than he thought he’d be.

Out here, the creatures are closer.

When we get to the street, Tom thinks, far enough from the house, will they attack us?

He imagines cold hands closing over his own. His throat slit. His neck broken. His mind destroyed.

But Tom is very aware that no report described a man being attacked.

This is the way to think, he decides, still standing on the front porch. Forcing this philosophy deeper into his mind, searching for the soil of its roots, he allows himself to breathe, slowly. As he does, other feelings emerge.

For one, there is the unbridled, slightly reckless, sense of freedom.

Tom has been outside since arriving at the house. He’s retrieved water from the well as often as anyone. He’s carried shit and piss to the trenches. But this time it’s different. The air feels different. Just before he and Jules agree to start walking, a breeze passes over them. It moves across his neck. His elbows. His lips. It’s one of the strangest feelings he’s ever known. It calms him. As the creatures lurk behind every tree and street sign in his piqued imagination, the clean, open air brings him giddiness.

If only for a moment.

“Are you ready, Jules? ” he says.

“Yes. ”

Like truly blind men, they tap the ground before them with broomsticks. They step from the porch. Within three feet, Tom senses he’s no longer walking on concrete. With the lawn beneath him, it’s as if the house has vanished. He is out to sea. Vulnerable. For a second, he’s not sure he can do this.

So he thinks of his daughter.

Robin. I’m just going to get us some dogs.

This is good. This helps him.

The broomstick passes over what must be the curb and Tom steps onto the concrete of the street. Here he stops and kneels. On his knees, he searches for a corner of the front lawn. He finds it. Then he removes a small wood stake from his duffel bag and jams it into the earth.

“Jules, ” he says, “I’ve marked our lawn. We may need the help finding our way back. ”

When he rises and turns, Tom bumps hard into the hood of a car.

“Tom, ” Jules says, “are you okay? ”

Tom steadies himself.

“Yes, ” he says, “I think I just walked into Cheryl’s Wagoneer. I feel wood paneling. ”

The sounds of Jules’s boots and broomstick guide Tom away from the car.

Under different circumstances, with the sun shining against only his eyelids, with no blindfold and helmet to obscure it, Tom knows he’d be passing through a peach and orange world. His closed eyes would see colors change with the clouds, shift with the shadows of the treetops and roofs. But today he sees only black. And somewhere in the blackness he imagines Robin, his daughter. Small, innocent, brilliant. She is encouraging him to walk, walk, Daddy, farther from the house, toward things that could help those still inside.

“Fuck! ” Jules says. Tom hears him fall to the street.

“Jules! ”

Tom freezes.

“Jules, what happened? ”

“I tripped over something. Do you feel it? It felt like a suitcase. ”

Using his broom, Tom traces a wide arc. The bristles come to an object. Tom crawls to it. Setting the broom beside him on the hot pavement, he uses both hands to feel for what is lying here in the middle of the street. It doesn’t take long before he knows what it is.

“It’s a body, Jules. ”

Tom can hear Jules standing up.

“It’s a woman, I think, ” Tom says. Then he quickly removes his hands from her face.

He rises and the two continue.

It all feels too fast. Things are moving too quickly already. In the old world, discovering a dead body in the street would have taken hours to assimilate.

Yet, they continue.

They cross a lawn until they reach some bushes. Behind the bushes is a house.

“Here, ” Jules says. “It’s a window. I’m touching the glass of a window. ”

Following his voice, Tom joins Jules at the window. They feel along the bricks of the house until they reach the front door. Jules knocks. He calls hello. He knocks again. They wait. Tom speaks. He worries that in this silent world, his voice might attract something. But he doesn’t see a choice. He explains to any possible inhabitants that they mean no harm, that they’re here to look for more supplies, anything that might help. Jules knocks again. They wait again. There is no movement from within.

“Let’s go in, ” Jules says.

“Okay. ”

They walk back to the window. From his duffel bag, Tom removes a small towel. He wraps it around his fist. Then he punches through the glass. It meets no blanket. No cardboard. No wood. This, he knows, means that whoever lived here did so without protection.

Maybe they left town before things went really bad. Maybe they’re safe somewhere else.

Tom calls into the house through the broken window.

“Is anybody in here? ”

Getting no response, Jules clears the glass. Then he helps Tom crawl through. Inside, Tom knocks something over. It lands with a heavy thud. Jules climbs in through the window behind him.

Then they hear music, a piano, in the room with them.

Tom raises his broomstick to defend himself. But Jules is talking to him.

“I did that, Tom! ” he says. “I’m sorry, my broom hit the piano. ”

Tom is breathing heavily. As he calms himself, the two are silent.

“We can’t open our eyes in here, ” Jules quietly says.

“I know, ” Tom says. “There’s a cross breeze. There’s another window open. ”

He wants so badly to be able to open his eyes. But the house is not safe.

“Still, we’re here, ” Tom says. “Let’s take what we can. ”

But most of the first floor is empty of anything useful. In the kitchen, they search the cupboards. Tom slaps his hands around a shelf until he finds some batteries. Small candles. Pens. As he puts each item into his duffel bag, he announces it to Jules.

“Let’s move on, ” Tom says.

“What about the upstairs? ”

“I don’t like it here. And if there was any food, it’d be down here. ”

Using the broomsticks, they find their way to the front door, unlock it, and step outside again. They do not walk back to the street. Instead, they cross the lawn to the neighbor’s house, one farther yet from their own.

On a second front porch, they carry out the same ritual. They knock. They announce themselves. They wait. When they hear no movement inside, they break a window. Jules does it this time.

His fist comes in contact with some kind of weak protection. He thinks it’s cardboard.

“There could be somebody in here, ” he whispers.

They wait for a response to the noise they’ve made. There is none. Tom calls out. He tells the house that they are neighbors. That they are looking for animals and can offer shelter in exchange. There is no response. Jules clears the glass and helps Tom through the window.

Inside, they repair the cardboard.

Using their brooms, they check the place. This takes hours to do. Moving with their backs against each other, they swing their brooms in arcs. Tom leads, telling Jules where to go. When they are done, when they’re convinced the house is empty, the windows are covered, and the doors are all locked, Tom declares the house safe.

Both men understand what must come next.

They’re going to remove their helmets and blindfolds and open their eyes. Neither has seen anything but the inside of their house for many months now.

Jules moves first. Tom hears him unfastening his helmet. Then he does the same. After sliding his blindfold up to his hairline, Tom turns, eyes closed, to face Jules.

“Ready? ”

“Ready. ”

The two men open their eyes.

Once, as a child, Tom and a friend snuck into a neighbor’s house through an unlocked back door. There was no plan, no agenda. They just wanted to see if they could do it. But they got more than they hoped for when, hiding in a pantry, they were forced to wait the entire duration of the family’s dinner. When they were finally outside again, his friend asked him how he felt about it.

“Dirty, ” he said then.

His eyes open now, inside a stranger’s home, he feels the same way.

This is not their house. But they’re in it. These are not their things. But they could be. A family lived here. They had a child. Tom recognizes a toy or two. A photo tells him that it was a boy. His fair hair and young smile remind Tom of Robin. In a way, every single thing Tom has encountered since Robin’s death has reminded him of her. And being here, in a stranger’s home, he imagines the way they once lived. The child telling Mom and Dad what he heard about at school. Dad reading the earliest reports in the newspaper. Mom calling the child inside. All of them, together on the couch, watching the news, frightened, as Dad reaches across their son and takes Mom’s hand.

Robin.

There is no evidence of a pet. No forgotten chew toy. No cat’s bed. And no smell of a dog. But it is the absence of people Tom thinks about.

“Tom, ” Jules says. “You check upstairs. I’ll continue down here. ”

“Okay. ”

At the foot of the stairs, Tom looks up. He pulls his blindfold from his pocket and ties it around his eyes again. Despite their having checked the house, Tom can’t bring himself to climb the stairs with his eyes open.

Did they check well enough?

Climbing, he uses the broom to guide him. His shoulder brushes against hanging photos. He thinks of George’s photo, hanging on the wall at home. His boot tip catches a stair and he stumbles forward. There is carpet beneath his hands. He gets back up. More stairs. So many that it feels impossible, like he’s walked through the roof of the house already.

At last, the bristles tell him he’s reached the top. But his mind is behind the broom and he stumbles again, this time into a wall. It is silent up here. He kneels and sets the broomstick beside him. Then he takes the duffel bag and unzips it, searching for the flashlight. He’s got it. Rising again, he uses the broom to guide him. Turning right, his wrist knocks into something cold and hard. He pauses and feels it. It’s glass, he thinks. A vase. There’s a bad smell. He didn’t smell it before. His hand comes to a gathering of crinkly, dead leaves. Slowly feeling along the stalks, he understands they are flowers. Roses perhaps. Long dead. He turns left again. The smell of the dead roses fades as he’s confronted with something much stronger.

He stops in the hall. How could he and Jules have missed this smell?

“Hello? ”

There is no response. Tom covers his nose and mouth with his free hand. The stench is awful. He continues down the hall. Coming to a door on his right, Tom enters a room. It’s a bathroom. The bristles echo on the tile. There is a damp, moldy smell of unused plumbing. He pokes at the shower curtain and checks the tub with the broom. Then he finds the medicine cabinet. There are pill bottles. Tom pockets them. He kneels and rifles through the cabinets beneath the sink. He hears something behind him and he turns.

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