I pull out the newspaper from the hotel and skim through it, trying to pass the time. The last page is filled with election editorials. People writing in, discussing the Reformation Party, some think it’s just what this country needs. Others are afraid that they are going to turn the country into a dictatorship. I give up on the paper, too consumed with getting home to absorb any of it. I hold it out, offering it to Adam. He takes the paper and reads it intently.
The rain has stopped, but when I look out the windows the forest floor is still flooded.
“Morning then?” Adam asks me. I know it’s not really a question, or a suggestion, we can’t walk through all that water.
“I guess.”
I stand and pace the large tree house, looking out all the windows. As I near the window on the far wall, near the single bunk, I notice a herd of deer walking through the forest. Adam must notice too because I hear him walk slowly to the window next to me.
“Can you believe they are out in this weather?” I ask turning my head to look at him. “Adam, what are you doing?” I whisper harshly.
He’s standing at the window with the bow and arrow from the wall, prepped and ready to shoot. “I’m hungry,” he responds quietly, his body is rigid, steady, “and so are you.”
“I’m not going to eat a whole deer. Stop! We will have all the food we can eat tomorrow. We’re almost home.” He’s ignoring me, focusing, looking for the right moment to release the arrow and kill one of the deer quickly. “Adam!” I start to raise my voice, “stop, please. You can’t kill them.” He continues to ignore me, the muscle in his jaw tense. I raise my voice, enough to scare the deer off. “Adam, stop!” There’s the quick thud of hoof beats across the wet ground. I watch the deer run off, out of range of Adam’s bow.
“Did you seriously just sabotage my kill? We could have gorged for dinner and had food for tomorrow while we travel.” His voice is stern and angry as he walks back to the hooks on the wall and replaces the bow and arrow.
“We didn’t need a whole deer. We’ll have food in the morning.”
“I hope you’re happy that you got to save Bambi. I could have eaten half that animal myself.” He kicks over the small chair by the wall, pouting, before he reaches down and rights the chair.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your life over one little deer.” He doesn’t respond. I reach into my bag, remembering the field guide I brought to work the other night. “Here, I have this guide on edible plants.” I hold the book out to him.
“No thanks,” he tells me as he walks to the other side of the tree trunk, where I can’t see him.
I decide to go to bed early. I cover myself with the blanket, and push my bag under my head. I pull out Lina’s owl and hold it to my chest. I close my eyes, feigning sleep. It’s not long before I hear Adam lay down next to me. And for the second night in a row, I sleep next to a man who is not my husband.
--
Morning comes early, this time with sunlight and chirping songbirds. I’m not sure if Adam was already awake, he sits up just as I do. I walk to the window and see that the ground is mostly dry. I pack quickly, eager to leave. We barely speak, both of us eager to get home.
Just before we head down the ladder to leave I stop. “Oh, wait, I have an idea.” I reach into my bag and pull out the field guide on edible plants then walk over to the empty cupboard; I leave it on the bare shelf. Now I feel a little less guilty for using the tree house stock.
We leave the tree fort behind. We have no food or water. Adam must still be mad at me over the deer because he makes no effort to start a conversation with me. So we walk in silence until I can hear the fast rush of the river nearby. We must be near the entrance to town.
“I’m going to check the road,” Adam tells me.
I follow him to the tree line, knowing instantly where we are once the shrubbery is out of the way. We are at the point where the river runs parallel to the road and follows it into town, about a mile from the main entrance to Phoenix.
Adam creeps through the tall grass on his stomach. Right before he gets to the road he stops and looks around. I can see the furrowed wrinkle in his brow as he turns and waves me to come out to him. I try to mimic his crawl and do a wretched job at it, I’m sure I look like a fish out of water, flopping feverishly on a riverbank. When I reach him he says nothing about my pathetic stomach crawl, instead he points towards the town. I follow the direction of his hand with my gaze.
“Oh crap,” I utter.
A few hundred yards in front of us there is a large wall made of stone. It’s not complete but it extends past each side of the road. We can see people, working near the edges of the wall. We crawl back to the cover of the forest. We decide to go around the main entrance, staying within the forest and keeping a safe distance from where the people are working. I must be making too much noise since Adam hushes me more than once as we walk.
The people on the main road are carrying supplies or pushing wheelbarrows filled with bricks, all of them seem to be wearing the same clothes, dark red tops and pants. It’s strange, there’s no socializing, there are no groupings of people standing around and talking. Instead they’re all working methodically as if they are driven by some unknown desire to build the cement wall.
We stay within the tree line. Sprinting through open fields each time there is a break in the forest. We pass behind the county jail. Next is the local cemetery, the largest in the area. There are some large old trees that might provide us with cover, but I am afraid it’s not enough and we might get caught being out in the open. I argue with Adam to take a different way in, but he’s adamant about crossing through the cemetery. Once we get past the jail we wait in the tree line. Throughout this leg of the trip Adam’s whole demeanor has changed, the muscles in his neck are now tight and his jaw clenched.
“What’s wrong?”I whisper to him.
“There is something I have to do.” He pulls a yellow piece of paper from his pocket, and starts walking for the middle of the cemetery.
“Adam!” I yell to him.
He doesn’t stop, or turn around, or explain, he just keeps walking. I follow him, slowly at first, looking around the graveyard to make sure no one there to notice us. It’s late morning now with the sun high in the sky and we’re out in the open, deer in the meadow, easy targets.
He heads for the large mausoleum then stops to look at the note in his hand. I try to keep up with him but he is too tall, his stride too long for my short legs. As I get closer to him he turns to the left, walking swiftly and looking around. Finally he stops. I walk up next to him, my feet sinking slightly into the soft ground.
“Adam, what are you…” I follow his gaze.
In front of us are three gravestones, the first two are simply arched smooth grey stone, the third is larger and more elaborate with three angles perched on top. The dirt in front of them is disturbed the grass seeds still visible. I read the names:
Jim Waters
Margaret Waters
Samantha Waters
The dates of death are from two months ago, all on the same day.
“Oh no,” I start, but when I turn to Adam his head is already in his hands, and he is sinking down to the ground on his knees. This is his family. I’m not sure what to say or do. I simply lay my hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him before I walk away to sit cross-legged under one of the large oak trees just a few feet from him.
This whole time I’ve been so selfish, only worrying about my family. I never thought to think of Adam’s family. He never once indicated that they were dead. He spoke of them as though they were all still alive and well, waiting for his proud return from Germany.
I wait patiently under the oak tree, glad that no one has noticed us. In the distance I can see the people working on the wall, milling about like ants. Somehow each of them knows their task. I observe a few guards walking on the other side of the wall watching the road from the south, as though they might be e
xpecting someone. They’re wearing dark gray uniforms and carrying long guns on their shoulders. They don’t look like police, or army, or any enforcement agency I’ve ever seen.
As I sit here, I conclude that there was definitely no nuclear meltdown or none of these people would be working so hard. They would be suffering from radiation poisoning, lying in their homes with blood pouring out of their noses and ears, vomiting, and screaming when clumps of their hair fell out on their pillows. Something else is going on here.
I shift my gaze back towards Adam. His face is no longer buried in his hands; he takes a few deep breaths before rising and wiping at his eyes. He turns and walks towards me, the knees of his pants stained dark brown from the freshly disturbed graveyard soil.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I start.
“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want it to be true. I just had to see them one last time, so I could move on I guess.” He pauses for a moment before he looks into my eyes, fiercely determined. “Let’s get you back to your family.”
I tell him where I live and oddly enough his parent’s house is a few blocks from mine. We stay off the main road, walking behind the graveyard. Now there is a large embankment that helps conceal us from the road. There’s more forest and a few hundred feet of open tall grass before we scale a large hill. We look at each other when we hear the low dense whistle of a train again. When we reach the top of the hill I can see the town streets, the roofs of the houses, and the tree lined streets where my house is.
“Where is everyone?” Adam asks.
Slowly, we venture onto Grenadier Street. Here the oak trees are tall and old; their heavily greened canopies hang over the street creating a tunnel of light green.
“There are no cars,” I whisper to Adam.
We walk another block. Then I can see it. The small front porch lined with hibiscus bushes, their flower pods ready to burst with bright pinks and purples signaling the start of summer, the green front door and roof.
I start running, my bag smacking my back in a steady drum. I’m holding my breath with excitement. For four long days, this is what I have been waiting for, to be home, to see my family again, to hug and kiss Ian, to squeeze my little Lina in my arms and breathe in the strawberry scent of her hair. Tears start forming in the corners of my eyes, my heart thumps heavily with anticipation. I run up onto the porch and reach for the front door. Twisting the handle I find it’s unlocked. I push the door a little too hard and hear it hit the wall, cracking the drywall.
“Ian? Lina?” I shout. I look around the living room and the kitchen. I run up the stairs and search the bedrooms. Empty. It’s all empty. I walk back through the living room into the kitchen; Adam walks in the front door, inspecting the damage to the wall behind the door.
Standing there I notice Stevie, lying on her dog bed. She barely moves when I call her name, just opening her eyes and peering at me sadly. I walk to her, calling her name, but she doesn’t get up. When I pet her I can feel her bones protruding from underneath her skin. Her muzzle, which is usually dripping with drool, is dry. I pet her and pull up her top lip noticing that her gums are pale and dry. Her food and water bowls are sitting next to her dog bed, empty.
“Oh, Stevie.” I pick up her bowls and carry them to the sink. Please work, please work... When I turn on the cold water it sputters for a moment before the water rushes out. I fill up Stevie’s water bowl then open the cupboard under the sink and to get her dog food, I pour her bowl full, almost overflowing before I set both bowls next to her. Slowly she reaches over and drinks greedily from the water bowl.
“Andie, you need to see this.” Adam startles me. He’s standing at the island counter with a piece of paper in his hand.
“What is it?” I walk towards him as he hands me a piece of paper.
Andie,
If you are home wait for us. Don’t worry. We will be there soon.
~Ian
I recognize Ian’s neat handwriting and signature. But he didn’t date the note. I can only hope that he wrote it recently.
“I think I’m going to get cleaned up before they get home,” I say turning to Adam.
He’s watching Stevie drink from her dog bowl. “Ok. I want to go check out my parents’ house.” He tells me.
“I’ll go with you then.” I tell him, almost afraid to be here alone.
“No, stay here, It’s only two blocks away. I’ll be right back. I promise.” I look into his light blue eyes, it seems like he is telling me the truth. I just don’t want to admit that I have no desire to be alone right now.
“Fine,” I respond curtly. “I’m locking the doors, though.”
“Good. I’ll knock three times when I get back.”
Then Adam is walking out of my front door and I’m locking the deadbolt into place. The house is empty and eerie. I try to get Stevie to go upstairs with me so I don’t have to be alone, but she’s too weak from what appears to be days without food or water.
Finally I give up and head up the stairs. I shower, quicker than I would like to. The hot steam feels nice as is strips the dried sweat and dirt off of me. I wrap myself in a towel and head to the bedroom. All of my familiar things are here, my clothes, hairbrush, toothbrush, but it feels strange in the absence of Ian and Lina.
I brush my teeth and look in my closet; it’s still quite warm so I settle on a pair of dark brown pants, a white layered top and leather sandals. When I’m done my stomach grumbles. I realize its early afternoon and the last time I ate was yesterday morning in the tree house. As I walk down the stairs I hear three faint knocks on the heavy wooden front door. I open it slowly and see Adam looking around the side of the porch, into the back yard. I open the door wide to let him in, feeling a little safer now that he’s returned.
He’s changed from his muddy clothes into a fresh pair of jeans, a blue checkered button down shirt and light green jacket, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s shaved the three day stubble off and the face of a very attractive man is starting to appear from underneath the bruises. He smells like sandalwood, leather and a hint of spice. And if I didn’t know better I’d say he’d stepped right out of the pages of a fashion magazine. “You clean up nice,” I tell him. He smiles a little, it’s obvious, this revelation is not new to him.
“I was just about to make something to eat. Are you hungry?” he nods and we head to the kitchen.
I want to ask about his parents’ house but the image of him crouched at the gravestones of his family is forged in my mind. I think he has experienced enough grief for one day.
I open the refrigerator, knowing that when I left a few days ago it was packed with vegetables, milk, yogurt, condiments, and leftover meals. Now as the door swings to my side, and the hum of the condenser kicks on, all I see is emptiness. I close the fridge and open the cupboards, starting with the pantry, then the bread drawer, but it’s all empty.
I turn to Adam.
“It’s the same way at my house. All the cupboards were empty. All except for one.” He points to the last cupboard which I haven’t checked yet. It’s where we keep the plates and glasses; there wouldn’t be any food in there. I open the cupboard. Instead of shelves packed with dishes there are rows of neatly packed cans with simple white labels on them: Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. I reach for one of the cans labeled “Lunch.”
“Were these at your parents’ house also?” I ask Adam, inspecting a can in my hand.
“Yes. But I didn’t open them.”
The can has a tab to pull up on, so I can open the top without a can opener. I pull it open. Inside is a brown gelled slab of mystery sludge. The substance is odorless. I’m not sure what it is, but I know that I can’t eat it. Still, I pull a fork out of the cupboard and poke at it. Stevie whines from her dog bed. When I look up I see she’s watching us. Adam has walked closer to me to observe the canned substance. I hand the can to him. “I can’t eat that. I’m starving right now. But I can’t eat whatever that is.” I point to the can and cri
nkle my nose. Then I remember the garden. I walk out the back door that’s off the kitchen. The garden bed is still there and the plants are still heavy with small baby fruit.
“Are you sure this is safe to eat?” Adam asks me as I start pulling the baby cucumbers off one of the vines.
I stand up and look around. There’s a gray squirrel on top of the garage and in its front paws is a cucumber. “If the animals are alive and well after eating it, I’m sure we will be fine.” I reach down and pluck more cucumbers off the vine in front of me. Adam walks over to help. He’s found some small ripe tomatoes, a few tiny squash, and some strawberries. We bring the harvest inside and I wash everything off with water from the tap. The cucumbers are crisp, the strawberries tart and sweet. For a moment, it’s the best meal I have ever eaten.
From the corner of the room Stevie starts to whine. She anxiously looks towards the front door. Adam and I stand up simultaneously walking towards the front window. What we see is a stark contrast to what we have experienced during the past few days together.
Where the roads and town was once empty and desolate, now a steady stream of people walk down the center of the street, Adam follows me out onto the front porch. None of them seem to notice us. Every few people that pass I start to recognize. Our neighbors from a few houses down, the old man that mows his lawn every Sunday, a girl I went to high school with. I want to wave and shout “hello” but none of them look our way. They only look straight ahead, turning only to enter their homes. I look up the street to see the stream of people start to thin out. Then I see him. I wait for a minute, wanting to make sure it truly is him. But his hair is shorter, and his clothes are strange. But the instant I see his deep brown eyes I know it is him, my Ian.
“Ian! Ian!” I shout. Then I am running off the front porch and down our driveway. He’s just a few yards ahead of me and I knock into a few people on the street as I rush to greet him. “Ian!” I shout again. I’m almost to him, he is walking towards me and when he is within an arm’s reach I leap into the air and throw my arms around his neck. “Oh my god Ian, I was so afraid I’d never see you again.” I squeeze him so tight my arms ache.
The Phoenix Project Page 7