Chris and Layla found the house near sundown. They had walked over twenty miles that day, looking for food and shelter. Judging by the smell, the house wasn't very clean, but it had the advantage of having four standing walls and a roof. They dragged themselves in through the side door, threw down their packs for pillows, and slept.
In the morning Layla woke up having to pee. Automatically she scanned the room for all possible exits. If they had found the shelter, others probably would, too.
Light streamed in through windows on the east and west sides of the room in which they had collapsed. Amazingly enough, the windows weren't broken. Layla studied them for a moment. They appeared to be made of ice, or frosted over, but of course, that was impossible.
She'd check them out later. The call of Nature was more important at the moment. Carefully she inched open the door through which they'd come last night. It was adjacent to the west window. She slipped out, pushed her way into the vegetation and squatted along one wall. Men were lucky. It was easier for them to avoid poison ivy.
As she was preparing to leave the impromptu loo, a rustling noise reached her ears. It was probably Chris, but Layla automatically held her breath. She went still as a rabbit in the brush. Her tanned, dirty skin provided a little camouflage.
It was Chris. He swept his gaze in an arc, met her eyes and grinned. "I think we're the only ones here." He went behind a pine tree and did his business while Layla looked around.
She knew better than to move much, or suddenly. That was a quick way to get into trouble. A rotting board could break underfoot, causing injury or attracting unwanted attention. So Layla stayed pretty much on the same spot, turning just her head to take in the view.
A gap-toothed path of bricks led around the house. To the south was a pile of collapsed and decaying wood. The regular shapes of the boards were still evident. It must have been a platform of some kind.
The mess was situated underneath another door, and some broken windows. The bottom of the door was thigh-high up from the ground, so the wood must have made a raised place where the inhabitants could go in and out.
Chris would understand it better; he'd been nine years old before the war. He remembered all sorts of stuff, and he could read, though his writing was limited.
"Should we go in?" Layla pointed with her chin.
Chris nodded. "This way."
He led them back into the cement-floored room where they had spent the night. "This was the garage," he informed her.
"Garage." Layla thought a moment. "For cars."
"Right."
She'd seen a car once. It was a rusty, claustrophobic thing. Despite explanations involving speed and great distances, Layla failed to see its appeal.
Chris tried a door she hadn't noticed earlier. She hadn't seen it because there was no light around its edges. It led inside the house.
"Phew." He waved a hand in front of his face. But he stepped inside anyway. Layla followed.
What must have once been a nice living space was now an ugly ruin. The broken windows freely admitted the elements. Decaying garbage was littered among the weeds that grew up through the floorboards. The walls were marked with jagged symbols. Layla couldn't read the words, but their ugly intent was clear.
She and Chris held still, listening. If anyone was here, they didn't show it.
He lifted one hand to get her attention. This was easy as she was attuned to his movements. Silently he pointed down the hallway, then held up five fingers. Layla nodded. That was enough time for a quick reconnoiter.
Watching the placement of every foot, Layla swerved right and set off down the hall. At her back, she knew Chris was exploring in the opposite direction.
The first door on the left was the source of the stink. Fumes rose up from the bowl of what she knew was a toilet. It amazed her that people used to defecate indoors. Weird! There was also a big set-in tub, and a sink. That was cool, though — that water used to flow where and when people wanted. This room had a skylight, so although it had no windows, daylight made for easy visibility. Nice.
Off to her left, she could hear Chris' careful footfalls. The noise he made was as identifiable to her as the sight of his face. The sounds reassured her, and she continued down the hall.
It was darker here. Layla knew why: the people had been able to push a button and make light. Sometimes she still wondered if it had been worth fighting for, all that opulence. Maybe. She couldn't really imagine the former glory.
The next room, on the right this time, had a window facing west. A cursory glance revealed nothing of interest, just more trash and weeds. It was the same with the room at the foot of the hall.
The last door on the left had a big pallet of some kind on the floor. It was decaying, like everything else. Two human skeletons lay on it. The bones appeared to be embracing. At their feet lay another, smaller set of remains. This set of bones belonged to a four-legged creature. It had sharp teeth and a tail.
Layla skirted the bed and peeked in the small anteroom by the east window. More stink. She wrinkled her nose. Why would you want to poop so close to your resting-place?
That seemed to be about all there was to find. She doubled back, feeling a bit less edgy now that the initial sweep was over. Chris met her near the entrance to the first stink-room.
"There's nobody here, Lay. It's ours if we want it."
"Do we want it? Can we do anything about the smell?"
"I think so." He nodded and looked around. "Obviously we can cover the windows. And there's a lot of other work to be done. Our biggest problem would be the Marauders."
"Right." Layla's nose was getting used to the odor. "What did you find? Anything good?"
"Yeah, I think so. Come with me."
From their starting point at the place where the garage let them into the house, Chris led them on an easterly path.
"This was the dining room," he waved, "and this was the kitchen. Through here, the little Central Command unit." He showed her some flat metal boxes that were rusting, but still stuck on the wall.
"Then through here, another little stink room. Wait a minute." Chris pushed down one eyebrow, as he did when he was concentrating on a puzzle. "Something isn't right."
Layla waited patiently. She liked him when he was like this. His ability to figure things out had kept them alive.
Chris turned and retraced his footsteps. "There should be something else here..."
He stepped into an alcove, a closet he had told her these were called, and pushed. Nothing happened. Pulling on the shelves yielded no results either. He ran his fingers along one inner corner, then another.
"Hah!" he exclaimed, and pushed in a different place. To Layla's amazement, the wall swung back.
Chris looked over his shoulder and smirked. "I knew there was a space unaccounted for. Come on!"
He took a step and stumbled. "Be careful. The stairs lead down."
"Should I shut the door behind us?"
Chris considered briefly before he said, "Yes. If we have to I'm sure we'll find another way out."
Layla listened to his hands rubbing against the wall as he felt his way down into the darkness. His footfalls proceeded at a temperate pace: one, two, three...
The door had a little knothole near one edge, just big enough for a couple of fingers. The design made inherent sense. She used the leverage to pull the door shut behind her. She grimaced, strained her hearing as hard as she could, and followed.
Near the base of the stairs, Layla thought at first her eyes were playing tricks on her, for she imagined dim rays of light. Automatically she went into still-mode and controlled her breathing to the slowest, most silent motion she could manage. Chris was doing the same.
After a few moments of stillness, during which they both listened as hard as they could, he lifted one hand, a pale flash of skin in the dim. This time the sign language was different: follow me.
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