Free Waiting Out Winter by Kelli Owen Page A

neither.

    Nick felt anger building behind his fear. They were supposed to be leaving this morning. They were supposed to be safely on the road, behind rolled up windows, before the flies returned. They were not supposed to die here, at the hands of the disease buzzing from the kitchen.
    He tightened his grip on the flyswatter and walked through the doorway to the kitchen. The garbage had begun to pile in the corner, the winter’s lack of flies combined with their travel preparations had taken so much of their time lately it had caused them to grow lazy. He blamed the garbage for attracting the small carrier of death that roamed somewhere in the room that was once filled with memories of his boys and their afternoon snacks, family meals, and holiday breakfasts.
    The buzzing stopped and Nick froze. He needed the fly to make noise. Without electricity, without lights, he knew he’d never find it by sight in the early morning light. He never thought he’d want to hear another fly’s wings rapidly declaring their position, but he did now.
    What if he hadn’t really heard it? What if the anticipation of leaving had caused a brief return of the phantom buzzing that had plagued them earlier in winter?
    The buzzing resumed and Nick was torn between joy and anxiety.
    It echoed oddly and Nick looked around the small room trying to make sense of the noise. When he turned to his left, it got louder, so he cautiously took two steps toward it.
    The buzzing stopped.
    “Damn it.” His grip on the metal handle of the swatter tightened in frustration and the wire dug into his flesh. He was about to declare himself one of the insane when the buzzing began again and he pinpointed its location--the sink.
    Walking slowly across the linoleum to stay quiet and be able to hear the soft echo of the noise, he made his way to the stainless steel double basin on the left wall. The window above it had been sealed months ago, the plastic covering the wood appeared intact, the duct tape around it unblemished. Where did the fly come from? Up from the basement again? Snuck in with them? Mysteriously born of the garbage pile up? Did it matter? After months of surviving and weeks of planning, death had found a way back into his house.
    He stood on his tiptoes and peered into the sink from several feet away, but couldn’t locate the fly in either side. He drew closer and the buzzing stopped again. He paused. He was a patient man--he had to be, to keep his sanity while locked inside for over half a year--and he could wait until the fly made noise again.
    He relaxed his muscles and lowered himself back to his flat feet, as his eyes flitted back and forth between the side Jamie used to wash and the side she had declared for rinsing only. The faded, hunter green dish strainer in the sink just barely showed over the edge, a relic from when life was normal. Life was anything but normal. If it had been normal, there would be dishes in the sink, a washcloth hanging over the faucet, and a half-empty container of Dawn on the back edge. Instead, dishes were cleaned with baby wipes and then stacked on the counter--the drainer sat alone in the sink, forgotten. When the buzzing started again, Nick realized it was coming from the second side.
    A quick step forward, swatter poised overhead, and he looked straight into what was supposed to be Jamie’s sanitary side of the sink. The silverware attachment was empty except for a corncob skewer--there always seemed to be one left behind when the dishes were put away. Inspecting the strainer from various angles, Nick could see no fly anywhere and braved moving the strainer. He slipped the flyswatter through the wire slots of the strainer and lifted it from the sink slowly. The buzzing stopped and he abruptly put the strainer down to regain full use of the swatter.
    He held his breath and listened. One bite was all it took. One bite to ruin the lives of his wife and children. One bite to make surviving winter a moot point. He