As soon as I hit the doorway to the closet, Loki jumped down and ducked under the lower rack of Holbrook’s clothes while I sank down to my hands and knees, scrambling over to the large black safe. With shaking hands I knocked several pairs of tennis shoes and cowboy boots out of the way, noting somewhere in the back of my mind that it looked like the man owned more shoes than I did. At any other time I would have relished the chance to rifle through his closet, running my fingers over the brushed cotton of his shirts and immersing myself in the scent of him, but at that moment all I felt was panic.
My hands were shaking violently as I punched in the security code on the keypad, my sweat-slick fingers sliding on the small buttons, all the while chanting the numbers over and over in my head so I wouldn’t screw it up. The sound of the lock releasing was almost deafening in the otherwise silent room, and my shoulders loosened a little as I let out a sighing breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. Popping the safe open I froze, my eyes wide.
Holy crap, that’s a lot of guns, I thought staring at the collection of shotguns, rifles, and hand guns.
For a brief moment I wondered what the hell somebody would need that many weapons for, and then I remembered why I was there and reached for the most recognizable gun. Grabbing the revolver I flipped open the cylinder, cursing aloud when I found it empty.
“Ah fuck!”
Looking back to the safe, my heart sank as my eyes fell on the shelf filled with boxes of ammo. My grandfather had tried to teach me how to shoot when I was younger, figuring that if I could fish I should know how to hunt too. While I wasn’t at all squeamish about catching, unhooking, and gutting the fish we caught, my feelings towards the cute and fuzzy critters inhabiting the woods was another matter entirely. It seemed kind of ridiculous now, given the fact that I regularly gorged myself on those very same furry little creatures.
Needless to say, I knew which one was the business end of the gun, but beyond that my knowledge of firearms was pretty damn limited.
Pulling boxes off of the shelf I began opening them, and subsequently tossing them aside, as I searched for cartridges that looked like they would fit. I knew that a revolver took single rounds in the cylinder rather than shells like a shot gun. That helped narrow things down a little, but not by much. The longer my search took, the more my hands trembled until I eventually found a box of cartridges that looked to be the right size for the gun. Wiping the sweat off my palms on the front of my shirt, I started loading the bullets one at a time, the distinct tremor in my hand making it far more difficult than it should’ve been.
A cluster of rapid-fire pops from outside made me yelp in surprise and fumble the gun, which fell to the carpet with a thud, spilling half of the rounds out of the cylinder. Nearly blinded by tears of terror and frustration, I jammed the spilled rounds back into the revolver and snapped the cylinder shut, before closing the closet door. Enveloped in darkness, I scooted backwards across the carpet until I was surrounded by Holbrook’s pants. Reaching out for him in the dark, I pulled Loki tight against my hip and thumbed back the hammer. Drawing up my knees, I gripped the gun in both hands, propping them on my raised knees.
And then I waited.
My heart thundered in my ears, and my breaths sounded impossibly loud, as I strained to listen for any other sounds from outside, but heard nothing besides tree branches creaking in the wind.
This is the part where the zombies storm the house, I thought, sure that I’d been transported to some low budget horror movie. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ve been cast as the plucky heroine who survives to tell the world the tale of how she escaped certain death.
Time stretched out to infinity, filled only with my frantic breaths, as I waited for some sign of life from outside. A muffled thump somewhere close to the house made me squeak in surprise and shuffle further back into the rack of clothes, pressing my back against the wall.
Nope. I’m toast, I thought, pushing down the scream that fluttered in the back of my throat like a trapped canary. I’m the girl who just had sex; I die right after the token minority.
Fear was a burning lump in the center of my chest, the solid and familiar weight of Loki pressed against me the only thing keeping me from curling into a panicked ball and giving in to the tears that tracked down my cheeks in a hot trail. From his position crouched in my lap, he let out a low and rumbling growl, no doubt convinced that he could take on Samson, and emerge victorious. I tell you, the sheer size of that cat’s balls.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered, though whether the words were more for his benefit or mine, I couldn’t be sure. Wishing that I was half as brave as my furry friend, all I could do was wait and pray that the powers that be might take pity on me.