“Mommy?” Nolan’s voice calls out. He sits up against the headboard.
“Hey, sweetie,” I say. “Everything’s all right. Just making sure the door was locked.”
He nods his head but still reaches out for me. I walk over to his side of the bed and kneel beside him. He grips my hand, and I hold on with both of mine.
“Are you ok, Mommy?” he says. Tristan’s breathing pauses; he’s awake. “Aisley said something bad happened to Daddy and that you needed time.”
I bite my lip and look away. The only answer I can manage is a defeated nod. Nolan lets out a long sigh. I stifle a sob and kiss the back of his hand. His other hand reaches across his body and cups the side of my face. I look down at him, and he smiles.
“Mom,” he says. “It’ll all be ok. You know that, right?”
I let out a laugh and kiss his forehead—his hand doesn’t leave my face. “We’ll all be together again, Mom. I know it,” he says into my ear. His hand slides off my face as I pull away. Nolan curls up next to Tristan and slips back to sleep.
My five-year-old son just put the first glimmer of hope in my sights since reading Xavier’s letter. My knees are steadier when I leave the room.
Aisley sleeps in a mess of bedsheets with her head underneath her pillow. I make my way to the computer desk and unravel Isha’s papers. The first one had bold letters stating “Documentation of Entry.” The first page consists of Isha and Marieska’s papers. They arrived at the Fort a couple days after the food went missing. There are papers documenting that Isha worked for the Center for Disease Control and before that was a doctor for three years. Marieska doesn’t have much info attached to her name. I guess Isha used his background as leverage to get them both in. I turn the page to find Aisley and I’s entry documents:
NAME: Hayley Henderson (secondhand from daughter Aisley)
GENDER:Female
AGE: Apprx. early 20s
SITUATION: Male, apprx. mid 20s, carried Ms. Henderson to the front entrance. Female suffered laceration to lower abdomen. Blood tests came back clean, pregnancy test is positive (possibly 3-4 weeks along). Daughter, Aisley, and herself will be moved into second class housing once Rehabilitation is complete on Ms. Henderson.
Xavier was so close to being safe. Why did they turn him away? I don’t understand. He knew how to shoot, he was a great hunter and could fix a car in a second. It seems like all those things would fit perfectly into what the Fort wanted.
I flip to the next page to find Isha’s notes on me while I was in the hospital. Most are jotted down so poorly, that I can’t make out what it says. I skim through several pages until I find one line that catches my breath in my throat:Ms. Henderson is struggling with the lie Gunnar has tried to imprint on her. She needs the truth—tell her.
He was the hypnotist. He was trying to get me to remember. The brainwashing that the Fort tried on me had my past memories jumbled beyond recognition. Isha knew it was killing me not knowing what happened to Xavier. He risked everything to help me remember. That’s a huge debt that I’ll never be able to repay now.
I skip past Isha’s journal of theories and find a cleaner piece of paper with his handwriting on it. A post-it note attached to the top reads, “Found on Subject Henderson’s Body.” I peel it off and read:
Hayles and Aisley,
My letters to you were ok, but I wanted to leave you both with something you could share. The world will never be the same again you two, let alone anyone in the United States—possibly the world.
Aisley, you can’t trust anyone in the real world anymore. I kept so many things from you because I wanted you to still be a kid. But I know that was selfish of me. Today, when that man held that gun up to your head, I would’ve crumbled if you had been killed under my watch. But thank god Hayley had a gun.
I know you never wanted to have to kill anyone, Hayles. I feel horrible that you had to. But seeing you be able to do that today only proves that you are ready now. You can take on anything that crosses your path. Both of you can.
I can’t describe the feeling that lingers in my heart. Of course, I’m paranoid now. I’m scared that something will happen, and I’m scared I’ll never see you again. But for once in my life, I trust that things will be ok.
We’ve all sacrificed something to get where we are today. We’ve all lost. We’ve all had our share of near-death experiences and yet, we come out stronger from it.
Hayles, I love you. I’ll never forget how much you lost and yet are still able to smile and laugh at the small things that happen everyday.
And Aisley, you’re like the daughter that I dreamed of having. I hope one day I do and you and her become best friends. Or something corny and cheesy like that. I never was good at writing sentimental things. I at least hope that you both are laughing now.
I can’t stifle the laugh that blurts out. “I know you never wanted to kill anyone?” I say. I barely even know that version of myself anymore.
I flip through the rest of the pages seeing topographical maps, more notes on several other military bases across the U.S. My head pounds Xavier’s words around.I’ll never forget how much you lost and yet, are still able to smile—was I really like that? I grab the sides of my head and try to will his voice away.
I can’t stand who I am anymore. Xavier loved the old me; the one who was fragile and would laugh at silly little things. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m sure Xavier isn’t the same guy I fell in love with either. The world is changing every second—people change faster than that.
I stand from my chair leaving the pile of Isha’s papers in disarray. I slide the chain to my door and open it silently—I need air.
The ground is covered in a white blanket; snow must have made its way down while we slept. My feet burn on the icy ground as I cross the parking lot towards the spot where Xavier hid our car. My breath comes out in wispy white clouds as I make my way towards the edge of the forest.
Five years, seven months and—how many days? I try to get a grip around some foothold in time, but I can’t remember anymore. The moonlight shines on the ground illuminating the hundreds of diamond-like snowflakes. I breathe in the scent of Xavier’s jacket and let it out into the cold winter air.
I lean up against the tree next to the divot in the ground where I tore up the weapons. The black plastic bag is partially visible under a thin covering of snow. I reach for it and pull it from the ground. I shake out the bag and
crumple it up into my pocket. The forest is quiet except for the occasional tree branch giving way from the wet snow.
The evergreen trees dominate most of the woods, but the trees are spread farther apart the further you look into the sea of green. I can see the light brown of a deer trotting through the thin layer of snow. Part of me is screaming to shoot it, but the other half is winning out. Why destroy one more thing? We’re all just trying to survive.
I turn to the tree I’m leaning on and find the initials Xavier engraved so long ago. I run my fingertips over the wood, making sure to trace each indentation with care. The ‘XR’ and ‘HH’ are faded. This used to be our sign—Cassie, Xavier and I would write each other’s initials on the sidewalk with chalk when we wanted to hang out. Now it’s just a reminder that he’ll never be back.
I collapse to my knees dragging my hand along the bark. I can’t tell if I’m mad, upset, depressed—I can’t differentiate anything with this giant hole in me. I cry into the sleeve of Xavier’s jacket not only to muffle the noise, but to give the illusion that I’m crying into his shoulder.
I’m reintroduced to my old friend Loss. It’s not the friend I want, it’s more like the friend that I ignored for years and now they’re banging down my front door with kitchen knives for hands. Loss keeps stabbing me until I’m full of holes to make sure there is nothing complete about me anymore. I clutch my chest attempting to hold myself together; attempting the impossible.
I look up at the initials—the last thing Xavier wrote to me before we were separa
ted and pull myself up. The carvings are smooth from years of remaining scarred into the tree’s trunk. I run my fingers over the carvings and
wrap around the tree. I feel the beginnings of another set of markings on the far side of the trunk.
I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes and see the shapes of letters carved mostly on the part of the tree facing the forest. I pull myself to the other side of the tree trunk and try to make out what it says through my blurry vision.
“I’m still waiting,” I say out loud. My breath gets caught in my throat; the carvings are new.
Burn
This isn’t a survival story; happy endings and fairytales don’t exist in our world. The powers at be made sure of that. They made sure the bomb they dropped on us left enough collateral damage that we would have nothing left.
They changed us—turned us all on each other—and watched the destruction of everything through the blood spewing from our throats.
I remember when I used to crave stories of survival. I would sit in my cozy flat in Queens clinging to the live’s of characters—clinging to people I would never come
across. Now, I truly am clinging to the last people I share any type of blood with.
I reach after things I know are unobtainable—safety? Ha, yeah—right.
Xavier? I don’t feel pain anymore when I think of him. I don’t feel anything really anymore. All I do is look at Nolan to confirm that I still have a purpose.
I still have a reason to fight. Isha’s statistics were gut-wrenching, but altogether accurate. He estimated that 96 percent of the population either have the virus or the switch flipped in their head long ago. The rest were divided into two categories; you were either a survivor or you put a bullet in your brain.
Sometimes I try and picture myself doing that—putting the barrel in my mouth, plastering my brains on the walls of my loft. Of course, before the food removal, I never even held a gun. So, I guess the gun would’ve been some pills or a kitchen knife. Maybe if I hadn’t gone camping with Xavier, and maybe if cannibals weren’t trying to rip apart my children’s throats, I would’ve done it. But probably not even then. The one’s who decided early to do it were the lucky ones. The rest were all idiot optimists hoping for a rainbow to pop up out of the ground.
“Mom,” Nolan’s voice calls from the doorway.
“Yes, sweetie,” I say.
“What happens if we find Daddy?”
“We’ll be a family again.”
He looks down at his feet and kicks the air. “Oh,” he says. I smile in response and tighten the laces on my boots. “Well, what about after?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. If this journey isn’t about survival, then what is it about? All these months of searching for Xavier have felt like a never-
ending battle to find a shred of good in a world that’s gone to shit. And if some good can actually find its way into our lives, and we are reunited as a family, then what?
I don’t have an answer.
“I want to live in a house,” Nolan says answering his own question. “And have a dog like the old days.”
Surviving is the only thing we’ve known—possibly the only thing we’ll ever know. I can’t even remember what life was like before running. It’s a foreign language to me now. This is what surviving does to you; it eats away at your memories, makes you take each second at a time. Do you know what it’s like to live everyday byevery second?
I remember in college when people would write poems about seizing the day. They’d be the same people to get “Carpe diem” branded into their skin and parade around campus thinking they were on top of the world because they lived each day like it was their last. They seized the day, sure.
They knew nothing.
Seizing the day isn’t living each day like any second the world as you know it could explode in front of your eyes. Going to sleep every night hoping that it ends but praying it doesn’t. Hunting for animals while monsters hunt you in the woods. And those aren’t even the worst parts.
The worst part is not knowing when you are. Like right now. I don’t what time of day it is. The sun is setting just over the horizon, but that could mean it’s sometime after noon. Before the food went missing and the apocalypse burned our houses down, everything revolved around the time of day.
Eleven thirty-five in the morning—you can go on your 30 minute lunch break. Set the alarm for 8a.m. so you
can get to work in an hour. I hated it then, hated every god damned scheduled minute of my life.
Now, not knowing the time kills me. I don’t know how long we’ve been in the hotel. My brain is too fried to do the math. I don’t know when Xavier left that message for me which scares me even more. The fact that it could’ve been years eats at me every time the sun rises to start another day.
I watch the sun melt into the treeline making the snow shimmer outside the window, and the sky bleed into a burning pink. Another day is gone.
“I’m not sure what we’ll do, Nolan,” I say. “But once we find Daddy, I promise there will be no more running.”
He smiles at me and nods his head in agreement. “I like the sound of that,” he says looking out the window.
I don’t know if I could ever keep a promise like that, but I’d die trying to get that for this family. Because if there’s anything that the apocalypse hasn’t taken from me—it’s this.
Cannibalism may have killed my parents, my friends and burned everything down in our paths, but they didn’t get me or Nolan or Aisley and Tristan. And they didn’t get Xavier. If one thing in this world hasn’t been tainted, it’s my new family. Since everything went FUBAR, that is the one thing that hasn’t been taken away.
And if I lose everything else in the fire, the only thing that would kill me, would be losing them.
Follow Hayley and Xavier in
Painted Red
Coming Out 2014
If I Lose Page 18