Tire tracks were stuck in the front yard, full of mud. The McMansion I never liked to the left had its windows busted out, clothes everywhere, and the front yard three fell from a fire onto the roof. Whoever raided the mansion was smart. The tree acted as a bridge to the roof. A body lied near the caved-in entrance to Mrs. Pruett’s gift wrapping room. She was fond of her arts and crafts, and, fond of me at one point. Although I could have had that Mrs. Robinson moment and enjoyed that memory now, the fear of reprisal haunted me. Luckily, as evident by the body on the log, Mr. Pruett was armed, and might have used it on me had he known. But I never thought the man capable, in any fashion, of wilding a firearm given his marriage causes his wife to promote intercourse when I was my younger self. Maybe in another life I could have had Mrs. Pruett if I acted on her innuendos. Maybe in another life I didn’t have to travel through six states, kill five people, sprain my ankle three times, trip over two different shopping carts twice, and find one bar of useless gold.

A yuppie in Colorado Springs swung an axe at my left hand and chopped off every finger but the thumb. Did it hurt? Yes. He died immediately after I picked up my rifle. At least I have my health. No infection. I dumped my stub in alcohol and screamed. Even now, on the hill opposite the house I grew up in, the memory hurt.

I waited for an hour to see if anyone stirred. Home was so close and remarkably untouched. It seemed everyone’s attention suctioned to the Pruett’s house. For every time I ventured home to visit my Mom, the house never changed. The outside, the inside, remained frozen. Its style was French Chateau: flat roof, brick walls, and washed-out blue window shudders. It stood on an incline where the topography sloped down to a creek, cutting past the back of the elementary school where I attended. The driveway was to the left and extended to the back, around the house to the garage. A big pine was still standing out front. The mailbox was smashed, probably from the vehicle that created those tracks in the front yard.

My house was on a bend and every winter, a car would take the bend too quickly and hit the mailbox. I got off blowing a stop sign because the cop recognized my last name since he had to file that report on the mailbox each winter.

Hopefully my mom was inside. I didn’t expect her to be. Maybe she was up in Wisconsin with my Aunt and Uncle, or moved South, or moved a few blocks down the road. Anywhere she was, hopefully she was safe.

The neighborhood was desolate and empty quiet. When resources were tapped in the city, whole migrations moved out west to the suburbs for food and water. I looked to the right and saw skeletons, evidence of those clashes that resulted from those migrations. Every city is usually run by several gangs vying for power. Most survivors ventured out into the country, away from main transit routes. They tended to be paranoid and were more aggressive than the gangs. Any outsider was a threat, even if that had good intentions. That’s how I lost my fingers. I was low on water and needed help. Unfortunately, they forced me to commandeer their water supplies. It felt good, for once, that they were punished for their bad deeds. Lost water and dead friends.

Water. Water meant everything in this new world. Inside the home, was an oasis. The house was built on top an independent well system, separate from the city lines. Growing up, I hated using it because of all the iron in the water. My mom was too cheap for city water. But now, I loved her that much more. Hopefully no one figured that out. The pump in the basement probably needed a battery, but I could draw from the reservoir. Inside was healthy, clean, drinkable, sustainable, cool water.

I didn’t want to go to the creek, otherwise I’d expose myself and I don’t know what the water quality was like.

From the looks of the house, no one set up any sort of security. An hour had passed and the only thing that moved was the wind. I walked across the street onto the driveway and walked to the back of the house. The backyard was filled with burnt trash and the garage door was opened with all my mom’s collected junk gone. She might have used the leftover planks of wood, old cabinets, baby toys, and kept school work for the fire. Finally, she had a reason to throw these things out. Years of convincing to clean the house never took, and how the garage was vacant. Its brown floor was littered with some animal droppings and little chards of cardboard. The first I saw of this floor since we moved in the mid 90s. The summer of 1994, or 1995, was the time we moved and when I was set to start kindergarten. Perfecting time for new beginnings.

The trash out in the backyard was all black and ashen. Days of rain formed clumps of grim at the base of the pile. Nothing looked like it was useful. I could see through our woods and noticed all the homes without power. This late in the day, with the high cloud ceiling, the 4 o’clock gray skies brought people to turn on their lights.

Back to the house, the screen window to the family was busted out. Over more, the door to the sunroom was wide open. My memory always told me that that door would be closed whenever I rounded the corner from the driveway. The chairs in the sunroom were gone but the wood table remained. I guess my Mom didn’t have the courage to burn it. It belonged to my grandmother and my mom possessed and irreconcilable devotion in preserving these things. Guilt. Regret. My mother harbored deep emotions in her sentiments towards the innate.

I moved around on the patio bricks and saw into the family room. The blanket my mother taped up acting as curtains still held and swayed in the middle. Inside, the TV was gone. Cabinet drawers piled high, empty of belongings. Black markings on the walls looked like fire damage.

My hand hurt so I slung my rifle over my back. It was tiring keeping it up with one weak hand. Leaves had blown in through the door. I walked in. Slowly. The refrigerator was wide open and empty. The shelf doors were opened. Some were ripped off. Silverware, shattered glass, and mud footprints were everywhere. On the other side of the sunroom, I saw out to our pool. It was full and algae covered the surface. It was a concrete pond. Below, the walk-out basement door was open. I could see only darkness inside the basement. Visitors showed up. Old friends. Moe and Tilly. A male and female Mallard ducks landed into the pond. My Mom gave them those names. I forgot why. The pair came back to the pool every year and hung out. After it was too expensive taking care of the pool, the chlorinated water evolved into a pond, or a swamp – frogs, toads, and mosquitoes. The summer months were horrible. With each swat, little black red gooey remains peppered your skin. Once fall broke, the backyard was accommodating once again.

I looked up and saw through the window of the dining room. The table had been propped up against the window and a gunshot pierced the glass. Not good. The wind picked up outside and wind chimes rang. Another possession from my grandmother. I walked past the fridge. I always hated that fridge. Old with a yellow light. It was older than me and now I could finally rid this appliance, soon.

The dining room had piles of stuff in the corner. A .45 shell casing rested on a shelf. No traces of blood. No traces of violence. Interesting. I turned around and saw the living room. Looking ahead, the front window showed the front yard I could see those tire tracks.

Some pictures were still up. There was a picture of my middle school self acting in a play. The piano in the corner was still there. I was tempted to play it, but I still wanted to be quiet. I walked over to the foyer and the front door had been locked. The closet was full of jackets, snowsuits, and hats and gloves. On the left and right of the front door, my Mom’s Lladros were all gone. The stairs looked weird to me. The railing was off, and halfway up, the stairs caved in and revealed the basement stairs. I would head upstairs soon.

To the left was the study that was always stacked with boxes of trinkets and papers. Only a few boxes remained I opened one up. Yearbooks. Math tests. These still survived. I walked out through the study door and found the bathroom. Turning on the light was hopeless but I did it anyways. No luck. I walked down the hallway into the laundry room with the doorway out to the family room. I jumped up onto the washing machine and sat there for a while. The house smelled like mud. It was damp. The wood in the crown molding looked soft. The wind blew at the blanket covering the busted family room window. It came inside and I felt is coolness on my face. Home was different where you felt the wind breeze through. I heard the refrigerator door shut with its plastic lining suction to the metal framing. To my left was the door the garage and I already knew what was in there.

The basement needed to be checked but I was nervous going down there. I’ll build my courage by going upstairs. I skirted the sides of the stairs to get past the hole. When I landed, the stirred creaked and stirred something down in the basement. I took out my flashlight and shined it down below. The white shag carpet was filthy. Spots full of dirt. The hand rail looked like it was about to fall off. The stairs led down to an intersection with a door on the right to a room we called the “toy room.” Its door was open and the main basemen area was to the left, out of sight. The light revealed only a small amount of the toy room floor, and what I could see were piles of leaves and what appeared to be straw.

I continued up the stairs and saw all the rooms were empty. All the mattresses had been moved to my sister’s room and a blanket was draped over the window. I tore it down and the light illuminated off the baby blue wall paint. I checked my old room and the red, white, and blue wallpaper of the USS Constitution was up, but peeling. The upstairs seemed like ghosts were here. In the bathroom, blankets lined the bathtub.

I checked the attic off the guest room and a few boxes were stacked in the corner. Dozens of cardboard boxes, full of seasonal items cluttered the attic. Aisles were made so you could walk around. I’ve never seen the house so cleared out before.

Back in my old room, I sat on the window stoop and locked out the window. I saw the tire tacks in the front yard again. In the distance, I saw a house burnt out. Looking through the rifle scope, I saw more decaying bodies. Death littered the area and I hoped no death was waiting for me in the basement.

At the top of the basement stairs, some light bled through the hole in the stairs. Sundown was due in an hour and I needed to clear the rest of the house. I turned on my flashlight and attached it to my rifle. Walking down, the closer to the bottom I came, the wetter the carpet. I remember the basement flooded a few times when there was a severe rain. I stopped at the bottom and peaked around into the toy room. Glossy black eyes darted at me and I fell back. The animal jetted out to the main basement and joined its mother. Two deer. I came out and shooed them out the walk-in basement door.

An old relic remained in the basement – affably named the poo couch, and the orgy pit. It was a 3×3 section couch with brown cushions straight out of the 70s. Its cushions resembled feces and its design allowed for 20 people to have sex, thus, the orgy pit. The older I became, the more I pieced together how much my parents partied before I was born. And, slightly disgusted at the prospect if they were swingers.

But, if was comfortable and promoted deep sleep. You could lie down in any position and fall asleep within minutes. I know where I’ll be sleeping tonight.

I checked the dark toy room and sandbags were built against the far wall to plug water entering the basement. The small basement window well was full of green water.

I walked back out to the main area and found the pool table. The cues and all the balls remained. Inside the boiler room, I found the furnace, covered in dust and made my way over to the wall in the back. Water. Fresh water. A generator pump lied next to it with tubing leading from the well into the sink. I drank it. Full of iron. But cold. I filled up a water bottle from my backpack.

I made preparations for the night. I closed all the doors, closed the garage, brought blankets from upstairs down to the basement, and redid my hand dressing.

I finished the last of my rice and fell asleep on the poo couch. I was home but home was different.