Alone The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,2

seen a living human being other than Mom in twelve years and my first instinct is to knock them unconscious?

I’d worry more about it, but Mom’s been gone for over a week – coincidence that these guys show up now? Mom comes home every day after work. Set your watch by her: with only an occasional exception, she was home at 5:34.

But I haven’t seen her in a week. I thought about leaving, but what if it’s a test? There was an alarm, after all; she could have been monitoring, and then I’d fail the test – and that would be bad. We’ll define “bad” later.

After I giggled, Oldie whirled away from me. I pursued, and to the old guy’s credit, he dodged pretty well. Of course, I was holding back. Not sure why. Mom would have been pissed that I wasn’t attacking full out. I landed another eskrima on his chin and he staggered back and caught hold of the curtain in the dinette, yanking them off the wall anchors as he fell.

And thus violated rule number three: don’t open the curtains or look out the windows. Most of them in the front of the house have heavy dressers and furniture blocking them, and all of them have bars on the exterior. The ones in the rear open to a backyard that has a fence eight feet tall all the way around and lots of old trees that pretty much blot out any view of the sun.

Don’t think I’m a perfect goody-goody – I’ve snuck a look out back lots of times. My conclusion – it’s a big, bright world out there. Really damned bright, in fact. Blinding.

I would have kept after him, but when the curtains fell the daylight streamed in and I couldn’t see anything for a few seconds. When my eyes recovered I found the old guy throwing the curtains off himself and he came up with a gun in his hand. I guess I shouldn’t have taken it easy on him.

The first shot would have gotten me in the face if I hadn’t already been moving. I dodged behind the couch as the shot rang out. Then another and another. They were loud but not deafening. The microwave in the kitchen took the first two; the next three hit the sofa and I heard the muffled impacts as stuffing flew through the air. I was crawling my ass off, heading for the door. I dodged under the coffee table, the one Oldie had hit on his way in, rolled onto my back and put my feet and hands on the underside of the glass.

I saw him emerge from behind the sofa and knew my time was limited. His gun was pointed at me, so I flung the table at him with my hands and feet. Kinda ugly, but it knocked him off balance as the glass shattered in his face and I heard the gun skitter from his hand back toward the dinette.

I didn’t take any chances; I was on my feet in a second and sprinting toward the front door. He got the gun back as I was making my escape and I heard three more shots impact behind me as I slammed the door to the porch. I reached down and hit the outside lock – I know it sounds weird, but I locked them in my own house. Locked them in, and me out.

For those of you keeping score:

Rule # 1 – Mom and I are the only ones allowed in our house.

Rule # 2 – I am never to leave the house.

Rule # 3 – Never open the curtains or look outside.

Sorry, Mom, I thought. We’re just breaking your rules all to hell today. I heard the gunfire again and I ran, dodging out the front door of the porch. I’d seen this space a thousand times as Mom was leaving, but never what lay beyond it. My hand flew to the knob that opened the door that led to the outside world.

If it had been up to me, I might have wanted to reflect on what a momentous day this was, going outside for the first time in twelve years; on violating so many rules, the first three big ones, all in a five-minute period. As it was, the sound of gunshots chased me into the light of day.

The cold hit me as I ran out, breath frosting as it hit the air. Fortunately, I’m always fully dressed – down