Once we’re all inside I realize what a stupid plan this was. We’re trapped in here, I think bitterly. The girl is still rigid and her fast breathing makes me think she’s on the verge of panicking. I consider putting her down, but the cuts on her leg are still bleeding. I shift my weight nervously, trying not to think of the unconscious man lying outside.
Even before coming to help them, I could tell they weren’t just strangers. The way she approached him, tried to get him inside– the way she’d hesitated to leave him. They had to know each other, but I didn’t bother to ask how. As soon as she nodded, we had to go. Matt and I had struggled just to drag him up onto the porch, but then she said the front door was blocked. We were out of time and out of options. Anna had pulled the glass from the bottom of the girl’s foot, but we had to move.
I didn’t ask or give her time to object, and she was stiff as a board when I grabbed her around the waist and slipped the other arm under her uninjured leg. Not the most comfortable for either of us, really, but we couldn’t afford to leave a trail and we didn’t have time for anything else. “The side door,” she’d stuttered, pointing toward the side of the house where she’d appeared from. It was the best– and closest– option, so I just nodded for Matt to take the lead.
Trapped in the dark, I correct. We’d entered into a small, dark kitchen. As soon as Matt closed the door, the main source of light was cut off. A small amount of dim early morning light comes from the top of the window, though, and, squinting, I see that there are boards covering all but the top few inches of the window despite the fact that it’s at least 6 feet above the ground outside.
I hear the deadbolt lock and then Matt grabs one of the kitchen chairs to wedge under the knob as well. Once my eyes adjust to the dim light, I glance around the room, taking in the counters and table cluttered with cans and bottles. Somehow, though, it smells more like smoke than a bar in here.
A loud thump from somewhere outside the door has us all backing toward the opposite side of the kitchen. There’s an opening there, but there’s not enough light to see much further. Once we’re a few steps into the hallway, I can make out a staircase by the light coming from upstairs. I shift the girl slightly. She’s not that heavy, but it’s still an awkward way to carry someone. Her arm bumps the shotgun strapped across my back and her hand clenches the back of my shirt as I carefully walk up the stairs, Anna and Matt following close behind.
The girl points to the first door when I hesitate at the top. There’s a pair of boots on the floor that I swipe aside with my foot as I walk through the door. The room is small, and it feels cramped with all the things packed into it. There are piles of totes and supplies in front of dusty bookshelves that line the walls, and the couch and two chairs hold several canvas bags and cardboard boxes. I squeeze past the coffee table and couch to get to the desk by the room’s only window.
Anna and Matt step into the room as I set the girl down on the desk. Anna immediately moves a pile of stuff and sits on the coffee table to pull out her first aid kit. Matt walks past her to the window, but it’s on the wrong side of the house to see the street out front. I open my mouth to tell him this when the screaming starts.
The girl’s knuckles turn white as she grips the edge of the desk. They must have found him on the porch. I thought he’d be safe enough with all the girl’s blood on the sidewalk to distract them. I look at her, teetering on the edge of the desk as if she’s a second away from running back downstairs. The screams abruptly cut off, and I can hear her pull in a shaky breath. She clenches her eyes shut and is perfectly still for a moment.
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I don’t know what to say, but it feels like I should. I feel sick to my stomach, knowing what just happened out there. I can’t find it in myself to regret knocking him out to keep him from hurting this girl, but I didn’t actually want to kill him.
Anna pushes past me and dumps an armload of stuff on the desk behind the girl, startling all of us. She looks at the girl, her own eyes slightly teary too, and asks if there’s any water up here. The girl just stares at Anna for a moment. At first I’m not sure she’ll answer, or if she’s even listening, but then she points to a half-full case of water bottles over by the door. I lean against the wall by Matt as he peers out the window.
“What about clean towels or something?” Anna asks quietly from across the room. She moves back toward the desk with three water bottles in her arms and sets them on the desk. The girl shifts her weight forward, but Anna grabs her arm, eliciting a flinch.
“Just tell me where. I’ll go,” Anna whispers, letting go of her arm. Again the girl doesn’t answer right away, staring at the floor for a moment.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” she finally whispers hoarsely. Anna nods and starts toward the door. Matt turns away from the window, letting the curtain fall shut, and follows her out with my rifle still in his hands. Remembering the man’s shotgun, I pull the strap over my head and move to lean it against the wall, but then pick it back up and unload the last shell first. Setting the shell on the windowsill, I prop the shotgun by the window and reach up to cinch the curtain to one side of the metal curtain rod. When I turn back toward the desk, hoping that’ll be enough light, the girl is still staring after Anna and Matt.
She blinks once as they walk back in. Her hands grip the edge of the desk tightly, and I take a moment to study what I can see of the holster strapped across her chest. The handgun is still tucked under her arm, mostly hidden by her oversized jacket. The strap that secures the gun is unclasped, but she hasn’t reached for it since we’ve been inside. And she never reached for it outside until Matt and Anna approached.
She doesn’t seem like a threat now, but with what just happened I don’t know how she’ll react. I glance out the window, noting the amount of movement on the small amount of the street visible between this house and the neighboring one, as Anna brushes past with a stack of towels. She sets them on the desk, and I shift away from the window, back toward the couch. There’s a blanket and pillow on it, and I realize this must be where this girl sleeps. With all the totes and bags, I’d thought it was more of a storage area at first.
I lean against the arm of the couch as Matt moves past me to the window. Anna, kneeling down to inspect the girl’s leg, shifts out of his way slightly. Everything in this room is too cramped, too close together. The desk is barely two feet from the couch, and I look over at Anna as she takes in each of the girl’s wounds. The blood is mostly on her right leg, but it’s slowly spreading as it soaks into her jeans.
“We need these off to clean them out,” Anna says after a moment. She glances back at Matt and then over at me and tilts her head toward the door, silently asking us to leave.
“Not without the gun,” I insist, nodding to the girl’s holster.
“Drew,” Anna sighs. I cross my arms and Matt lowers the rifle barrel to the floor, holding it in one hand as he picks up the shotgun in the other. Anna looks at the girl apologetically, but she just stares down at the floor. Finally, she slowly reaches up and unzips her jacket. After pulling it off, she reaches up for the gun. I tense, ready to intervene, but she just snaps the strap over the back of it and squeezes the buckle in the center of her chest. She shrugs out of the harness and holds the whole thing out to me, which I stand up and take. I gesture to Matt and we both head for the door.