*****
Lines at the perimeter are short. Most people are opting to stay with their vehicles. Being in a rush just draws more attention. I fumble to unfold my ID card for the officers and get waved through before he even sees it. They aren’t stopping anyone or checking any bags. They don’t care who goes in. That means they got what they were after, I hope. No matter. The lack of hassle almost makes up for the whole delay and I get home before my neighbor, Janet. This is important because we share the back wall. She’s a neat freak with two small dogs. The laundry runs non-stop. I only get one good round of water pressure before she’s off work.
I go to turn on the shower and think better of it. Plugging the drain I turn the temp all the way hot. The fall from earlier is setting into my aching back and my wrist hasn’t stopped throbbing. A full tub is the reason I lease here. I don’t have much space but a hot bath can cure almost anything. It’s a luxury I insist on. I’m likely to drain the entire hot water tank but Jan’ll understand. And if she doesn’t she’ll get over it. I settle into the scalding water gratefully and close my eyes to relax. Finally, some peace and quiet.
Wait, why is it so quiet? The dogs should be barking at least. I try to suppress my worry long enough to enjoy the hot water but less than a minute later I’m toweling off. Pulling on pants and looking for a shirt I knock on the wall, calling out, “Jan! Are you home yet?”
Silence. Now I’m really worried. Even in the kennel the dogs bark when I knock on the wall. I grab my keys and hurry into the corridor. No one around. It’s not quite rush hour but these hallways are never empty. My bare feet patter on the concrete as I head toward the crossover. Usually, I enjoy living in cube housing. Neighbors you hardly ever see are the best kind. A five minute walk to someone’s door cools most hot heads, especially after winter sets in. Of course, in the rare case of emergency those 5 minutes can feel like a lifetime.
I’m genuinely panicked while rushing down the west stack. Housing issues were at their peak when the stacks were built. Basically a wall of electric and plumbing is built and then they stack prefab cubes that slide into each socket. Whenever someone moves they just remove that cube and replace it with a brand new one. No more security deposit, just a cube transfer fee. Wealthier owners have even bought custom cubes to simulate a one-story home. The most lavish thing I even saw was one cube lined completely with marble and used solely as an entryway to the adjacent cube home.
Reaching Janet’s door, the silence rumbles in my eardrums loud as thunder. I fumble with the spare key and lean into the door as it opens. A dim light from the back room outlines the clutter in the hallway. The dog kennels should be around the corner leading to the kitchen. I stumble forward over something plush and barely keep my feet trying to find solid ground. Toys, clothes, boxes and a variety of books litter the floor. “How can she live like this,” I quietly curse.
Before seeing the proof, a pit in my stomach already knows the dogs are dead. There’s an odor of death in the air. The same faint smell in hospitals that alerts our primitive instincts. A lingering sense that “something’s not right here.” That’s when I hear Janet behind me. “NO! No-no-no-no-” she scrambles past me, “Peanut!? PEACHES!!” Rattling the cages as she fumbles to get them open. Their poofy fur wafts in the wind of her motions but otherwise the dogs don’t move. I’m still standing there, silent.