nose and he coughed, forcing his way towards the door. He held his breath as long as he could, remembering Marge’s green and insane-looking eyes. That’s not happening to me, by God.
Jack pushed himself to the door, the hanging willow branches seemed to hold him back. They brushed his face and hundreds of thick and stringy branches settled around his shoulders. He slowed against the pressure and his feet began to slip.
A small hand reached through the greenery and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
“Pull, Madeline!” Jack shouted. His shirt tightened and the extra force enabled him to stumble through the door into the hallway. Madeline’s mother tumbled to the floor, a mess of green ooze and twigs.
Jack was out of breath. “We have … to get out of here.”
Madeline was staring at her mother lying on the floor. The woman was breathing short raspy breaths. The girl stopped crying. She reached down and wiped the mold-slime from her mother’s face.
Jack looked down the hallway toward the stairs. He could still hear a hissing noise in the building and a few voices were arguing. He wanted to get out of there, badly. He thought a wall had collapsed somewhere and damaged some water pipes, or even worse, a gas line. This could blow any second.
He stooped and lifted Madeline’s mother in a fireman’s carry and said as calmly as he could, “Madeline, grab the back of my shirt and hold on. We’re getting out of here.”
The woman was heavier than Jack remembered and he grunted under her weight. C’mon, Jack. Just get her to the stairs and it’s all downhill from there. He moved forward and felt a small pull on his shirt. Madeline was following.
As they passed Marge’s room Jack could feel a breeze and beyond the remains of the far wall he saw slivers of blue sky. There was water spraying from a damaged interior wall and Jack imagined he smelled the distinct odor of natural gas. They made for the stairs.
Each stair was slow and Jack’s steps were heavy. His shoulder ached from the pressure and the smell of the mold was making his stomach turn. He finally reached the first floor and saw several doors along the hallway open. Willow branches stuck out. Everyone left when that wall collapsed, Jack thought. He wondered if they all were as infected as Marge.
“How many people…live here, Madeline?” He asked, his cheeks puffing in and out.
“Ten.” Her voice sounded small, far away. She was gripping Jack’s shirt with white knuckles.
“We’ll go out the back way,” Jack wheezed. He led her down the hall, past the open doors and turned into the maintenance room. They stepped over the junk, past the wood working tools, past bottles of mysterious liquids, and exited out the door. The last thing Jack saw in Apartment Building E was a jar of green fluid labeled: “FLORA-FAUNA ARW 1839.”
*
A few weeks later Jack was sitting in his favorite chair sipping his favorite drink, Galapagos Tea with a pinch of sugar, watching the news. Nathan, his six-year-old boy, was playing with a chemistry set on the floor and his wife was knitting in the rocker. The TV flicked off and Jack set down the remote.
“So, that’s it then.” Jack said. His wife looked up. “They bulldozed it and cut down the willow. Six residents were admitted to a mental hospital and there are charges pending against the manager.” Even as Jack said this he could hear the hum of the bulldozers around the block at the apartment building complex. He went to the window.
Jack could see black puffs of exhaust from the demolition work as he peered through the branches of his own young willow tree in his backyard. The harrowing events at Apartment Building E still haunted him; the great poisoned willow, Marge’s terrified, insane look and her cat that scratched him with its razor claws, Madeline’s mother gasping for breath beneath the branches of infected willow. Jack shuddered. Their eyes had bothered him the most. They had all been green ,
Jack pushed himself to the door, the hanging willow branches seemed to hold him back. They brushed his face and hundreds of thick and stringy branches settled around his shoulders. He slowed against the pressure and his feet began to slip.
A small hand reached through the greenery and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
“Pull, Madeline!” Jack shouted. His shirt tightened and the extra force enabled him to stumble through the door into the hallway. Madeline’s mother tumbled to the floor, a mess of green ooze and twigs.
Jack was out of breath. “We have … to get out of here.”
Madeline was staring at her mother lying on the floor. The woman was breathing short raspy breaths. The girl stopped crying. She reached down and wiped the mold-slime from her mother’s face.
Jack looked down the hallway toward the stairs. He could still hear a hissing noise in the building and a few voices were arguing. He wanted to get out of there, badly. He thought a wall had collapsed somewhere and damaged some water pipes, or even worse, a gas line. This could blow any second.
He stooped and lifted Madeline’s mother in a fireman’s carry and said as calmly as he could, “Madeline, grab the back of my shirt and hold on. We’re getting out of here.”
The woman was heavier than Jack remembered and he grunted under her weight. C’mon, Jack. Just get her to the stairs and it’s all downhill from there. He moved forward and felt a small pull on his shirt. Madeline was following.
As they passed Marge’s room Jack could feel a breeze and beyond the remains of the far wall he saw slivers of blue sky. There was water spraying from a damaged interior wall and Jack imagined he smelled the distinct odor of natural gas. They made for the stairs.
Each stair was slow and Jack’s steps were heavy. His shoulder ached from the pressure and the smell of the mold was making his stomach turn. He finally reached the first floor and saw several doors along the hallway open. Willow branches stuck out. Everyone left when that wall collapsed, Jack thought. He wondered if they all were as infected as Marge.
“How many people…live here, Madeline?” He asked, his cheeks puffing in and out.
“Ten.” Her voice sounded small, far away. She was gripping Jack’s shirt with white knuckles.
“We’ll go out the back way,” Jack wheezed. He led her down the hall, past the open doors and turned into the maintenance room. They stepped over the junk, past the wood working tools, past bottles of mysterious liquids, and exited out the door. The last thing Jack saw in Apartment Building E was a jar of green fluid labeled: “FLORA-FAUNA ARW 1839.”
*
A few weeks later Jack was sitting in his favorite chair sipping his favorite drink, Galapagos Tea with a pinch of sugar, watching the news. Nathan, his six-year-old boy, was playing with a chemistry set on the floor and his wife was knitting in the rocker. The TV flicked off and Jack set down the remote.
“So, that’s it then.” Jack said. His wife looked up. “They bulldozed it and cut down the willow. Six residents were admitted to a mental hospital and there are charges pending against the manager.” Even as Jack said this he could hear the hum of the bulldozers around the block at the apartment building complex. He went to the window.
Jack could see black puffs of exhaust from the demolition work as he peered through the branches of his own young willow tree in his backyard. The harrowing events at Apartment Building E still haunted him; the great poisoned willow, Marge’s terrified, insane look and her cat that scratched him with its razor claws, Madeline’s mother gasping for breath beneath the branches of infected willow. Jack shuddered. Their eyes had bothered him the most. They had all been green ,
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