Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection by Anthony Barnhart
Authors: Anthony Barnhart
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of money, and who always had the best beer. Ben. Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
51
What the fuck?! The windshield wipers streak back and forth. The rain patters on the window. He twists knobs and dials on the radio. Nothing. Only static or silence. All the radio stations have gone quiet. No one is alive. No one but me . And Ben. But he doesn’t want to think about that. So lost in the flashbacks of the events at Ben’s house, he doesn’t even notice for the longest time what is so obvious: the streets are deserted. Cars are wrecked, yes. But there are no bodies. He sees blood stains where bodies had fallen, even some dismembered limbs. But no bodies. Even the bodies from many of the car crashes are gone, the windows broken or doors open. The streets are deserted. What the fuck? he thinks again.
A few minutes later he pulls the car to the side of the road. The barred windows of ARMS & ACCESSORIES are impenetrable. He tries to get inside but cannot. The doors are locked too well. He goes around back, walking around a dumpster and several overturned trash cans. A stray cat hisses at him and darts away. The back door is locked, too, and all the windows are barred. He returns to the side of the building and climbs onto the dumpster. He grabs the downspout and gingerly pulls himself up. The loose aluminum shudders under his weight. He wraps his hand around the lip of the roof and begins pulling himself up just as the downspout groans and dislodges, falling with a crash onto the dumpster. The noise echoes in the side alley. He hefts himself onto the roof and finds an entrance hatch. He swings it open and crawls inside.
A few moments later he is in the belly of the store. All of the glass cases holding rifles, shotguns, swords, and handguns are locked. He tries to open them and an alarm begins to blare. At first it scares him, but then he finds it comforting. It doesn’t matter. And if anyone else has survived, they may be drawn to it—and he won’t be alone anymore. He finds a crowbar in the maintenance room at the back of the building and smashes open the glass panes. He reaches inside and grabs the first handgun he sees. A Glock Model 20 10mm. He uses a manual behind the counter to figure out what bullets he needs, and he grabs a single cartridge. It’s all he needs. One bullet will do the job. He smashes the lock on the front door and exits into the street. As he gets into his car, he notices a sign hanging inside the front barred window: 30-DAY LAY AWAY AND FINANCING SPECIAL.
He loads the gun and stands in front of Ben’s house. He can’t get it out of his mind. He calls out Ben’s name. Nothing. He curses and steps forward. Each step in front of the other feels momentous. He enters the house. The shadows surround him. He holds the gun in his hand, the barrel pointed away. Safety off? Check . He has only fired a gun once or twice. His father used to take him out before the accident.
“Ben?” His voice is low and quiet, but it sounds so loud in the silence. No response.
“Ben. It’s me. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Nothing.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. I forgive you for attacking me. I know… I know what you must have thought. That I was a burglar or something. A looter. But I’m not. Okay? Why don’t you just come out? I came here to see if you were okay…”
Nothing.
Just leave. Just leave and don’t come back .
But he can’t. Someone else is alive. Someone he knows .
“Ben? Please, Ben. Just come out. Where are you?” He looks up the flight of steps. “Are you up there, Ben?”
A noise. Something falling. A footstep?
“Ben? I’m coming up. It’s all right. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
52
You’re going up there? Are you crazy?
Ben’s
alive.
He’s not alive. You saw him yesterday. Dead. On the road.
He wasn’t dead. He was unconscious. I just didn’t check.
He takes each step carefully. The stairs
Dwellers of the Night
51
What the fuck?! The windshield wipers streak back and forth. The rain patters on the window. He twists knobs and dials on the radio. Nothing. Only static or silence. All the radio stations have gone quiet. No one is alive. No one but me . And Ben. But he doesn’t want to think about that. So lost in the flashbacks of the events at Ben’s house, he doesn’t even notice for the longest time what is so obvious: the streets are deserted. Cars are wrecked, yes. But there are no bodies. He sees blood stains where bodies had fallen, even some dismembered limbs. But no bodies. Even the bodies from many of the car crashes are gone, the windows broken or doors open. The streets are deserted. What the fuck? he thinks again.
A few minutes later he pulls the car to the side of the road. The barred windows of ARMS & ACCESSORIES are impenetrable. He tries to get inside but cannot. The doors are locked too well. He goes around back, walking around a dumpster and several overturned trash cans. A stray cat hisses at him and darts away. The back door is locked, too, and all the windows are barred. He returns to the side of the building and climbs onto the dumpster. He grabs the downspout and gingerly pulls himself up. The loose aluminum shudders under his weight. He wraps his hand around the lip of the roof and begins pulling himself up just as the downspout groans and dislodges, falling with a crash onto the dumpster. The noise echoes in the side alley. He hefts himself onto the roof and finds an entrance hatch. He swings it open and crawls inside.
A few moments later he is in the belly of the store. All of the glass cases holding rifles, shotguns, swords, and handguns are locked. He tries to open them and an alarm begins to blare. At first it scares him, but then he finds it comforting. It doesn’t matter. And if anyone else has survived, they may be drawn to it—and he won’t be alone anymore. He finds a crowbar in the maintenance room at the back of the building and smashes open the glass panes. He reaches inside and grabs the first handgun he sees. A Glock Model 20 10mm. He uses a manual behind the counter to figure out what bullets he needs, and he grabs a single cartridge. It’s all he needs. One bullet will do the job. He smashes the lock on the front door and exits into the street. As he gets into his car, he notices a sign hanging inside the front barred window: 30-DAY LAY AWAY AND FINANCING SPECIAL.
He loads the gun and stands in front of Ben’s house. He can’t get it out of his mind. He calls out Ben’s name. Nothing. He curses and steps forward. Each step in front of the other feels momentous. He enters the house. The shadows surround him. He holds the gun in his hand, the barrel pointed away. Safety off? Check . He has only fired a gun once or twice. His father used to take him out before the accident.
“Ben?” His voice is low and quiet, but it sounds so loud in the silence. No response.
“Ben. It’s me. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Nothing.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. I forgive you for attacking me. I know… I know what you must have thought. That I was a burglar or something. A looter. But I’m not. Okay? Why don’t you just come out? I came here to see if you were okay…”
Nothing.
Just leave. Just leave and don’t come back .
But he can’t. Someone else is alive. Someone he knows .
“Ben? Please, Ben. Just come out. Where are you?” He looks up the flight of steps. “Are you up there, Ben?”
A noise. Something falling. A footstep?
“Ben? I’m coming up. It’s all right. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
52
You’re going up there? Are you crazy?
Ben’s
alive.
He’s not alive. You saw him yesterday. Dead. On the road.
He wasn’t dead. He was unconscious. I just didn’t check.
He takes each step carefully. The stairs
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