"It's unlocked," Vincent whispered to Oscar.
His breathe fogged as he spoke due to the chill winter air.
Oscar nodded and checked his pistol. It seemed like it would still work despite the temperature.
Vincent turned the doorknob of the neighbourhood house. They crept in quietly and surveyed the room - no one. Oscar closed the door without a sound.
As they walked throughout the house, they could hardly see. There was no electricity in the neighbourhood and the snowstorm had made things worse. The only light that peaked into the building was sunlight obscured by frost and piles of snow on the window-sill.
Canadian winters were hard enough before the bombs fell, but this sliver of nuclear winter made everything worse. The snow seemed to fall heavier, the cold seemed to pierce deeper, and the sensation of death filled the air.
Those who survived the mass destruction of major Canadian and American cities began to succumb to radiation sickness. After the last three months, it was common to see survivors with skin lesions, blisters, and burns. Others lost patches of hair. Those were the lucky ones.
The rest either recovered from their first exposure only to die once the nausea stopped, or they began to look ghoulish, like sickly constructions of skin and bones.
Winter made everything worse. Few were prepared with the food and resources to survive a season this harsh without electricity or the aid of government.
Everyone else, or, at least those not safe in some bunker or vault, became scavengers or thugs. Those bombs did more than destroy the North American landscape; they destroyed its soul. Civil society burned away only to leave the primal drive for survival.
"Looks like most things were already taken," Vincent whispered.
Oscar nodded. He kept looking through the cupboards for something useful.
Vincent moved through the main floor, glancing at the old photos that hung upon the wall or rested on the mantle. A nice family. He wondered where they were now.
Oscar walked into the living room.
"Only salt and some spices. It isn't much, but it'll make the little we have taste a little better."
"Better than nothing," Vincent said. "Ready to go upstairs?"
Oscar nodded.
The two men began their ascent.
Despite the wooden stairs being carpeted, the occasional step gave a loud creak. Both men cringed at the sound, hoping that it wouldn't alert anyone who happened to be on the second floor.
Vincent held up his hand. Oscar stopped.
"Bodies," he whispered.
Oscar moved in front of Vincent, crouching lower. He moved slowly to the bodies. He stepped into the pools of blood that congregated around the two corpses. Gun shot wounds. Definitely dead.
Vincent looked at the bodies.
"They lived here," he whispered. "They're in the photos downstairs."
"I think this happened recently," Oscar responded. "The killers might still be here. Let's check the rooms."
On the landing, there were four doors. Only one of them hung open.
Oscar paced into the bathroom. No one.
Vincent stationed himself by one of the closed doors. Oscar fell into formation. Their methods had started to become habit. He gave the okay.
The door opened easily.
It was the little girl's room. The room was empty and probably devoid of anything useful. Only a little bed, a few drawings, and a toy chest. They turned their backs on the room.
Next was the guest room.
The couple clearly used the room for storage before the Great War – most useless knickknacks and a few collectable items that were maybe worth something back in the day. Vincent shook his head and smiled. He thought back about his stamp collection. It used to be his pride and joy.
'What use are those stamps now?' he thought to himself. 'The only things that have any value these days are food, drink, and weapons.'
The men moved into formation for the final room.
"Three… two… one…"
Master bedroom. No one.
"Well, that isn't exciting," Oscar sighed. "I'm starting to relish these gun battles. Unless there are raiders in the basement, it looks like we were beaten to the punch. Nothing too useful. Although, maybe Carolyn might like some of these clothes. Seemed like the lady of the house had good fashion sense."
Oscar rifled through the closet door, assessing the quality of the clothing.
"I think Carolyn has other things on her mind. I doubt she's worrying about having a cute outfit," Vincent reprimanded
Oscar shrugged and smiled to himself.
"I don't know, man. Feel this blouse. Very soft." He held out a shirt to Vincent.
Vincent's eyes filled with panic. He pulled out his gun and pointed it into the closet.
Oscar realized something was wrong. A fear gripped his body. It became clear that there was a presence near him - something or someone was in the closet. His adrenaline surged. In one motion, he pulled out his gun and lifted the clothing that covered the thing. As he did so, an ear-piercing shriek filled the room.
A little girl was hiding in the closet. She was pressing herself against the corner of the wall, trying to escape the strange men in her house. Oscar stumbled back.
"Hey," Vincent called softly. "Hey. It's okay. It's okay. We won't hurt you."
Oscar sat on the bed. The adrenaline still coursed through him.
'A little girl,' he laughed to himself. 'I thought I was going to die, and it was just a little girl.'
Vincent sat on the ground.
"My name is Vincent. And this is my friend Oscar. What is your name?"
The girl blinked at him. She didn't trust this dirty man.
"My parents said not to talk to anyone," she said.
The men frowned, realizing that her parents were dead.
"Oh," Vincent said, "well, why did your parents tell you not to talk to anyone?"
The girl squirmed. There was nowhere to go.
"They said there were people trying to hurt us. Are you going to hurt us?"
"No, no. Of course not!" Vincent tried his best to reassure her.
"I'm going to clean the house a little," Oscar said, getting up from the bed.
Vincent knew that he would move the bodies elsewhere and try to clean up all the blood and his footprints as best he could. 'At least the floor is wood and not carpet,' he thought to himself.
"So," Vincent turned back to the girl. "How long have you been hiding there?"
"I don't know," she responded. "I want my mom and dad."
"Well, unfortunately, mom and dad are not here right now. They told us that we had to take care of you now. Are you hungry?" Vincent reached into his provisions and pulled out a little barley cake and took out his water canteen. He offered them to the girl.
With great hesitance, she took it and ate.
"I'm Vincent. What's your name?"
"You said that already," she replied with her mouth full. "If my mom and dad told you to take care of me, you know my name already."
"Oh, yeah!" Vincent falsely conceded.
He felt someone at the door. Oscar held out a small crayon drawing that he found in the room. On the bottom of the crudely drawn house and stick figures was the name written in capitals: LENA.
"I'm playing with you, silly." He said with mock happiness. "I know your name is Lena."
Her eyes softened at her name.
"Now, come out of there." Vincent beckoned. "Sit on the bed, while I talk to my friend."
He left the room and closed the door.
"Well!" Oscar demanded. "What are we going to do with her? We can't leave her here, but we can't take her back!"
"What do you mean? Why can't we bring her back?"
"We don't have the supplies for it. Things are tight as it is. We're here precisely because we're running out of food. Heck, I'm also pretty sure drinking melted irradiated snow isn't good for us and is probably worse for someone as young as her."
"I think it'll be good for us. It'd be good for Carolyn," Vincent suggested.
"For Carolyn? You said that she has other things to worry about." Oscar spat back. "I can't bring her back a gift, but you want her to play house?"
"A girl to take care of would help her heal."
"Her husband died! You can't just make her forget that," Oscar shook his head. "Not only was James a good man and a good scout, but he carried his weight. The kid can't go out on missions and we can't just adopt every child into our household. Things are tight. What if something happens to you? What then? I have to support those two and myself and not even have back up? Odds are we won't survive the winter as it is. Straining our supplies decreases those chances."
"Are you done?" Vincent asked.
Oscar made a sound in his anger.
"You're going to bring her in regardless of what I say, eh?" Oscar said.
"Yes." Vincent said. "You done with the clean up?" He looked at the corridor. Only the slight hue of dried blood could be seen on the floor.
"They're in the storage room." Oscar said. "It must have happened within the last 12 hours. Probably a few of them. Surprised they didn't look for her."
"You saw the state of the kitchen and pantry. They were looking for food and took whatever they could. They have no use for soft blouses."
"I still think we should bring it back for Carolyn."
"You can bring the shirt and I'll bring the girl."
"She'll think it's her birthday," Oscar laughed. "Alright, let's get out of here."