“It’s the place where it’s not raining. After nineteen years, raining everywhere else, this place has no rain at all,” I start. I even hear Ernest groan, but in a good way, acknowledging that what I’m saying matches some idea of his own, some dream he hasn’t allowed to die yet either. “It’s the highest elevation in the country. And so the rain sea stays down and off of her. And there’s green there—trees, grass, and sunshine. In Leadville it’s warm and dry. There are no face eaters. It’s civilized there. They live like good people.”
Russell’s face lights up. The lines disappear and he loosens his grip on the rifle. Then he looks down at me and his eyes are gleaming. He’s proud of me for keeping the hope. And all of it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, except for one word. Sunshine. It’s like I suddenly feel it might be possible. To know what sunshine is. If I’ve seen the snow, and it’s snowing now, it really has changed from rain. Things can change. And Leadville really is the place where it isn’t raining. This isn’t the real Leadville. And it all means we might get to sunshine one day. And I don’t care where we find it. If we have to go north or south or west or east. Whichever way we go, I tell Russell, I just want to feel the sunshine.
Russell starts to describe the sun to me again, like he’s done so many times. The sun is a warm blanket, he says. But it’s also part of your mood. I’m not talking about god or superstition now. The very thing itself, the light. You won’t be able to stop smiling, he says. Just to feel it dance on your skin. To see how it lights the color in everything. I mean that’s where real color is. Russell stops talking and he closes his eyes. I almost want to tell him to be careful, because it’s his watch, and he shouldn’t drift off. But he snaps awake again in another moment and asks Ernest if he’s still up.
How could I fall asleep with all these nightmares you’re trying to give me? he asks. Then he coughs and manages a small chuckle. Sunshine and rainbows and warm places that are dry are nightmares? I ask. But Ernest smiles and says, Actually, I made it the nightmare I guess, didn’t I? Because we won’t be needing any rainbows. In my head I think I see a rainbow. I think I see the color that Russell is talking about. But I’m sure it’s all just the same shades of rain brown. And I can’t tell the difference anymore. Not until we get there. And all at once, between both of their attitudes, I start to believe again in hope. That we’ll make it. Somewhere.
Russell brings up the original question about where to go. He says he’s thinking we should follow their route, to East Harbor, and then get the Resilience. The question is where they went. The flyers didn’t say. Where did they evacuate to? Did you hear anything from them about that? Russell asks. Ernest says he didn’t hear the snow walkers say a word about the evacuation. And that’s probably because they haven’t been in Nuke Town too long themselves. They just didn’t know. That’s right, Russell says, Optimistic thinking. And then he says we’ll have to look at the map and take our best guess.
I want to start offering ideas of my own because I’m scared Russell will see that this is Platteville, and think that the real Leadville, to the south and inside the lines of the ice, is where we should go. Everything in my mind points us west now. Either that, or back to Philadelphia. The first place I ever knew. An old memory playing with my head, making me remember a place that’s no longer there. We left the East for a reason, I tell myself. But what was it? And for all of my effort I can’t think of a good reason why we ever left. Why we ever started west in the first place. But I know Russell’s reasons: the water rose, the people got more restless, more likely to steal. They weren’t eating each other though. Not there, not yet. But the rumors were already spreading, Russell said. And then I feel a darkness of thought, that maybe we left because, more than those other things, there was an idea of a place called Leadville. They mentioned it in Pittsburgh, and then again in Indianapolis. The legend of the place where it isn’t raining. Deep in the West. Colorado mountains.
I can’t help but think we left somewhere good to chase a myth. I wrestle with the idea, trying to destroy it, but I still want to ask Russell why we really left Philly. And why we can’t just sail back that way because it has to be better than the West turned out to be. But I know his answers and I don’t ask. There’s waterspout alley—that used to be called the Great Plains—in the way, he would say. And if we did beat north, heading through Dakota again, there’d be Rapid City. He’d remind me that Rapid City wouldn’t be any better than Blue City. And even if we did make it all the way back to Philadelphia, what would we find? High rises crumbling into the ocean? It was sea level there. I fight back the urge to ask the question and settle again, right on the edge of the dreams I don’t want to enter.
And Russell won’t want to go farther west because of his idea about the Pacific Ocean. I ask Ernest what he thinks about the Pacific, instead of confronting Russell right now about our choice of direction. I ask him if he thinks the sea is swooping up into the sky out there, and that’s where all the rain’s coming from. Ernest doesn’t answer. Before I can ask again, Russell senses my restlessness and tells me to let him sleep. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, he says, Don’t worry, you have a say in where we go. He tells me this as if he’s reading my mind. Like he knows my fear that they won’t listen to me about the ice.
It makes me remember why I love him. As much as he’s told me what I should and shouldn’t do over the years, he’s always had this sense about him. Known when something was going to hurt me. And instead of taking control, he backs off, lets me have a say. Sometimes he takes my idea instead of his. I think back to the banks of the Big Horn, Russell with his head in his hands, crying, ready to give up. Feeling like he’d ruined everything for both of us.
I look at him and tell him I love him, because in the back of my mind I feel Dusty’s death like a reminder. One big missed chance. A death so close to me that I can’t help but admit my feelings to Russell. I love you too, he says, and he slides over for a moment and touches my hair. His fingers run through it, like they used to do when I was restless and unable to sleep and little. He keeps going, sitting by me, running them through my hair, and ever so softly, he begins to sing. Just humming, but it’s the song he sang when we were back in Philly. It’s Silent Night. I don’t even remember any of the words, but the melody is as clear as it was when I was three. It runs over my soul and I feel at peace. There is the warm and the dry right now, and around me are my loved ones. I can’t help but ignore the horrible ice and radiation around us, and from the song I leave and find my dreams.
Chapter 16
His butt rises. Jogging ahead of me and my eyes are glued to it. What doesn’t make sense at first is the color. Bright green in so many shades, but I’m drawn back to the figure—his body. His wide back. And dark hair that moves and shines. It’s a dark cut against the blue sky. The sky—that same sliver I remember seeing once, the blue between the clouds, but it’s multiplied its brightness by a thousand and it’s everywhere, untouched by gray. I say out loud, Is this a field of grass? And as if my question is absurd, the beautiful boy turns around. And no longer am I watching his back and arms, but his face and eyes. They are as dark as his hair, but in his eyes hang the luster of the stars. His bright lips curl into a smile, warm and inviting. He extends his arms and tells me to come here. Dusty! I say, because I feel like it’s strange that he’s okay. It’s as if he shouldn’t be, but I can’t seem to remember why. I want you to see this, Tan, he says. And I have a flashback of looking out over the bay of Blue City, but it’s not the bay of Blue City that he wants to show me. Or the piecemeal barge that was the old hope of that plastic town. What is it? I ask. But he won’t tell me, and instead he wraps his arm around my neck, pulls me in close, and walks right up against me. Together we go up the lighted hill, and then I see the source of it. All of this color and life. It’s the sun. And it’s so bright I have to look away. You don’t want to look for too long, he says. Then he tells me I can look at the other things that it lights up. And I turn my eyes away
from the sun and into his face. I am so close that I feel his breathing. He watches me, and together we are warm and there are no other thoughts. Just the feeling. Slow touches, from a finger and an arm and then, his lips. We kiss and leave from each others’ mouths and I see his eyes again—he’s simple, but he’s here. And there’s no emergency anymore. No running, or quest to find something that’s important. It’s only the sensation of rest. Something stirs in the back of my mind and calls me to question if this is all real—I ask him. He ignores me and then I ask if he’s going to stay. Something nags at me, tells me he isn’t okay. But it doesn’t make sense. He looks gorgeous and nothing could be wrong. I can’t figure out what it is. He tells me he wouldn’t go anywhere for the world. But then he says he wants to get back home, and that I am coming with him. I look around, and now that the sun is known to me, I don’t stare right into it. I see only the green and the beautiful colors of flowers and stalks, but he says he will take me somewhere new. His home. And by the hand, slipping away, he drags me down and over the endless grass. And then there is white tarp. I ask if this is Blue City, and whether or not they replaced all the blue tarps. He says no, this is Leadville. I ask him where Russell is, and Ernest, and Voley, and he tells me that they’re just on the other side of the hill, and we’ll go find them soon. But he wants to show me something.
We slip into the white room, surrounded by the tarp, and he presses close against me. Our eyes lock. He kisses me. His tongue is warm and real and my hands start to explore. His shirt slides away, and so do his pants, and then we begin to move, without looking where we’re going, until we are both pressed in heat, naked, and I hear a noise. It’s twisting metal, a knob, and then steam rises between our mouths, so much that it forces my eyes closed. Soft kisses fall on my mouth and across my cheek and down onto my neck. I can’t see, I tell him, and he tells me that’s okay. Quick and soft and wet, the pecks follow my stomach, and further down, and then he is at my face again, eyes wide and deep, and he squeezes me. It’s so tight that I struggle to breathe, and when I do get a breath in its all steam. I choke for air and suck in breath. He slides his cheek along mine, his lips finding their way to my ear, and there he opens his mouth and bites softly, and then whispers to me: I love you, Tanner. He says it twice, each time slow and full of meaning. The words swell my heart and I follow his own example, and come through nibbling kisses to his ear, where I tell him the same. I love you too, Dusty. And before we can talk more, because I feel as if I’m going to explode, I pull him out of the shower. And then I suddenly recognize where we are, know exactly where we are going. It’s to the bedroom, just down the hall. I’ve been here before.
We find it and fall in together, our arms cradling each other, wet but uncaring, blending into each other. And the sunshine is coming from him now. It’s almost too bright to bear, but I keep looking. His skin, body, eyes, lips, arms, and light. I feel some impossible sensation, too powerful for words, welling inside. It is my mind and my body together, working toward some uncontrollable end. But it comes from without and I jerk upright. I see Dusty scrambling, getting his clothes on. And then again comes an explosion, and the one inside me dies. What is it? I ask him, but somewhere deep inside, even before he responds, I feel like this is déjà vu. I’ve been here before. He tells me they’re coming. The face eaters. And he’s half naked, running off to get a gun. And I’d better get one too. But the tarps begin to turn red. Streaking and then splatters. I can’t move, I yell. But Dusty’s run off. More gunshots erupt. They’re fighting in the other room, and I’m stuck in the bed. Every muscle frozen. Like I’m stuck under water, and no part of my body cooperates. And then, as the walls of the tarp lose the last of their white, I’m paralyzed. Dusty fights the face eaters, just in the other room, and I can’t do anything. And then, with only my eyes working, I see someone return to the bedroom doorway. But it’s not Dusty. It’s a red-haired woman. I feel as if I’ve met her before. We’re not face eaters, she says to me. But something’s wrong with her voice. She starts to walk into the room, and I can see very clearly the red on her mouth, dripping. What did you do! I scream. But for all the power of my throat, I still can’t escape the bed. I’m glued down and she approaches and stands right on top of me. Her face is the same as a red-bearded man I met once. I can’t remember who he was. The hair changes color and I think it might be Russell, but then I remember: I know her and her family. And she tells me again—she’s not a face eater, but I made her one. You made me do this. And her jaws drop toward my face. You did this, she says again, and now the warm drops of blood fall from her mouth into mine. And somehow I know from the taste. It’s Dusty’s blood. And all at once my mind calls up Dusty, but he’s drowning. Face down in the brown sea, and then he rolls up, pale and dead and lifeless and empty. His ribcage is gutted. His eyes are gone and his blood is gone and it’s coming from her mouth because she’s the one who ate him. With a jolt I escape the bed, and her bite. I sit up, no longer paralyzed. But everything is black and dark. And then I realize the darkness has shapes in it. They are Russell and Ernest and Voley. All asleep. And a small light of the stove in between us all.
I slowly come back to reality. It’s still the middle of the night, and Russell fell asleep on his watch. I calm myself down, realizing it was all just a nightmare. And then, in the darkness, I look around. In the corner, nearly as black as the rest of the dead space, but clear enough and standing out, is a man. Watching us all as we sleep.
Chapter 17
He starts to walk toward us. And right before I can reach over and shake Russell he crosses his mouth with his finger—silence. He raises a glint of silver with the other hand to show me why I have to obey. He has a pistol pointed at all of us. And if I wake anyone up, he’ll kill me.
His feet move slowly until the stove softly reveals his face. It’s bubbling and half slime, slime that’s frozen in place, formed by skin. It’s only when he’s right over me that I realize he must be the last snow walker—the old man, disfigured and disgusting, a vacuum of the radiation. I feel at once terrified and saddened. I want to reason with him—ask him how long he’s been here, how long he’s been trapped and alone, and if the others could really have been his family, because he looks nothing like them. Just a monster. I can’t say anything though because of the sudden bang—even though I haven’t moved a muscle, he drops the gun and fires on Russell. I see the bullet go through his head, and just as quickly, before I can spring at him, he points to Ernest and fires, and then to Voley and fires. None of them make a sound, dying quietly. The slime face smiles, his eyes lit by the stove—mad and desperate. I finally release, freaking my muscles from their cement, and charge up on him without even searching for one of our own guns. I point my thumbs like razors toward his eyes. But he’s as quick as he is old and he raises in time to fire at me. The sound comes out in reverse, and I fall. I hear a repeating noise as I lie on the cold floor, something like a loud knocking. It wakes me up.
Shhh! mouths Russell before I can say anything. The gray morning pierces into our room at the top of Nuke Town, and Ernest is over at the window. Watching for something outside. Voley is sitting upright on his haunches looking at us, wondering what the hell’s going on. What is it? I ask, trying to separate myself from the horrible nightmares and the knocking noise. Then the sound comes clearer, separating itself from my crazy dream—it’s someone banging a door down below somewhere—trying to get inside the building. Is it him? I ask Russell. He stands up and extinguishes the stove, rifle in his hands. He drags his sprained ankle along the floor to Ernest by the window, only nodding so that I know I’m right. And it’s as if my dreams have left me empty. Stripped somehow—because the noise has to be coming from the slime face who came through the dark. And none of what happened with Dusty was real, even though it felt so real. And I get the urge to hang onto my sleepiness, force the first part of my dream to take me in again.
Ernest walks back over and hands me one of the guns. Each of us armed, waiting. I leave
Voley and he whines a little, unable to follow me to the window. My entire side wrenches me down, almost to my knees, like the warmth of the fire has brought dead nerves back to life, and I need the cold to kill them again. Russell hears me groan and tells me he has more Tylenol and antibiotics for me. But he doesn’t get them, we just stand still by the window, listening.
It’s too high for me to see down into the snow. I can only see the messy white overhead. I watch the snow drift down in wave patterns and ask Ernest what’s going on out there. He tells me the guy’s trying to get back inside, but that they barred the doors. I remember the keys and reach into my pocket. They jingle and Russell and Ernest look over. I tell them I got them off the rifle man. I can’t remember either Russell or Ernest barring the doors, but I imagine them doing it in the middle of the night while I slept, wandering down dark flights of stairs, blocking everything up and leaving me alone in the darkness by the stove.
Part of me realizes the man will freeze out there. But then I think about the smell in each of the buildings, and the fuel in the basement, and how he just has to get into any apartment and get warm. And I don’t know why I’m worrying about him anyway, because it flashes into my head that he has to be the disfigured man from my dream. Our murderer.
Maybe we’ll have a clear shot downstairs, Russell says. Or maybe we won’t need one. I ask him why not, and he tells me because we’re leaving through the back, and that I should get ready because I have to carry a backpack, hurt or not. At that he hands me pills and a cup of water. Take it, he says. I put the bitter white and cream pills into my mouth and swallow, and then ask him where there’s more water. He points to a dirty plastic jug by the stove. I walk back to Voley and he looks up at me like he wants some too. Bending down to refill my cup, I drink only half and put the rest in front of him. He takes a few licks and stops. Then he looks up again, wondering why he can’t join everyone else and start moving around. Things are going on and he wants to be a part of it. It’s okay boy, I tell him, petting the top of his head.
The Snow (A Post-Apocalyptic Story) Page 16