by Micol Ostow
“L-O-L, Ronnie,” Cam said, brown eyes sparkling. She took a sip of her drink and gave a satisfied little sigh. “Call us your acolytes.”
“I like the sound of that.” I raised an eyebrow. “Slide over,” I said to Annie, shooing her farther in toward the wall. “I can sit—for a minute.”
Annie smiled and shifted. “Great.”
“So,” I said, elbows on the table. “Everyone ready for tonight?”
The girls exchanged a quick glance that I couldn’t quite decipher and then nodded. “So ready,” Cam agreed, while Annie murmured assent.
“I have a great idea!” I said as the thought hit me. I’m sure I would have thought of it before, if I’d been in town rather than out at the beach. “I have a glam squad coming at four. Why don’t you guys join? A little primping pre-party! It’ll be so much fun. I’ll have the caterers make us a pitcher of white peach sangria. Bobby Flay gave my mom his signature recipe at some benefit in Sag Harbor last week.”
“I had—” Annie started.
“Stop,” I said. “If you’re going to tell me you already have hair and makeup appointments, just cancel them! Who cares? I can adjust my reservation. Come on … getting pretty by yourself is boring. It’ll be my treat.”
“I mean, are you sure?” Cam asked.
What a ridiculous question. “Of course I’m sure! You think Daddy would notice the minor change to the credit card charge? He doesn’t even look at my statements. You’re coming, and that’s final.”
Annie let out a strangled little cough, pounding on her chest to catch her breath. “Sorry, I thought that coffee was cooler by now.”
“Careful, girl,” I said. “You want to be in top shape for the party of the year. I think there might even be some drama to be had tonight.”
Cam laughed. “Oh yeah?” Her cheeks were tinged pink, rosier than usual.
“I mean, I probably shouldn’t say anything—I don’t want to embarrass him, but—I guess it’s okay, I trust you guys.”
“Duh, obviously you can trust us!” Cam said, redder than ever. Was her drink overheated, too? “Ronnie, what are you getting at? Spill now.”
I shrugged, trying to show how much of a not-a-big-deal the whole thing was. “Whatever. It’s just that … Nick came by this morning. It was totally out of the blue.”
“Nick came by your house? For no reason?” Cam asked.
“Before noon?” Annie put in.
“I know, I had the exact same thought. But yep, showed up just after I finished working out. Of course, I assumed it was just an elaborate scheme to get a glimpse of me in Lycra, but he actually wanted to talk. He … well, he asked me out. Like, on a date.” Now that I was saying it out loud, it was less adorable and random, and ever-so-slightly more loaded.
Ever-so-slightly more something I might, actually, care a little bit about.
“That’s crazy, right?” I asked, more to reassure myself than anything.
There! Another look, again, between Cam and Annie, Cam flushing, and Annie fidgeting with her wiry red curls. But again, maybe it was just me. I mean, I’d just acknowledged that Nick’s true confessions had left me a little unsettled. Even if I was only admitting it to myself, for now. I wasn’t at my peak form right now, that much was clear.
The silence felt like it dragged on for a beat too long, and I had the weirdest urge to take it all back, shrug and laugh about it, and leave in a rush before anyone could think too much about any of it.
But then, before I could do anything else, Cam burst out laughing.
“Obviously that’s not crazy, Ron!” she insisted. “I mean, everyone knows Nick St. Clair only plays around because he’s, like, madly in love with you.”
“It’s true,” Annie jumped in, her hazel eyes suddenly sharp and intense. “Didn’t he tell you he loved you? Once?”
I made a face, disbelieving. “Uh, that was back when we were in pre-K,” I reminded her. “Hardly binding testimony. Back then, my favorite pop star was Barney, remember?”
“Still,” she insisted. “Those are formative years. I don’t know, maybe you … imprinted on him or something.”
“Like in those vampire books?” Had my girlfriends been body-snatched? Or were they just trying to be supportive, albeit in this vaguely misguided manner?
Cam shot Annie a look like she was insane now, then turned back to me. “I think it’s just that you guys totally make sense together. Your families go way back. He might be the only guy who could ever handle your father.”
She made a good point. “True.”
“And you have total chemistry.”
“Also true.” There was no denying the little charge I felt when I looked in his baby blues, even if until now I’d chosen to disregard it. “So you’re saying I should go for it?”
All these years, my friends and I had lamented the lack of truly sophisticated, viable options in our circle, bemoaning how we wanted men when we were, alas, surrounded by mere boys. High school boys were for practice, if anything. We can do better was our mantra, always.
Annie opened her mouth, but Cam elbowed her before she could say anything.
“I think what we’re saying,” Cam said, glancing at Annie, “is that you should just stay open-minded. Hear him out.”
“Exactly,” Annie said.
My phone buzzed in my bag. I rummaged around and dug it up.
“Oh, ugh. Grace wants me to pick up some accessories from Barneys for a shoot. Great timing.” An intern’s work is never done.
“Can’t they get, like, an assistant to do that?” Annie said.
“I am the assistant.” I sighed. “It sucks, but it comes with the territory of working with Her Majesty herself, Grace Coddington. I’m her beck-and-call girl.” I’d have to grab an Uber if I wanted to get Mom’s coffee to her while it was hot and still make it to Barneys in time to get Grace what she needed.
I signaled, and our waitress brought my order to me, steam curling from the lids of the paper coffee cups and the pastries bundled in a white box tied with string. “Don’t worry, ladies, we’re still on for four. By party time we will have achieved maximum glamour. And as for the … other stuff. What can I say, girls? That’s certainly some food for thought. It’s possible you’re on to something.”
“You’ll think about it?” Cam asked. She looked dubious but oddly hopeful. Oddly invested.
“I will. But for now, we should probably keep this between the three of us. Nicky would probably be embarrassed to know that I mentioned it to you.”
Annie made a lock-and-key motion with her fingers. “Our little secret.”
“Perfect.” We kissed good-bye and I continued to mull as I wandered back toward the Dakota. “Stay open-minded.” It sounded like good advice.
Tonight was our party. The holiday was here. Anything could happen.
DILTON DOILEY’S FIELD NOTES:
A blood moon.
Tonight my Scouts will hike to our campgrounds under the light of a blood moon, a full lunar eclipse that paints the sky in muddy red streaks. And while the event has no astrological importance, to me it’s undeniably a harbinger. The people of Riverdale want to believe that no bad could ever happen here, despite the insistence that history has of proving us wrong. Evil doesn’t cease to exist merely because we refuse to see it. I learned that at too young an age.
My father said he was doing me a favor.
Before the favor, before things changed—before we learned how the world truly is—Dad was an Adventure Scout himself, growing up. He was our troop leader when I was young.
About eight years ago, we had our annual weekend camping trip. But he had an important business trip that week, so he couldn’t go. He left my uncle in charge of me for the weekend, and we all went out to Buffalo Flats as planned.
We spent the first day working on our adventure badges, doing arts and crafts, archery—simple stuff. The next day was the real event of the weekend—the annual whitewater rafting excursion. My uncle came w
ith me in my raft.
It had been a long, snowy winter, and the river was full and fast. It was all we could do to stay upright. It was exhilarating, a huge rush—until …
We went over a giant rapid, one our guide didn’t know was there. In a moment, most of us were underwater. My head was spinning from whiplash. I yelled for my uncle, but couldn’t see him. It was all I could do to get to shore.
We couldn’t pull together a rescue attempt. We didn’t even have a rope—nobody had thought to bring one. Some Scouts we were.
My dad was … well, he’s not very emotional. But I could tell he was upset. He had lost his only brother. He was not going to lose me … No matter what it took.
“Son,” he said. “You will never be unprepared again.”
He meant it—never. Not for any of the inevitable horror that awaits us all.
And so, he trained me. A series of tests began. Hours, days, weeks spent alone together, Dad showing me all types of survivalist skills: knot tying, knife throwing, how to identify poisonous flora, how to purify any water source. How to spot a predator from any and every approach.
He even had me defusing IEDs—unsuccessfully.
“If that had been a real bomb, we’d both be dead,” he told me that time.
“I’m sorry. I can’t—” I was just a kid. I was terrified, ashamed. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.
The “trials” kept escalating, until one day, we were leaving the grocery store. He handed me a necktie. “Put this over your eyes, son.”
We drove a long time. An hour, maybe two. I lost track. The asphalt and smoke in the air—smells of Riverdale, of the town—gradually faded away.
He took me out into the woods—so similar to the same Sweetwater Woods my Scouts and I have hiked so often, where we’ll make our camp tonight. He brought me to a clearing and sat me down on the rotted-out trunk of a fallen tree. The wood was spongy underneath me.
“I don’t have to tell you: The world is tough and unforgiving,” he said, words that I’d eventually parrot to Jughead Jones—foolish, cynical Jughead!—“You’ve seen that yourself, younger than a boy should have to. You’ve come a long way, Dilton.”
Had I? I wasn’t so sure. But he was my father, I had to trust him.
“You’ve come a long way,” he said again. “This is your final test.
“I believe in you, son. I believe you can do this.” Solemnly, he handed me a Swiss Army knife, the red enamel shiny and new. It’s the knife I carry at all times, the knife I was carrying when Weatherbee suspended me this year for having a weapon on school grounds.
Like I cared about a suspension. Like I’d ever leave the house without it, without protection of some kind.
No, Dad taught me too well. He left me in those woods that day.
When he got back into the car, I thought that he was just trying to scare me, that he’d be back in an hour. But then it got cold. And dark. And I began to realize: I was on my own.
Needless to say, I did it. Nine days out in Fox Forest, all alone. Only my knife and my own skills to rely on. I lived off berries; I found fresh drinking water. I was, eventually, able to trap and cook a squirrel. It was the only time in my life I’ve had to hunt another living creature. It was difficult, but it was what I had to do. Eventually, I found my way back to town.
It was hard—excruciating, really, not to mention terrifying at times—but I’m not bitter. I understand. My dad did it so I could learn to live off the land. So I could learn how to make it through hardship. Because life is a hardship. A series of tests.
And since then, I’ve dedicated myself to preserving my father’s code of survival over someone like Principal Weatherbee’s, with his ridiculous rules and regulations and complete unwillingness to see beneath the veil. For better or for worse, for all of us.
The apocalypse is nigh. If I sound like a raving lunatic, so be it. I plan to be prepared and to keep my Scouts safe. In order to keep them safe, they must be with me.
Jones didn’t believe me, of course. That’s typical. But I know. I may just be the only one in Riverdale who does know.
How can I be so sure? It’s simple.
Because of Baley’s Comet. It graces the sky once every eight years.
Or, at least, it used to.
Twenty years ago, the cycle began to speed up. Now the comet shows up every nine months. It’s getting closer to us.
Tonight we will see our fourth blood moon in as many months, an event long prophesized to signal the end times.
When the moon rises red in the sky, after we’ve made camp, I will present my argument to the Scouts:
Our fourth blood moon in four months. The comet growing closer with each cycle.
The path unfolding is inevitable, inarguable. Soon enough, Baley’s Comet will slam into North America, causing an extinction event not seen since the dinosaurs.
I’m talking about the end of the world.
I know—it sounds dramatic.
But I promise you, it doesn’t sound remotely dramatic enough.
I will make them see, these boys. Make them understand what fate awaits us.
And then, once we’re home again, I’ll show them. What I’ve been working on for so long, now. My pet project, our salvation. My father’s real final test.
I have a space. I built it myself, outfitted it perfectly. It’s small, but it’s safe. Private. I’ve got the basics covered, plans drawn out to provision it. We’ll need to equip ourselves:
Water.
Defense.
Better defense.
Endurance.
Strength.
It’s a survival bunker, of course. It took my dad and me five years to build it. It has an independent generator that runs off a mix of solar and natural gas, so it’s completely off the grid. I’ve got enough water and canned food to last for months. Years, if we ration. The walls are lined with an inch of pure lead to keep out all forms of radiation.
It’s everything we need to wait out the apocalypse.
The boys may balk, at first. They may be reluctant to believe that their idyllic Riverdale could ever be a danger, could ever be a threat to them, to their existence.
But they’ll see the blood moon. They’ll hear my stories.
Eventually, they’ll come around.
ARCHIE
It was almost high noon at the construction site when I saw Dilton Doiley and his troop ride by on their bikes, their bright orange Adventure Scout flags waving from their backseats in the wind. Their bikes were loaded down with gear, everyone hunched over their handlebars, throwing their whole bodies into it to hustle forward.
I had to hand it to Dilton. He was wound a little tight—okay, more than a little—but whatever it was specifically that made him tick, he’d found his tribe in those Scouts, a group that would never question him, whose loyalty was completely steady.
In theory, I had that, too, with the Bulldogs. Thinking of them gave me a twinge in my gut. I was dreading the message from Reggie I knew was coming about a prank retaliation. Or, I was dreading having to tell him I couldn’t do it. Never mind that I didn’t even really want to.
If my loyalties were so divided, what kind of teammate was I, now? What kind of person?
“Hey, Red—you want to share that wire rope, or were you planning on asking it to the prom?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” I looked up to find Lenny, my dad’s foreman for this job, standing over me, eyeing my wheelbarrow and laughing. “Just bringing it over to that pile.” I pointed. “I, uh, got distracted.”
“I’ll say. You’ve been standing here for almost ten minutes straight, staring into space. Your dad sent me out here to tell you to meet him in the trailer.”
“What? No, I can finish loading the wire—”
“I got it,” he told me, winking and moving to grab the wheelbarrow handles. “Don’t you know, kid? When the boss whistles, you come running.”
“Right,” I said. Even when the boss was your dad.
Or maybe make that especially when the boss was your dad.
I ran. I guess it turns out, I do still have some sense of loyalty inside.
Dad was at his desk, hunched over a set of blueprints, his hard hat next to him and a pencil in his hand. He looked totally caught up in the plans, lost in concentration, but when the door banged shut behind me, he looked up and smiled. “Archie. How is it out there?”
“Everything’s moving,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. It didn’t help much, only managed to mix some dust from my arm in with the sweat on my face. Turns out, that’s what construction comes down to, in a nutshell: dust and sweat, and eventually, something new gets built up out of all the effort.
When Dad first approached me about working for him at the beginning of the summer, I didn’t realize how satisfying it would be, actually making something, creating something physical that you could touch and see, from your own two hands. It wasn’t music, that was for sure. But it was still way more creative than I expected, to be honest.
“Lenny said you wanted to see me?”
“Yep.” He nodded at the chair across from his desk and reached for a brown paper bag on a nearby shelf. “Thought you might want some lunch. That stuff you brought from Pop’s this morning is long gone, sorry to say, but we’ve got tuna and rye from that Greendale deli, if you’re hungry. And iced tea. It’s a hot one out there.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that,” I agreed, grabbing the tea and gulping it down in almost one go. My appetite was insane since I started construction. Bigger even than during training season. “But, ah … what’s the rest of the crew going to think? You always calling me in here, letting me sit and eat in the air-conditioning while other guys are slaving away in the blazing sun? It’s pretty blatant nepotism.”
Dad’s forehead wrinkled up. “What will they think? They’ll think I’m a good father.” He laughed. “They already think I’m a good boss. I’m not worried about their opinion of me. My men and I are good.”