The others are gathered in the living room. The morning’s chores are finished. All day Malorie has had a sense that Tom is working something out. He’s been distant. Isolated with his thoughts. Now he stands in the center of the living room, every housemate in earshot, and reveals what’s been on his mind. It’s exactly what Malorie was hoping it wasn’t.
“I’ve got a plan,” he says.
“Oh?” Don asks.
“Yes.” Tom pauses, as if making sure of what he’s about to say one final time. “We need guides.”
“What do you mean?” Felix asks.
“I mean I’m going to go looking for dogs.”
Malorie gets up from the stairs and walks to the entrance of the living room. Just like the others, the idea of Tom leaving the house has dramatically gotten her attention.
“Dogs?” Don asks.
“Yes,” Tom says. “Strays. Former pets. There must be hundreds out there. Loose. Or stuck inside a home they can’t get out of. If we’re going to go on stock runs, which we all know we’re going to have to do, I’d like us to have help. Dogs could warn us.”
“Tom, we don’t know the effect they have on animals,” Jules says.
“I know. But we can’t sit still.”
The tension in the room has risen.
“You’re crazy,” Don says. “You’re really thinking of going out there.”
“We’ll bring weapons,” Tom says.
Don leans forward in the easy chair.
“What exactly are you thinking of here?”
“I’ve been working on helmets,” Tom says. “To protect our blindfolds. We’ll carry butcher knives. The dogs could lead us. If one goes mad? Let the leash go. If the animal comes after you, kill it with the knife.”
“Blind.”
“Yes. Blind.”
“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” Don says.
“Why not?”
“There could be maniacs out there. Criminals. The streets aren’t what they used to be, Tom. We’re not in suburbia anymore. We’re in chaos.”
“Well, something has to change,” Tom says. “We need to make progress. Otherwise we’re waiting for news in a world where there is no longer any news.”
Don looks to the carpet. Then back to Tom.
“It’s too dangerous. There’s just no reason for it.”
“There’s every reason for it.”
“I say we wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Help. Something.”
Tom looks to the blankets covering the windows.
“There’s no help coming, Don.”
“That doesn’t mean we should run outside looking for it.”
“We’ll vote,” Tom says.
Don looks to the faces of the other housemates. It’s clear he’s looking for someone to agree with him.
“A vote,” Don says. “I don’t like that idea at all, either.”
“Why not?” Felix says.
“Because, Felix, we’re not talking about which buckets we drink from and which ones we piss in. We’re talking about one or more of us leaving the house, for no good reason.”
“It’s not no good reason,” Tom says. “Think of the dogs as an alarm system. Felix heard something by the well two weeks ago. Was it an animal? Was it a man? Was it a creature? The right dog might’ve barked. I’m talking about searching our block. Maybe the next one, too. Give us twelve hours. That’s all I’m asking.”
Twelve hours, Malorie thinks. Getting water from the well takes only half of one.
But the number, finite as it is, calms her.
“I don’t see why we need to round up strays at all,” Don says. He fans a hand toward Victor at Jules’s feet. “We’ve got one right here. Let’s train him.”
“No way,” Jules says, rising now.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t bring him here so he could be a sacrifice. Until we know how dogs are affected, I’m not agreeing to that.”
“A sacrifice,” Don says. “Good choice of words.”
“The answer is no,” Jules says.
Don turns to Tom.
“You see? The one dog owner we have in the house is even against it.”
“I didn’t say I was against Tom’s idea,” Jules says.
Don looks around the room.
“So, is everyone for this then? Really? All of you think it’s a good idea?”
Olympia looks to Malorie, wide eyed. Don, seeing an opportunity for an ally, approaches her.
“What do you think, Olympia?” he demands.
“Oh! I . . . well . . . I . . . don’t know!”
“Don,” Tom says. “We’ll take a legitimate vote.”
“I’m for it,” Felix says.
Malorie looks around the living room.
“I’m for it, too,” Jules says.
“I’m in,” Cheryl says.
Tom turns to Don. As he does, Malorie feels something sink inside her.
The house, Malorie realizes, needs him.
“I’ll go with you,” Jules says. “If I’m not going to let you use my dog, I can at least help you round up others.”
Don shakes his head.
“You guys are fucking nuts.”
“Then let’s start making you a helmet, too,” Tom says, planting a hand on Jules’s shoulder.
By the next morning, Tom and Jules are putting the finishing touches on the second helmet.