how many women with no access to medical care had died in childbirth in the past several weeks. How many people had taken their own lives in despair? How many good people had stolen food or supplies, leaving others to starve?
“I don't see the gun,” said Hyrum practically, inspecting the scene. “Come on, we've got to figure out how to get that truck out of here.”
“I think I've got an idea,” Dee said slowly, looking at the pitiful figure on the ground. She pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and walked closer to the man. He was lying on his side, facing the mound of dirt and had one arm protectively wrapped over it. Dee looked at the other hand, and though it was near his head, Hyrum was right – there was no sign of a gun. She didn't care about the gun though. Trying not to gag, she leaned over the decomposing corpse and reached into its pants pocket. Please don't make me roll it over, she thought. She felt something thin and metallic and pulled it out. The key!
Hyrum gave her a high five and they ran back to the truck. The key worked perfectly and they climbed inside. Propped on the dashboard in front of the speedometer was an envelope addressed to Dee.
“He can't be serious,” she said under her breath. More than anything she wanted to start the truck and get out of there, but she couldn't leave Mason to die without at least reading the note. “Give me a second, okay?” she told Hyrum. Then she read:
“Dear Dee, I wish I could explain everything to you, but there's too much to say and no time. I know I can trust you to do one favor for me. Under the seat is a pack of food. Please take it to the house at 311 Elm and give it to the woman there. Her name is Jess. She's my mom.”
Dee set the note down carefully and sat unseeing. Why hadn't he told her about his mom?
“Is there a pack of food under the seat?” she asked Hyrum.
He felt around and pulled it out. “Yep.”
“We've got to do something before we go.”
Hyrum sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
311 Elm was a run-down house in what was obviously the poor part of town. A sagging chain link fence surrounded the house and a rusted tricycle sat alone on the hard-packed dirt driveway. Broken chairs, empty boxes and a rotting couch littered the front yard. The roof showed signs of water damage, and an old satellite TV dish drooped sadly over the cracked plastic rain gutter.
Hyrum and Dee stood in the road staring at the house. It was only a few blocks from the cemetery, so they'd walked rather than risk having the truck stolen. They'd learned that lesson the hard way.
“Are you sure about this, Dee?”
“Not really,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. There'd obviously been no trash removal for weeks and the smell of overflowing garbage cans up and down the block was overpowering.
As she approached the house she came around the side of one of the cardboard boxes and jumped back, startled. There was a little boy sitting inside with thin legs drawn up under his chin and something crumpled in his hand. He wasn't crying, but Dee could see the tracks of tears on his grubby cheeks.
She glanced at the empty doorway of the house and then squatted down next to the boy. “Hey there,” she said. “Whatcha doing in here?”
“This used to belong to my dog,” he said, handing her a dirty dog collar engraved 'Indy.' “I think bad guys got him,” he said, with a loud sniff.
“Bad guys?” said Dee.
“They come at night lookin' for food but my dad and his friends already made off with most all of it. Me and Mom and Indy hide under the stairs 'til they go.”
“Your dad took your food?” Dee was horrified. “All of it?”
The boy nodded.
“Is your mom inside?”
“Yeah, but she's sick. She told me to go outside and watch for Mason.”
“You know Mason?”
“'Course I do,” the little boy said, puffing out his thin chest. “He's my big brother.”
“Does he live
“I don't see the gun,” said Hyrum practically, inspecting the scene. “Come on, we've got to figure out how to get that truck out of here.”
“I think I've got an idea,” Dee said slowly, looking at the pitiful figure on the ground. She pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and walked closer to the man. He was lying on his side, facing the mound of dirt and had one arm protectively wrapped over it. Dee looked at the other hand, and though it was near his head, Hyrum was right – there was no sign of a gun. She didn't care about the gun though. Trying not to gag, she leaned over the decomposing corpse and reached into its pants pocket. Please don't make me roll it over, she thought. She felt something thin and metallic and pulled it out. The key!
Hyrum gave her a high five and they ran back to the truck. The key worked perfectly and they climbed inside. Propped on the dashboard in front of the speedometer was an envelope addressed to Dee.
“He can't be serious,” she said under her breath. More than anything she wanted to start the truck and get out of there, but she couldn't leave Mason to die without at least reading the note. “Give me a second, okay?” she told Hyrum. Then she read:
“Dear Dee, I wish I could explain everything to you, but there's too much to say and no time. I know I can trust you to do one favor for me. Under the seat is a pack of food. Please take it to the house at 311 Elm and give it to the woman there. Her name is Jess. She's my mom.”
Dee set the note down carefully and sat unseeing. Why hadn't he told her about his mom?
“Is there a pack of food under the seat?” she asked Hyrum.
He felt around and pulled it out. “Yep.”
“We've got to do something before we go.”
Hyrum sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
311 Elm was a run-down house in what was obviously the poor part of town. A sagging chain link fence surrounded the house and a rusted tricycle sat alone on the hard-packed dirt driveway. Broken chairs, empty boxes and a rotting couch littered the front yard. The roof showed signs of water damage, and an old satellite TV dish drooped sadly over the cracked plastic rain gutter.
Hyrum and Dee stood in the road staring at the house. It was only a few blocks from the cemetery, so they'd walked rather than risk having the truck stolen. They'd learned that lesson the hard way.
“Are you sure about this, Dee?”
“Not really,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. There'd obviously been no trash removal for weeks and the smell of overflowing garbage cans up and down the block was overpowering.
As she approached the house she came around the side of one of the cardboard boxes and jumped back, startled. There was a little boy sitting inside with thin legs drawn up under his chin and something crumpled in his hand. He wasn't crying, but Dee could see the tracks of tears on his grubby cheeks.
She glanced at the empty doorway of the house and then squatted down next to the boy. “Hey there,” she said. “Whatcha doing in here?”
“This used to belong to my dog,” he said, handing her a dirty dog collar engraved 'Indy.' “I think bad guys got him,” he said, with a loud sniff.
“Bad guys?” said Dee.
“They come at night lookin' for food but my dad and his friends already made off with most all of it. Me and Mom and Indy hide under the stairs 'til they go.”
“Your dad took your food?” Dee was horrified. “All of it?”
The boy nodded.
“Is your mom inside?”
“Yeah, but she's sick. She told me to go outside and watch for Mason.”
“You know Mason?”
“'Course I do,” the little boy said, puffing out his thin chest. “He's my big brother.”
“Does he live
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