by Jones, K. J.
“Gimme some loving, baby girl.”
He bear-hugged her, then tilted her onto the bed. She laughed.
Peter stepped in. “Hey. What are you doing with my wife, redneck?”
“Showing her how good a real man is.”
“Oh. Did you find one? Or did you eat one?”
They sat up.
“I’m getting skinny, damn Yankee.”
“You’re like a bulimic model now.”
“All the females best watch out.”
“Um, we still have the same females. Plus, a teenage girl. I’m sure one of our baby boys will notice her soon when they hit puberty.”
“Ty?”
“I meant Mullen.”
“How is the screaming geek?”
“Screams less.” Peter pulled a chair over.
“That always good.”
“Jayce Jackson has become mini-Marine. They have him on door guard detail all the time.”
“Fucking jarheads.”
“Well, they have done alright. The gossip is Maze and Ben got together. I mean, I’m assuming they’re not playing charades in their bedroom. Oh, and Eric’s kind of gone insane. He’s a work in progress. Wait until you meet the neighbor, big man.”
“We got a neighbor?”
“People survived the gassing. Some people. It’s mostly empty here. But we live in a seventeen million dollar house.”
“We keep on moving on up.”
“Except this one has no running water or electricity, so that’s a bummer. We’re kind of really doing the apocalypse now.”
“’Bout time. We been spoiled up to now.”
Chris’s stomach growled.
“Hungry there, big man?”
“Somebody said they were going for that nasty broth for me.”
“It’s good for you.”
“It ain’t food.”
“Maybe Matty can spoon feed you.”
“What wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
Chris turned to Phebe. “What wrong with Boston?”
“He’s clean and sober.”
“Aw, hell. That’ll do it. I need a beer. Been too sober for me too.”
“Matty refused to put beer in your IV,” said Peter.
Chris held up his hand. “The murse removed my tubes.”
“You are free-range redneck now.”
Matt came into the bedroom carrying a bowl of broth and bottles of Ensure. “Better like chocolate.”
“Warm chocolate,” said Peter. “Yum.”
Matt put down the bowl and threw Peter a bottle. “Drink it anyway.”
“He’s such a dictator.”
“Pheeb, you get one, too.”
“But it’s yucky warm.”
“Y’all too dang spoiled.”
“You get one, too, Chris.”
“There a steak at the bottom of it?”
They laughed at him.
“We gotta kill an alligator to get fresh meat,” said Matt.
Chris discarded the spoon and drank the bowl of broth. He belched after the last drop. “Now that dumbass drink of yours?”
“See,” said Matt. “He’s a good patient. Why can’t either of you be like him?”
“Never thought I’d hear you’d say that.” Peter wiped chocolate Ensure beads from his chin.
“Did you take your prenatal vitamins, Phebe?”
“I can’t take them on an empty stomach.”
“When we get back to the house, you take them.”
Phebe said to Peter, “You’re right. He is a dictator.”
“I’m just trying to keep you idiots healthy.”
“I’m not one of the people that almost died.”
“No, but you are the only one creating a new person.”
“As far as we know,” said Peter. “There’s too much sex happening in that house.” He looked at Phebe. “Not me, of course.”
She sneered at him, then stuck out her tongue.
“Mature, wifey.”
Chris said, “Don’t take his shit, baby girl.”
“Trust me,” said Peter. “She doesn’t. She’s a mean wifey.”
“Isn’t he pitiful?” she asked Chris.
“He always was.”
Peter gave them the finger. She slapped it away and giggled.
3.
Chris wanted to go to the house and be with everyone else. He nagged until they complied.
He required support to get off the Molly and cross the street to the house. His arms over the shoulders of Peter and Matt, they walked slowly to not wind him. Phebe guarded.
“Look at this dang house, y’all. We moving on up, I tell you what. We live like Charleston planters now. Y’all know why they turned their houses sideways?”
“Phebe educated us,” said Peter.
“They call Wilmington the little sister of Charleston. Y’all know that?”
“You are rich in trivia, Christopher.”
“Don’t tell me he got smart,” said Matt.
“I’m sure it’ll go away soon.”
Phebe banged on the door. “It’s us.”
Jayce opened it. “Hi, Chris. Glad to see you on your feet.”
“Glad to be on my feet and be seen.”
“You had everyone worried.”
“Aw,” said Peter. “See, they care. I mean, not us. But them.”
They helped him to a lounger on the piazza.
“When do I get some real food?” Chris raised his empty hands. “Y’all, what’s wrong with this here picture?”
“Are you expecting to be served?” asked Peter. “Cos if you do, then the fever is not gone.”
“I’m sick. Y’all have to wait on me.”
Peter laughed. “So not happening. You get threatened around here.”
“Bunch of shitty murses.” Chris scanned around. “How fucking long is this here yard?”
“There’s an indoor pool,” said Jayce. “That’s where the kids are.”
“Oh. I wanna go for a swim in the pool.”
Peter said, “Just don’t piss in it.”
Angela came out. “Does Chris know he’ll turn black soon?”
“No.” Matt smiled. “He doesn’t know he received a transfusion of your blood.”
She sat and smiled.
Chris asked, “Where your hair, darling?”
Angela touched her head. “I had no choice but to go natural.”
“Me too.” He stroked his reddish-blond beard.
“Ya know, Chris,” said Peter. “You have more hair on your face than on your head.”
“It ain’t falling out, is it?”
“Hair check.”
“Not me.” Angela leaned away and laughed. “Don’t you touch my hair.”
Peter rooted through Chris's scalp. “Any bald spots?”
“My daddy gone bald.”
“I thought it went through the mother’s line?” Angela asked.
Phebe shrugged.
A herd of buffalo barreled through the house.
“Hey,” Angela yelled. “Walk, please.”
“The children are here,” said Peter.
“Do we got beer?” asked Chris.
“You can’t drink yet,” answered Matt.
“Aw, hell no, son.”
“Beer is a diuretic.”
“I don’t need no diet.” He patted his much smaller belly.
“No.” Matt chuckled. “It means you piss a lot. You need to drink water.”
“Water boring.”
“Tough shit.” Matt went inside for a bottle.
“Do we got beer?” Chris asked Peter.
“Sinking cruise ship has more beer than we can drink in a week.”
“That much, huh?”
“We devised a cooling system. Lower it in a net into the bay water. Works. Not as cold as I’d like, but it is the apocalypse after all.”
“So, we still in it.”
“We already lost people.”
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Chris scowled. “Who?”
Peter shook his head. “No one you knew. Neighbors. My wife beheaded men.”
Chris smiled at Phebe. “That our girl.”
Peter continued, “We’re hoping his buddies come here, so you and I get a chance to behead too.”
Matt returned. He handed a water bottle down to Chris.
“It dang warm.”
“We have no refrigeration. No electricity.”
Chris looked up at the ceiling fans. “Dang shame. Could use them there fans. Gonna get hot soon. We in South Carolina, right? I mean, this here is Charleston.”
“Thought we discussed that,” said Peter.
Phebe said, “You kept getting confused too.”
“Babe, I’m still confused.”
“Chris,” she said, “do you remember what happened before you woke up?”
He swigged on his bottle. “Up to a point.” Wiped water beads from his beard with the back of his hand. “Who we still got?”
Angela and Phebe listed the survivors. Peter’s gaze moved away.
“Sorry, brother.”
Peter nodded. “You survived. And this dickhead.” He gestured to Matt. “And, of course, the wife and Tyler. Gotta be grateful for who survived, right?”
Matt sighed.
“Sorry, kid,” Chris said to him. “But she in Heaven and better off. Her family there. No more pain and shit.”
Matt’s eyes grew hard. “Is that how we’re dealing with it?”
Chris’s tone sharpened. “Gleason, Syanna Lynn was in pain, man. Inside and out. Didn’t you see that, kid?”
“Don’t call me kid.”
“No wonder he calling you dickhead. You’re grumpy as fuck, brother.”
Matt’s gaze moved to Peter. The blame acute.
“How long I been out, y’all?”
“Like almost a week,” said Phebe.
“Missed a lot?”
“Not really.”
“How the baby?”
“Still making me puke.”
“Good.”
She smiled. “Not so much for me.”
“Says it’s doing okay. The worse it makes you feel, the better.”
“Is that true?” she asked Angela.
“The second trimester feels better. Only for the third trimester to make you wonder why you are doing this to yourself. Then the labor.”
“Oh, I am so looking forward to it.”
“But then you have a bundle of joy.”
“Mama,” Nia yelled. “I am not doing these Negro-of-the-house chores.”
“See? Absolute bundles of joy.”
“Mama!”
Chris’s forehead furrowed. “That there has changed.”
“Nia is flexing her independence and identity.” Angela sighed.
“If I talked that way to my mama, not even Jesus could help me sit down again.”
“Mama, I’m giving the list to the white people.”
“She ain’t gonna burn down the house in some BLM protest, is she?”
“Chris,” Matt reprimanded.
“What? Black people burn down their own shit. We living in the same house.”
“You are so wrong.”
“Oh,” Phebe said. “But you’re not wrong with the fag comments every five seconds.”
“We got fags?” Chris asked.
Angela laughed. “Y’all have you work cut out for you. And, to answer your question, Chris, no, she won’t burn down the house. She’s an educated young woman. She’ll burn down someone else’s house.”
He laughed. “I like you.”
“Just keeping it real.”
“Real is all we got.”
Nia was having a fit inside, yelling at everyone.
“That girl needs Jesus,” Chris said. “You got a switch?”
Peter said, “She has a wooden spoon.”
“Go get her, Mama,” Chris said to Angela.
“She runs too fast.”
“You ain’t well-practiced.”
“I am not. She’s hormonal.”
“Uh-oh. It that time of the month?”
“She’s thirteen. She’s always hormonal.”
“Speaking of that, where Tyler at? Y’all said he survived.”
“He’s around, somewhere,” said Phebe.
Jayce called over, “He’s instigating Nia.”
Chris tried to yell, “Boy!” He coughed instead. “Y’all, yell for me.”
Matt yelled, “Tyler, get out here. Chris is here.”
The herd of loud feet came this way. Chris was swarmed by young people.
“Give him some air, people,” said Peter. “Geez. Nice to be popular.”
Part III
Chapter One
1.
The rooster lived in a continual state of pissed off, ever since he was removed from the hens. Brandon bore the wounds from transplanting him to a fenced-off section of his own. The group needed unfertilized eggs to eat, especially if they were to make a birthday cake.
Chris took Rupert’s room on the third floor, dismissing their superstitions about his ghost. He declared that a ghost haunting him was nothing compared to living with his ex-wife. The stairs were a problem for days, but as he grew stronger, he required less assistance.
He was strong enough for the long-overdue celebration.
The dining room was decorated to the maximum. Streamers and balloons and all. Everyone wore pointy birthday hats and blew noisemakers. A mountain of wrapped presents in the living room. At Stanton’s insistence, they acquired different wrapping paper and gift bags to diversify the pile’s appearance.
It had become known that Tyler hadn’t had a birthday party, or anything even resembling a birthday, since his grandmother passed away. That would not do. Stanton had set on a mission to give the best birthday party ever.
A cake sat cooling in the kitchen. Made with fresh chicken eggs and boxed milk. Frosting sat nearby, readied for the cake to cool enough.
The dinner itself was the usual. A lot of beans and rice. Chunked Spam and canned chicken and tuna fish. Every meal was a Bean Surprise. Never knew what protein it would contain. Canned veggies that were always too soft from their tinned nature. This time, Angela made a green bean casserole, with boxed milk and French cut green beans. The group had spoon fights over who got a second helping. Green bean casserole was the most exciting thing they ate since the gator steaks.
When it was time, there was no dimming the lighting. Candlelight didn’t work that way. The room brightened from the candles on the chocolate frosted cake. Mandarin oranges from a can decorated the sides of the two tiers.
They broke into the obnoxious song. “Happy birthday to you …”
Tyler blushed and smiled.
“Happy birthday to Tyler …”
Phebe hugged him to her. He fought tears.
“Make a wish,” said Nia.
“Blow out the candles,” Mazy said.
“Don’t spit on the cake,” said Chris.
Tyler laughed. “Try not to. Help me, y’all. There’s a lot of candles.”
His young people crew helped him blow out the candles.
The rest blew noisemakers and clapped.
“How come there fourteen candles?” Tyler asked. “I ain’t fourteen.”
“One for good luck,” said Angela. “It’s tradition.”
Peter told him, “Every birthday gets celebrated. You got that?”
“Copy that.”
“You cut the first piece,” Phebe said.
“Here.” Angela handed him a knife. “A triangular wedge.”
“Help me, would ya? I don’t know what to do.”
“Sure, baby.”
Oranges mixed with chocolate frosting in between the tiers.
“Wow,” he said. “Never had a home-made cake before like this.”
“Try it,” said Nia. “Box milk and all.”
He forked a piece into his mouth. “It’s good.” They laughed at
him speaking with his mouth full.
One slice for each person was all the cake could offer. Once it was consumed, right down to the crumbs, it was time for presents.
Tyler was steered to the living room and his mountain of presents. He was all smiles and red-cheeked as they watched him unwrap.
Sneakers of the next size up were very exciting for him since his feet grew at the rate of weeds.
He received a shaving kit.
“Now you can shave off that one hair on your chin,” said Peter.
Underwear. Jeans. T-shirts. All the things a kid in the Before would have scoffed at and felt himself deprived. But it was exciting for him. He was growing out of everything he had.
A gag gift of a jockstrap and cup for practicing close-quarters combat with the girls.
A new combat knife.
New blue hair dye.
A rub-on tattoo.
The big surprise was a long box from Ben. Everyone knew what it was. A project Ben had been working on.
Tyler’s eyes grew huge as he took out a handmade compound bow.
“Legit Lakota bow and arrows,” Ben said.
“Thank you,” the boy’s voice quivered with emotion. He hugged Ben. Then hugged them all for the presents. He wiped at tears.
“Now, don’t go getting all soppy, boy.” Chris smiled.
“Nobody …” Tyler chocked.
“We know,” said Matt.
“This is better than your wedding presents,” Tyler said to Peter.
“Well, we’re hoping for more in the baby shower these people need to throw us.”
Stanton clapped. “Oh. We have to plan that.”
Phebe punched Peter in the upper arm. “Thanks, a lot. A bit premature, huh?”
“You are an excitingly violent woman, wifey.”
2.
“Sorry, brother.”
Peter and Ben cleared the dishes from the dining room table.
“For what?” Ben asked.
“I lost your medicine bag, I think. I had it in the boat. In my pocket. She dropped it on the dock. Then I had it in my hand when I was laying in mud. I remember that, vaguely. It was raining. I was freezing. I had it in my hand. But … I don’t seem to have it now.”
“If it served you, then it did what it was for. No worries. I’ll make us new ones.”
“You can just make new ones?”
“They’re not Picassos.”
“Well, yeah, I’d feel really bad if I lost your Picasso in the mud.”
“Yeah. It would be worth more than you and me both.”