Quinn looked around, searching the plantation thoroughly. There was only the thin trees.
“We should go,” Quinn said, waiting until the stilts’ attention was focused on something opposite their location before standing and making his way back to the little field. Hilton followed, proceeding with a stealth that shamed even Quinn’s careful treading over leaves and branches. When they were back at Hilton’s home, he spoke again, producing a hand-rolled cigarette and lighter from his pocket.
“If they’re waitin’ there, they’ll be waitin’ all around. Be stupid to go traipsin’ off through the woods now. Specially with a blind boy and a dog.” He took a long drag on the cigarette, bright eyes squinting. “Don’t like dogs.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I’m sorry for your house. If things were different, I’d help you repair it.”
“Ain’t a worry. Wasn’t much to begin with, but it kept me dry.” Hilton studied him from behind the cigarette. “What you people doin’ out here anyway?”
“Trying to get to Iowa,” Quinn said, looking down at the trap door.
“Yeah. What’s there for ya?”
“The army, we heard.”
Hilton coughed out a laugh. “Army’s dead, sonny boy. Same as everything else.”
“Well, that’s where we’re headed. We lost our map the other day and—”
“Lost your way looks like to me,” Hilton said, dragging on the cigarette.
Quinn watched the other man, a tingling rising from the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah. Anyway, where are we exactly? Are we still in Ohio?”
“Nah. This be the great state of Indiana.” He pronounced it, Endiana.
“Gotcha. You wouldn’t know of any other houses nearby, any vehicles—”
“You could steal?” Hilton asked, cutting him off again.
Quinn watched the old man, shifting the AR-15 on its sling. Hilton stared at him for another beat and then broke out laughing.
“You’re too tense, sonny boy. I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Stealin’s same as everything else in these days. Everything’s forgiven.” He tossed the butt of his cigarette away, not bothering to stamp it out. It smoldered on a floorboard, a razor line of smoke trailing from it.
“You’re probably right,” Quinn said, smiling. “We’ve been on the road awhile.”
“Well, you’re all welcome to stay as long as you need. Simply for the reason I don’t want those tall bastards coming down on my head again if you try to leave too soon.” Hilton barked another laugh and then motioned toward the rickety cot overturned in the corner. “Give me a hand so there’s somethin’ to sleep on down there, will ya?”
~
The day passed in a humid blur, the close air warming by ratcheting increments in the cellar. Hilton began to speak more and more as the hours went by, his mood improving so that he smiled most of the time when he talked. He had been a truck driver in his former life, years ago, he said. Never married, no kids. He belonged to the road until a bad back kept him from sitting for long periods of time. When he could no longer make a living driving truck, he came here to his father’s land and constructed the shack that sat above them. He said it was therapeutic to get away from the trappings of society. Raise his garden in the solace of each day and read in the evenings. He had no electricity, no running water, no indoor toilet, but he made do.
“Really, things didn’t change for me much when everything happened,” Hilton said, smoking another cigarette. “Walked into town one day a month ago, things were fine. Went back last week, everyone’s dead.”