When I awoke the next morning, Mom was still asleep. I slipped out of bed without waking her and went downstairs to the kitchen. I figured out a way to make coffee without the coffeemaker. I took out the filter holder, and while I held it in my hand, I poured the hot water through it. I had a cup, black, and then headed over to Mr. Cooper's house.
I had read on the Internet that if you put Vick's Vapor rub in your nostrils, it would block out any odors, even the smell of dead bodies. We didn't have any, but Mr. Cooper had some in one of his medicine chests. I was good to go.
I rummaged through the entire house and started to amass a great deal in the kitchen. Everything my mother instructed me to take: canned and dry goods, paper goods, batteries, vitamins, water, and even some ammo I had missed on my first go around.
I was in one of the upstairs bedrooms that face towards the front of the house when I saw a strange sight outside. It was Mrs. Baumann, our neighbor down the street, in her front yard. She wasn't just outside, which was strange because I hadn't seen anyone outside in my neighborhood in weeks, but she was gardening.
With all that was going on, she was wasting her time weeding. I guess Quetzalcoatl didn't affect the weeds, and they continued to grow. It was the same for the birds (although it was a bird flu), they still were singing, and the squirrels were still jumping from tree to tree. Nature went on its merry way, even though the earth's dominant creature was flat on its back.
It was then that I noticed something that gave me a chill. It was only a man walking down the street. He was in his thirties with matted, black curly hair, a navy blue jacket and jeans. He was unkempt and his clothes looked soiled. He looked like a day laborer that had just finished a particularly dirty job. In normal times, this would be a normal occurrence, but this wasn't normal times. He didn't make any furtive movements. He just walked down the street, but his eyes never left Mrs. Bauman.
Mrs. Bauman was older than my mother by some twenty years, and she was a rotund woman on her best day, so the stranger wasn't watching her because he thought she was a looker. Maybe he thought it was weird that someone would be gardening at such a time, but it was unsettling.
I watched him walk down the block and turn the corner, and then I went back to my rummaging. It was probably only my imagination, but I still didn't feel right about it.
I got everything back to our house and started to pile it up in the living room. We needed to work in the kitchen, so the living room seemed the logical place. Then my mother started me filling water jugs.
"The water towers are probably fed by electric pumps, so when the towers are empty then that's it for any fresh water." My mother lectured me while I filled every available container in our and Mr. Cooper's house.
I didn't tell my mom about Mrs. Bauman, because I didn't want to worry her. I wondered where Mr. Bauman was. He was older than his wife. Maybe he was dead. I soon forgot about her since we had too much to do.
We sat around after dinner to plan the trip. We would have to get some sort of four-wheel vehicle that could make it when we had to get around any clog in the roads.
"That guy down the block," I thought out loud. " I forget his name. He has a Humvee. That thing could go through a brick wall."
"First thing in the morning," my mother said as if she was requisitioning one. "Go down the block and see if those people are around. If not, see if you can find the keys."
"Why not now?" I asked sarcastically.
"Because it's already dark." I looked out the window and noticed that it in fact it was already dark. That's when I heard the loud bangs.
"What the hell was that?" I jumped.
"Gunshots."
"How can you tell its gunshots? It could be fireworks."
"Who the hell would be shooting off fireworks?"
I didn't have an answer for that, and then I remembered Mrs. Bauman. I immediately got to my feet and headed out the back door.
"Where are you going?" My mother screamed at me.
"I think someone is attacking Mrs. Bauman," I yelled back as the screen door slammed behind me. I jumped over Mr. Cooper's fence and headed out to the front of the house. When I got to the street I noticed two men in front of the Bauman house holding lanterns. There were other figures on the ground, and I heard someone screaming and another person moaning in pain.
"Shut up," I heard one of the figures shout, and then he turned around and I heard another gunshot. My knees went weak, and I found myself squatting down by a parked car. I had found cover without even thinking about it.
The moaning stopped, but not the screams.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I heard the other figure scold. "He was already dead. Don't you think she's already making too much noise? Besides, you're wasting ammo."
"Come on Benny. It's my turn." I heard the first figure say. He was talking to someone on the ground. I then realized that there were two figures together on the ground, and I knew what Benny was doing. He was raping Mrs. Bauman. He was raping her right on the front lawn.
They must have killed Mr. Bauman, and were now having their way with his wife. Another thought hit me; one of these guys must have been the stranger walking down the block while Mrs. Bauman was out weeding. He had come back and brought his buddies.
I was incensed. These three guys just murdered my neighbor just so they could rape his 75-year-old wife. I wanted to do something about it, but what? There were three of them and only me. They had guns, and I didn't. It was then that I realized that I had to be armed anywhere I went from now on.
I also realized that they would go that far out of their way, and commit murder, to have sex with an elderly woman. What then would they do to my mother and me? My mom was twenty or thirty years younger, and looked even younger than that.
I snuck back as fast and as quietly as I could. When I got in the house I immediately grabbed the pistol and headed back to the door.
"What happened?" My mother was half hysterical as she ran into the kitchen. "Where are you going?"
"They killed Mr. Bauman, and now they are raping Mrs. Bauman."
"Who is?" My mother said as she headed me off at the door.
"Three men." There was no time to get into what happened this afternoon.
"And what do you think you are going to do?"
"Help her." I said frustrated.
"There are three of them with guns. You are only going to get killed."
"MOM!"
"I know that you want to help, but they will kill you as fast as they killed Mr. Bauman. And then what happens to me? Who will help me when they come to rape me?"
I looked at my mom with tears in my eyes. She was right, but I couldn't let them keep doing that to poor Mrs. Bauman. I didn't know what to do. "Baby, we will be lucky if this is the worst that we see." The look in my mom's eyes was calculating.
I sat down at the kitchen table exhausted. I looked up at her, looking for guidance.
"Why do you think your grandfather sent me to America when I was eighteen?
I just shook my head.
"Five years into the civil war, they killed my uncle and cousin, and raped and killed all of the women in the house because they were Christians. Almost all of the Christians in my hometown fled. We were Christians in a Muslim country."
I just hung my head, too tired to cry.
"I have seen what people, who used to be your neighbors, can do. I have seen violence perpetuated on innocent people for no apparent reason." My mother's voice changed to a mocking, judgmental one. "There are practically no more women in the world. Okay lets rape what few are left."
I looked back up at her. She was right. I had to be there to protect her. Not only because she was my mom, but also because she was one of the few women left in the world. "You better show me how to use that semi automatic rifle," I said with new resolve.
That night as I lay next to my mom in bed was the hottest yet that summer. I couldn't sleep. Between the heat and what had happened that night, I just tossed and turned in bed.
Mom seemed to be unaffected by it, as I heard the quiet rhythmic breathing of her sleep. I shouldn't judge, I thought. She had worked twice as hard as I had that day. She was exhausted. She had also grown up differently than I had thought. She had always delighted me with tales of growing up in Lebanon. Obviously her paradise had turned into a hell.
I rolled over again, now facing my mom. The candle was still lit on the brass plate on the end table. The sheet that was originally covering her was now pushed down to her thighs. Last night she had been wearing a t-shirt and a pair of my gym shorts, but tonight she was only wearing a tank top and panties.
The panties were electric pink, and one of her cheeks was showing because the panties were riding up the crack of her ass. My eyes concentrated on the roundness of her bun. It was disturbing.
I had jerked off quietly that afternoon, and here I was checking out my mother's ass. My cock grew hard in my shorts. She had really nice wide hips, a thin waist, and her legs were flawless.
It was like a drug. The more I saw, the more I wanted to see. I felt like a sixteen-year-old boy thumbing through his mother's Victoria Secret catalog. My hand, almost on its own, moved to the bulge in my shorts. I kneaded my erection first, and then my hand entered my waistband.
