Free Seldom Seen in August by Kealan Patrick Burke Page A

his right.
Locked, just like the others. It also seemed that every single one
of the gates had a BEWARE OF DOG placard screwed onto it, as if
having a mutt was a requirement of occupancy here in Stepford. A
moment of scanning, however, revealed a gate a few houses down that
didn’t. Remembering the dog-less chains and vacant kennels, he
decided this was the safer bet. It wouldn’t do to break into a yard
and get mauled, a possibility that might still be realized if it
turned out the sign had simply fallen down, or been blown off. His
options scarce, he decided to take the chance and made his way
toward it.
    He wasn’t surprised to see yet another
padlock.
    He reached for his gun then thought
better of it. The sound of the shot would be like a public
announcement, and besides, shooting locks only worked in the
movies. In real life, chances were if the bullet hit the hard steel
casing, it would bounce right back and put a hole in him. He
thought about using the butt of the gun as a hammer, but that
didn’t seem reasonable either. It would take too long and his hands
were so sweaty he didn’t have much faith in his ability to keep a
hold on the barrel.
    Wade put a hand to the wood, craned his
neck to peer at the width of the slats and nodded one
time.
    To hell with it . He positioned
himself squarely before the gate, drew back and delivered a solid
kick to the panel just beneath the padlock. The lock rattled,
stayed intact, but the panel itself swung in from the bottom like a
cat-flap. Another kick to the adjacent panel and he had a gap wide
enough to squeeze through, which he did without pausing to look for
splinters or jagged spars of wood that might cut his throat. Once
inside, he cast a quick look over the house for a sign that his
less-than-subtle entry had alerted someone, then, satisfied that
the eyes of the windows had developed no unwelcome pupils, he
quickly inspected the gate. The first panel was still attached,
albeit barely; the second had been blown out entirely. That
wouldn’t do. Leaving it as it was would be as good as erecting for
the cops a sign with an arrow pointing toward the house. He made a
hasty but serviceable job of setting the panels so they appeared
undamaged. Of course, all it would take would be a nudge and the
hole would reveal itself, but with any luck he’d be long gone from
here before anyone thought to try. Plucking the largest of the
splinters from the grass and pocketing them, he moved fast and low
toward the house, one hand behind his back, fingers pressed against
the butt of the gun.
    A pair of garden gnomes, their bearded
faces split wide by identical smiles, regarded him without judgment
as he stepped onto the pristine patio and hurried into the cool
shadow thrown like a dirty rug at the foot of the house. To his
right was a koi pond, the colorful fish wavering lazily in an
artificial current among polished stones made rough by algae. A
stunted elm leaned over to gaze into the water. From one of its
palsied branches hung a quartet of fake robins spinning in eternal
circles, their route dictated by a motorized brass hoop. One of the
robins was missing a leg, which Wade found oddly amusing despite
the uncomfortable feeling of familiarity that came, he could only
assume, from seeing so many bloody yards and their inane
accoutrements.
    He was startled then by the screech of
tires and the staticky squawk of a radio from somewhere up the
street.
    Shit . They were almost on top of
him, and he congratulated himself on having the sense to make the
gate appear unbroken. With one hand still behind his back, he
grabbed the gun, hefted it and hurried to the pair of sliding glass
doors directly ahead of him. Only darkness showed within. Cupping
his hands around his face he peered inside. He could just about
make out the hunched silhouettes of furniture, the dull gleam of a
mirror, but no movement, which didn’t mean that someone wasn’t in
there, just that he stood a better chance of gaining