“Sure,” I said. “Tell the aliens that.”
“Enough!” Pablo screamed. “You are not to speak to Kisana again. Hear me?”
“Pablo!” a voice shouted. Naomi’s. Her sandals clomped against the pavement. “I told you to let Sam rest! The last thing she needs is more yelling.”
He knelt down then, peering into the narrow opening of my tent. His red-rimmed eyes met mine. His brow was covered in sweat. The lines of his face were set, unwavering. Waiting for an answer.
I wanted nothing more than to jump to my feet and slam a fist into his jaw. But I’d been defeated, both physically and within my heart.
“Get out,” I said. “You want so badly for God to bless your daughter with a passive, antique marriage? Get us the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 23
The next three weeks passed like one of those three-hour westerns my dad used to like to throw at me. The ones with terrible sound, grainy picture, and a plot that was as interesting as a pile of manure getting old in a barn. I kept wanting to fall asleep and wake up to THE END streaming across the television screen.
Except I wasn’t able to. Deep sleep remained foreign to me. I couldn’t sleep for more than an hour, and would awaken the moment my mind slid into a semi-comfortable REM state. Instead, my mind honed a stony encasement, refusing to risk dreaming about Naomi’s family, Marge’s friends, or worse yet, Naomi and Marge. The thought of dreaming about our own deaths, then awakening to watch them unfold terrified me.
Our alien spokesperson and the black box both kept silent. The remaining intact buildings around us exploded one by one, causing thick waves of dust to choke the hours of sunlight. The air was hot and moist even through the filtration system. The first heat wave of late spring.
We all ended up pitching our tents back inside the gym. Despite our best efforts to dig deeper into the packed soil around the tree that was now dead, there wasn’t enough earth to bury the scent of our waste and of David’s body. The stench matched our moods, and we tried to shut it away by closing the doors to the corridor. It didn’t quite work.
Tempers flew beyond the reach of our dome, and everyone did the best they could to avoid each other except when it came to ration-divvying time. Which was now, unfortunately.
“Line up, people!” Naomi shouted. “You know the drill.”
It was six o’clock in the evening, time for our nighttime ration. Our food and water supply had to be kept under strict watch. Naomi, Donna, Matt, and I took shifts at making sure no one snuck into the pantry and took more than their share. A strict schedule was the only way to ensure everyone knew we all got the same rations. David would have been proud of the way Naomi, Marge, and Donna set the whole thing up.
Everyone shuffled into a crooked line going down the center of the gym. The faces around me were dirty, stretched thin, and framed with deep worry lines. We didn’t speak to one another, but instead stared at each other through dark-rimmed eyes. We got our two crackers, spoonfuls of canned beans, tiny cups of water, and then shuffled back to our corners.
I’d chosen my stucco-hole corner as my new home. The pile of dusty powder and bits of wall innards somehow comforted me, reminding me of when we’d all held on to more than just a fleck of hope. My cardboard and metal fence remained outside, piled on top of the makeshift grave we made for David. He deserved more, but that was all we could offer him.
Donna’s shadow hovered over Marge’s from within her tent next to the pantry, where Donna was attempting to feed her. Marge fell sick a week ago. We had no idea what was wrong with her but guessed it had something to do with the heat and dehydration settling in. Many of us had given her our own shares of water and food over the past week, but it wasn’t enough.
Matt appeared in front of me, blocking my vision. “Boy, I’d give anything for a goddamn piece of Cluckers chicken about now,” he muttered.
I nodded. “It was awful shit, but I can’t help but agree.” I shoveled a spoonful of beans into my mouth.
Matt slumped down on the floor next to me, sighing.
“Where’s your food?” I asked.
He pointed his head toward Marge’s tent.
“You sure? You’re already skinny.”
He shrugged. “I’m young. My body can handle it. You’re still healing. Donna has kids to take care of. Everyone else is older. I need the least amount of energy between us.”
I blinked. “Is that…Wow, that’s pretty damn mature of you. I’m impressed. What happened to the Matt I knew?” I shifted my weight underneath me, cringing as pain shot through my leg. The wound was taking its time to heal, and I could tell the first stages of infection were beginning to settle in. I was able to hobble along with the help of my dad’s cane, but I needed antibiotics and clean bandages.
Matt shrugged. “After David died, things seemed…” His pale gaze met the floor.
“Different?”
“Yeah.”
“I know.”
He looked back at me as I set down my empty plate. “Do you remember that old lady who showed up at work the night we were taken?”
“The crazy Alzheimer’s lady?”
“Yeah. Why the hell didn’t we believe her?”
The memory surfaced fully now. The folds of skin around her mouth; the way she grabbed my arm. “She insisted the fog was coming,” I said, shaking my head. “We thought she was fucking nuts.”
“I don’t know how the hell she knew, but she did. Now we’re wading between walls of dust, watching the fog trample skyscrapers. She fucking knew.”
I peered at him, surprised at his use of metaphors. “What good would it have done to believe her?”
“We could have run like hell.”
A shiver trickled down my back. “And if we weren’t able to escape?”
“Then at least I wouldn’t have spent my last hour of freedom bathing in fried chicken.”
“Good point. Where would you have spent that hour, instead?”
He pondered the question for a few moments. “Making up with my girlfriend. Or skateboarding along the pier.”
“In the dark?”
“Hell yeah. The pier’s lit. The fog was just thick enough that night to provide a bit of resistance. Like parasailing through a windstorm.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Never been.”
“You didn’t get out much, did you?”
I resisted the urge to glare at him. “Kinda hard, with my dad.”
“Now you’ll be free to do whatever.”
Simon sauntered toward me, looking for food. We ran out of cat food four days ago. I shoved my plate in his direction, and he sniffed the bean juice hesitantly then decided it was a good idea to try and lap it up.
“Sorry,” Matt said, staring at the floor. “Didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“It’s the truth. I am free. If we ever get out of here.”
“So, how would you have spent the hour before your capture? If you knew ahead of time, and escape wasn’t an option?”
I thought about it while Simon flicked his tail back and forth over his mealtime dissatisfaction. “The same way I spent it probably.”
“Stuck at home with your dad?”
“Yeah. We watched a movie. I had new books to read, a fridge full of food, and a warm comforter.”
“That seems kinda simple. Don’t writers long to live in Paris or Athens or some shit? Climb mountains and row canoes cross-country?”
“I take that back,” I said, laughing. “I’d take that canoe and whack you across the head with it.”
He grinned at me. “Good. That’s the Sam I know.”
“In all seriousness, I’m not really sure. I could say I’d write feverishly for that hour in a brilliant attempt to crank out some awesome memoir, but I wouldn’t have even started writing again if it weren’t for David and Kisana.”
“Are you still writing?”
I nodded. “Not much else to do. Luckily I asked for a metric ton of paper.”
The grin
dropped from Matt’s face. “Weird how shit works like that. Most crappy situation ever and something good comes out of it.”
“Along with a whole lot of crap.” Simon wandered off to see if someone else had anything better to eat. “That cat’s gonna disown me. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“When you launched yourself at the alien after it…killed David, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Really? I mean, from where I was on the ground, it looked like you flew right at it.”
“I didn’t make contact. It did something, flashed a weird color, and then disappeared.”
“Almost like some kinda stealth shield, or teleportation device?”
“Hell if I know. I don’t read about that crap. I flew into a wall, and hurt for days. All I know.”
“Interesting.”
Matt grumbled. “You sound like David now.”
A smile tugged my lips. “Well, someone’s gotta take over.”
He rolled his eyes in my direction, and we were quiet for a moment. Everyone around us settled into their tents in an attempt to save energy. Naomi’s frame looked slumped and exhausted from across the room, where she sat rummaging through our boxes of plates, bowls, and kitchen utensils. Looking for hidden packages of crackers or noodles, no doubt, even though she’d already looked through everything multiple times.
Donna appeared from the entrance to Marge’s tent, shaking her head. Charles and Julie sat in the middle of the pantry with a board game between them, but neither child seemed to pay much attention to it. They looked just as listless and quiet as the adults. They knew David had left and was never returning. They had seen his lifeless body hit the dirt-covered concrete. There was no bouncing back from that. I fingered David’s watch from within my side pocket, letting the cool smoothness of the metal backing provide a sort of stability against the tips of my fingers.
“Can I ask a question now?” Matt asked.
“Sure,” I said, peeling my eyes away from the children.
“What happened between you and Kisana?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Somehow I think I’ve got the time to hear it all.”
My voice was quiet. “Her parents don’t want us to be together.”
“So you two are going to die apart? That’s not complicated. That makes no goddamn sense.”
I pulled the watch out and held it tightly within my fist. “I know. But Kisana seems confused, and I don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
“Seriously? This coming from the dyke that’d scream at me for two hours every time I called a customer ‘fag’ behind their back or said the weather outside was gay?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t fucking matter. We had our moment of happiness. Maybe that’s all I need.”
“Uh. No. Someone who’s happy with a single moment doesn’t deserve it.”
“Well, thanks. That makes me feel better.” I glanced around, looking for something to heave at him.
“It’s true! Why call yourself a writer if you’re perfectly happy flipping chickens around? Why come out as gay if you’re just going to sit around and mope about parents being dumbasses toward their adult children?”
“They blame me for the fact that our supplies have stopped coming. They blame you and me for getting David killed.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. “What? I had no fucking idea. Of all retarded, goddamn selfish ways of looking at thi—”
“Shut up,” I said. “It isn’t worth the energy.”
“Of course it fucking is. I’m going to talk some goddamn sense into them.” He made a move to stand up, and I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the floor.
“No. It isn’t.”
His angry eyes met mine, challenging me. I released his arm, and he stood up again as I averted my gaze toward the pile of chalky dust in one corner. I wanted to hide within it. I didn’t want to see how our lives would end. I didn’t want to see us fighting over crumbs and struggling to have the energy to sit up and gasp for water.
“God dammit, Sam. Don’t let this shit get to you. At least find out how Kisana really feels.”
I refused to look up. “Do whatever the hell you want.”
“Fuck that. I won’t fight your battles unless you have my back.”
“I can’t. Not when I blame myself for getting David killed, too.”
“Then you’re on your own.”
His footsteps echoed across the floor. I sat there, staring numbly at the piles of stucco until the lantern that was next to me flickered then fizzed out as its batteries died. And then I stared into the darkness, wishing it would swallow up the feelings eating me alive.
Chapter 24
Despite my efforts to get eaten away by desperation, I awoke the next day to the sound of my tent unzipping. Not that I’d been asleep long. Maybe a half-hour. I’d had a short dream about my father. In it, he had just bought a new truck. We went up into the mountains, and whizzed over dusty trails and shallow streams. We’d laughed and listened to his goofy semi-classical music. Mantovani and Mancini.
In my dream, as the music played, he kept asking me why I chose the hard route. I kept opening my mouth to ask him why he was whizzing over mountains when there was a solid road nearby, but the words kept coming out soundless.
The sound of my zipper inserted itself into my dream as the truck’s new upholstery splitting. I awoke wanting to scream at my father to stop and find an auto repair place. I shook my head. At least I’d dreamed about someone who was already dead. The number of people I cared about who were dead was beginning to outweigh the number of those still living.
Only one person had the guts to open my tent without bugging me first. I sighed, un-burrowing my head from below my stack of blankets. A groan slipped from my lips as I struggled to sit up. The weight of an anvil seemed to crush down upon my leg. I poked the area around the bandage, wincing. Hints of red skin peeked out from underneath the gauze, straining against my swollen flesh. Definitely infected.
“Sam? I hear you in there. Can I come in?”
“I…I’m not sure I’m up for company,” I said. I didn’t know what time it was.
“Please. I have a gift for you. Well, two actually.”
“You don’t have to, Kisana. Really.”
“Too bad. I’m here already, with my arms full of junk.”
I took a deep breath and unzipped the rest of the tent flap. “Wow, you’re right.” From her kneeling position, she had a large sheet of poster board under one arm, and what looked like an ugly sculpture of rusted metal bits in the other. I raised an eyebrow at her. “Starting a craft fair?”
She shot me one of her shy, crooked smiles. My heart did a quick flip over itself. I forced my gaze down to the poster board in an attempt to calm it.
“You’ve kept me from seeing you,” Kisana said. “I had time to…well, think about you, mostly.” She laughed nervously, and then shoved her pile of metal toward me. “I miss you. I’m sorry about my parents. They…”
“It’s okay. You shouldn’t have to apologize for them.” I felt the familiar weight of David’s watch within my pocket and wrapped my palm around it.
“Someone needs to.” She tried to make eye contact with me, but I kept my face down. “What they’re doing isn’t right, but I need the faith my father’s prayers grant me. We’re all losing faith. I don’t want this to be the end, Sam.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
The end she spoke of could mean many things. I raised my eyes, wanting nothing more than to reach out and pull her body to mine. A gnawing ache inside my chest stopped me. It told me I was dangerous. Destined to lose everything and anyone who dared to poke it with a stick. All it took was a dream. I caught her dark gaze then, the corners of her eyes glittering with the threshold of tears.
“Your dad says you’re being indecisive,” I said. “I understand the role religion plays in your life, but I need you to be honest with yourself if you want us t
o stand together. I’m being honest with you. I’m not sure I trust myself around you with these dreams cascading through my mind. Take this time and be honest to yourself. Please.”
Her eyes shut, and she shoved the poster board inside the tent. “Take these, then. The metal…was my attempt at wind chimes.” She stood up, spun away from me, and left without looking back. I was grateful she didn’t try and meet my gaze again; otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to keep my arms from reaching out for her.
The flap of my tent swished to and fro from the force of her departure. I watched it, pretending a breeze was rustling around me instead of ominous stillness. It was then that I held up the pile of rusted metal. It clanged as it unfolded. Near the top, chunks of soda can aluminum pinged together. Below it, squares of rusted sheet metal, probably originating from David’s grave. At the very bottom, four empty cat food cans swayed. The lids and labels had been removed, and not a strand of cat food stench remained.
The whole thing was held together by wire and a plastic hoop meant for hanging. A tear trickled down my cheek as I stared at the clanging bits of metal. I rose to my feet and attached it to one of the fabric tent loops.
As the clanging quieted, the sound of distant shouts swept into my tent. I recognized Naomi’s voice instantly, along with Matt’s, Pablo’s, Donna’s, and Joel’s. So it’s started. The fighting over scraps of food and supplies.
I made my way to the tent’s entrance, pausing to take a peek at Kisana’s poster board. It was her painting of the outside corridor. My tent, in the center of a landscape of grey concrete, bordered by the colors of a sunset. The dome was nowhere in sight. Blazing bits of orange and violet collided with the green of my tent, creating a balmy hue that made me want to find a beach ball to toss.
We weren’t featured in the painting, just my tent, the gorgeous sun, and a marmalade cat grinning from the forefront. I remembered our conversation then, about how we’d look at the painting years later, old ladies sitting on a porch swing, laughing about the ridiculousness of being held captive within the walls of a school gymnasium. Right now, it didn’t seem so ridiculous.
Matt’s voice rang out above the others. “We decided to use a ration system for a fucking reason! We gotta follow it!” Another voice, Joel’s, shouted back. Something about Marge needing more water. Julie started bawling. Marie joined in. Naomi shouted to the both of them, which just caused them to bawl louder.
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