I toss my phone on my kitchen table and am out my front door in a flash. I can hear the screams louder once I’m outside. I scan the windows. The blinds are drawn, and the lights are out, but…is their front door open?
My heart rate kicks up as I creep forward. If there’s an intruder, the element of surprise is my friend.
I sprint through the open door.
The sight that greets me is unexpected—mostly because I don’t see anyone at all, at first. It’s pitch black.
The screaming stops for a second, but then it picks up again.
I spot Rose crouched under the coffee table.
Poppy is holding a tennis racket in the air like she’s Serena Williams. She’s got herself wedged behind a floor lamp with a large shade.
“What is it? What’s going on?” I have to raise my voice to be heard over their screams. “Are you okay?”
“Get down, Big!” Poppy takes a swing at something, and before I know it, a flying creature is headed straight for me.
I drop to the floor, hitting my wrists and knees hard. “What the hell?”
“We’ve got a bat!” Rose wails.
“Bats!” Poppy clarifies. “Multiple.”
“You’re screaming about a bat?”
“Not just one!” Poppy scowls at me. “Weren’t you listening? There’s a whole family of them. They dive-bombed us out of nowhere. What are you doing here?” she adds, as if only now realizing that I barged into their house unannounced. “And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
I glance down. I sort of forgot I was just wearing my athletic shorts. “I’m here because you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were being ax murdered.”
“Oh.” Poppy’s shoulders sink, even as her eyes don’t leave the ceiling. “Sorry about that. And thank you,” she says, “for coming to check on us. How’re your reflexes?”
“My reflexes?”
“Bats do not play. We’ve got to get them out of here, and Rose is no help.” She points the tennis racket at her sister.
Rose is reaching an arm out and grabbing couch cushions, one at a time, making a barricade around herself and the coffee table. “I want nothing to do with getting rabies. Haven’t you readOld Yeller?”
“Now is not the time to flaunt your literary superiority, Rose,” Poppy scolds. “I need to focus.”
Two bats are flapping around overhead. I’m still on my hands and knees and offering no help whatsoever because now I’m paranoid about getting bitten by a bat and contracting a potentially fatal viral disease. I scooch to the side of the room where Poppy is. She’s got the only weapon among us, so she’s my best defense.
“How are you going to play this?” I ask, making it to her side.
Before Poppy can answer, Rose lets out a wail. “It gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m never going to be able to sleep here again.”
“Don’t worry,” Poppy says. “We’ll get them out of here. Big will help me. Right?” She turns to me.
“Sure.” I get to my feet, and I’m standing in her corner of the living room. “You ever taken on a bat before?”
Poppy’s breathing is quickened, and I can tell she’s got adrenaline pumping through her veins. “Not bats. Cockroaches, yes. An ant infestation, yes.”
“Where have you guys been living?”
“You don’t want to know,” Poppy mutters, but then, in the dark, I see her square her shoulders. “We need to focus.”
“Got another tennis racket?”
“No. I happened to bring this one home with me from work today. Lucky for me, right?” She swings at a bat I didn’t see coming at us. The force of the air moving through her racket sends the bat on a different course, but she didn’t connect.
