We let the moment plant its seed deep, knowing there might never be a
harvest. Her smile was a little rueful, but mostly it was glad. She
came slowly, gently into my arms.
"I never want to see that dog again," she said, "but I'll take what we
don't know over what we do."
"Same old Casey."
I held her close and then released her. There was almost a pain, a
physical pain, at the parting.
I took the flashlight from her and located Steven's axe handle in the
beam. Without a word she picked it up. Then we turned and touched
hands and slowly we moved on.
We had not been the first to come through there.
They lay waiting for us in the passageway. A pair of human skeletons,
rags falling away to scraps over cracked broken bones, lying in the
dark.
Whether the dog had killed them or had only gotten them after death we
couldn't tell. But it was easy to see where the bones had been scraped
and gnawed. On one of them the legs had been separated from the torso
and dragged a few feet away. The shinbone on the left leg was gnawed
clear through. It was splintered like a piece of green wood. The
skulls bore teeth marks too.
I'm told the brain is a choice morsel.
So Ben and Mary had finally yielded- up their secrets, some of them.
Fled with a pet or two. One of whom had grown very big and very old
and had tasted human flesh.
Fled through a hole in the wall. Used it, probably, to gather supplies
now and then. And when it was sealed up, cut it open again.
They had lived like animals here. It was easy to imagine a life of
scrounging, gathering, hiding. Scavenging the beaches. At night
perhaps, the ghost crabs scurrying sideways underfoot, pale as wax in
the light of the moon. A captured gull's nest. Hidden traps along the
shoreline. A stray cat. A stray dog. And always, hiding. The world
outside the proven implacable enemy. Their entire army a pair of
black, powerful jaws.
The skeletons were somewhat on the small side. One of them in scraps
of denim.
Kids, probably. No older than us, and maybe younger.