The October Light of August by Robert John Jenson

month hung stringy and unwashed. She stopped and peered at the truck, then raised her cane.
    “You get that thing off of Jesse's lawn right now!” she screeched. “Just look what you've done to it! What do you idiots think you're doing out here?” She swept her cane around to point at the alpha dog. “You're making noise! Too damned much noise! If you had half the sense God gave a goose you'd be twice as bright as you are now, you steroid-swilling son of a bitch!”
    No one seemed to know what to say, and Mrs. Clarke walked around behind the truck and gave the tailgate a whack with her cane. “Go on now,” she snapped. “Get the hell out of here and stop this nonsense. We are supposed to stay in and keep quiet! You are making too much noise!”
    “Well, you heard the lady,” said Jackie. “Get your truck off of my lawn.”
    The alpha dog looked towards Mike, back up towards Jackie, and then to Mrs. Clarke. After a moment his arms wavered and he looked back to Mike and gave a quick jerk of his head in the direction of the street. Mike punched the accelerator, promptly rocketing the truck backwards. Mrs. Clarke disappeared violently as the truck shot towards the house and slammed up the steps and into a porch post. Jackie's house shook with the impact and I heard her yelp and swear loudly over the crack and squeal of splintering wood. What I could see of her front porch seemed to be sagging and the alpha dog's jaw dropped open in surprise.
    Holy shit.
    I saw Nick dart across the lawn to the front porch, and then the alpha did too. All that was left of Mrs. Clarke was a short smear on the walkway that lead up to the porch and presumably under the truck. I could hear muffled voices arguing on the front porch, and finally the sound of the truck's engine racing as it tried to haul itself off the steps. The porch shook and rattled, but the truck was hung up and didn't appear to be going anywhere.
    This went on for several minutes, and I decided now was a good time to see if I could spot Jesse's gun. I grunted my way down the hallway, and as I stepped into the room I jumped in surprise - there was Jackie outside the window rapping on the glass, looking fierce and mouthing the words, “Let. Me. In.”
     
     

 
     
    “Who piles rocks up like that and just leaves them there? Seriously - your mom always kept things neat-looking around here, and there's this big pile of rocks and bricks right in the God damned garden. That supposed to be a defense for fence-jumping zombies? Supposed to break their God damned ankles so they'll only come crawling after you? Jesus.”
    I let her rant like that as I poked around in the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom. I realized she was full of adrenaline and needed to vent. And actually, I kind of liked the way her voice sounded - an urgent whisper that would rise in irritation and pitch to a suppressed scream. Ordinarily I would be shrinking away from such anger directed at me, apologizing in stutters and stammers. But I was feeling calm and quiet, and I'm still not sure why. Maybe this was the first time anyone – let alone a woman – had sought me out for help and shelter. It's not like I could have refused or made an excuse not to. So I let her complain, and didn't get mad.
    “Look,” she barked. “ Loooooook. ”
    I turned my head and she lifted her right foot and waggled it. “That fucking hurts, buddy.”
    Her big toe was split, and it looked like her ankle was swelling. I nodded.
    “I bet it does,” I said. “I'm looking for the alcohol and bandages. Sorry, no ice for your ankle.”
    “No shit, genius.”
    It dawned on me disinfectant and bandages were probably under the sink, so I squatted down, my knees shrieking, and shone a flashlight in the cabinet. I grunted in satisfaction.
    “Here we go,” I said. I produced a first-aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Why don't we swing your leg over into the tub, and I'll clean your foot off in