Chapter 3

3

He screamed and tried to bite me, ordering me to "go back to your stupid farm."

I glanced at Steve, who was clearly enjoying the show, then said, "You want me to pack his bag? Then you're taking me to the courthouse next month."

He sighed, realizing this would get him back to the finish line. "He's your son, Dana. Just get him some shorts and a t-shirt, will ya?"

"He's also yours," I replied. "I didn't just spontaneously combust and create him."

Steve couldn't argue with that. He mumbled under his breath, stuffed a few shirts and shorts into a bag, and dragged Timmy, who was still making faces at me, out the door. Before leaving, he said, "You should think about staying for a while, Dana."

I didn't respond.

That fancy suburban house was about to become a death trap once the water and electricity went out. It would also be a magnet for desperate neighbors looking to steal.

Let it be the place where the Steve and his new family meet their end.

As soon as Steve and Timmy were gone, I ran down to the basement and started tearing it apart.

I'd developed a habit of hoarding stuff after surviving a rough patch in my childhood.

This time, I was taking it all with me!

Twenty cases of bottled water? Water would be gold during the heatwave. Gotta take it!

Seven bags of flour, rice, and oil? I nearly threw out my back hauling that stuff into the basement. Now, it was coming with me!

The vegetables I was growing on the patio? There's no way I was leaving them for those lowlifes!

Light summer clothes and thin blankets? Who needed clothes or blankets when it's 120 degrees? I tossed them in the donation bin downstairs. Steve and his family could have a bunch of winter coats and heavy comforters.

Then, I grabbed a hammer from the toolbox and gave the air conditioner a good beating. The already-rickety unit sputtered and died.

I hoped Steve and his family had good stamina, so they can survive wearing winter gear in the heat with no food or water.

After stripping the house bare, I glanced at the familiar cleaver hanging on the kitchen wall. It was a cleaver I used to cut meat for Timmy when he was a kid. Last time, it was the tool they used to hack me to pieces and drink my blood.

I stared at it for a long moment, then took it off the wall and left it on the counter.

Finally, I looked around the house. It looked the same, but it was now an empty shell.

I ordered security cameras and installed them in hidden locations to keep an eye on things.