Esra made his way over, the pocketknife already hidden away in the front pocket of his encompassing overalls.
“We got too much stuff here,” June answered. “As ya can see”—she looked about the room—“it’d take a long time and a lot of muscle to move all this stuff that far. ‘Sides, the pond is the only thing better than our place. We don’ live down ‘ere on tha ground.” She looked upward toward the roof. “We’re up high enough we see everythin’ goes on ‘round here for a good ways.”
Esra stopped next to June and reached for Thais’ free hand.
I was beside her, ready, just in case.
She shook his hand without hesitation—I hated that she was so trusting.
“I mean no disrespect,” Thais said, “but…how have you stayed alive out here?” She gazed around at the goldmine of a space. “And managed to keep all of this stuff?”
Esra tapped the side of his head with the tip of his finger. “Gotta know what yer doin’,” he said. “Not just after the shit hit the fan, but long before.” He glanced at June, and although he didn’t actually smirk, it was obvious his thoughts could’ve easily accompanied one. “I was preparin’ for this for twenty-two years before people stared gettin’ sick. Everybody told me I was a crazy sumbitch, wastin’ my money and my time. ‘Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen,’ they’d say. ‘Ima burn down yer shed, Esra!’ this old woman threatened me—she’s always threatenin’ to burn my stuff—anyways, she’s been eatin’ her words ever since.”
June shook her stringy, white head, a disgruntled look on her face.
“To answer your question, honey,” June said to Thais, “when the wicked ones come along here to rob us, we blow their heads off and send ‘em into their graves.”
That one-foot step forward Thais had taken earlier, she retracted. She pressed her arm against my side, and my free hand slipped down to hook her waist.
Esra jerked his head back and said, “Come on, and we’ll show yens,” and he went toward the door without waiting to see if we’d follow.
45
THAIS
Esra and June made their way slooowly down the steps; Esra turned to his wife and reached out his arm to help her.
“You call me slow as molasses,” he muttered as June gripped his arm with her feeble fingers for support, “but yer so old ya can barely make it down the steps by yerself.”
I suppressed a smile.
“Better watch yer mouth,” June grumbled; she went down the last step, gripped her husband’s arm. “I might just feel like one day I’m gettin’ dementia and ferget how’ta cook yer supper.”
Esra grunted.
Atticus and I exchanged a quick look—my face read: I kinda like them. Atticus’ face read: I’m slightly confused, and being confused makes me uncomfortable.
They led us to the edge of the bluff where Esra stepped aside, held out a hand and gestured.
“Have a look,” he said.
We stepped closer to the edge, out of the couple’s reach, and looked over the fifty-foot drop. A small mound of bodies lay at the base of the bluff, mostly skeletal remains, still dressed in the clothes they’d died in; a few at the top of the pile may have been dead only a couple of weeks.
The smell, carried on the breeze, rose into my face and I felt sick to my stomach suddenly. I choked and covered my nose and mouth with my hand.
“We poured cat litter and bakin’ soda down there when we had it,” June said. “Y’know, to help cover the smell, but nothin’ much can really help that stench.”
“You killed all those people?” Atticus asked; his eyebrows crumpled in his sweating forehead.
Esra nodded matter-of-factly. “Sure did,” he answered. “It was their own faults. They weren’t like yens”—he glanced toward the supply cabin—“went in there and damn near ransacked the place, tried to carry everthin’ they could off wit’em. Took June a week once to clean up the mess.” He pointed upward. “We shoot ‘em from the trees. I’m a damn good shot; can pick a fly off a horse’s ass from a good ways.”
“There was one time,” June said, “some people caught me down here in the cabin as I was fixin’ stuff on the shelves. I thought they was gonna kill me—and they were goin’ to! But Jeffrey came a’runnin’ in there, swingin’ his shovel. Beat two of ‘em over the heads. Esra came in with Miss Mary just in time and blew the other two into hell.”
“Who’s Miss Mary?” I asked.
“The shotgun,” Atticus answered.
June smiled; a set of yellowed dentures glared back at us.
“You got a name fer yours?” Esra glanced at Atticus’ gun, still clutched in his hand where it had been the whole time.
Atticus shook his head.
“So then why didn’t you shoot us?” Thais asked.
“Well,” June said, “we ain’t in the habit of killin’ good people.”
“And just how do you know we’re good people?” Atticus challenged.
June and Esra looked at one another.
“You ain’t shot neither one of us yet, have yens?” June pointed out.
Atticus and I were armed—neither June nor Esra were, save the pocketknife sticking from the chest pocket of Esra’s overalls. And he willingly left Miss Mary inside the supply cabin.
“So, you just risked your lives to see if we’d shoot you first?” Atticus said, probably finding the explanation illogical.
“Well no,” Esra answered; he reached behind him and scratched his bald head. “Jeffrey is the reason you ain’t down there, dead in a pile o’bones.”
June and Esra escorted us away from the supply cabin. “He’s up in the house,” June explained as we slipped into the woods. “Probably gettin’ ‘imself ready.”
“Ready for what?” I asked.
“To meet you, o’course.”
Atticus and I exchanged a look.
“Why does he care to meet us?” I said.
“Oh, he’s not too much lookin’ forward to meetin’ him,” Esra said about Atticus. “But he’s takin’ quite a likin’ to you.”
I was uncomfortable suddenly. So was Atticus, I could tell right away judging that uneasy look on his face.
“But don’t you worry,” June said, and we stopped near the base of an enormous tree. “My sweet Jeffrey is a gentleman. Ain’t seen too many pretty girls in his lifetime”—she beamed at me—“he thinks yer an angel sent from God.”
I raised a brow.
“Jeffrey! We’re a’comin’ up!” Esra shouted with his hands around his mouth. He looked up in the tree where a treehouse was perched amid the massive, crawling limbs.