“Hello, young man. How are you today?”
“Very well. I just wanted to say thanks a lot for having us. It’s really nice of you.”
Connor felt an unfamiliar sensation. It had been so long since someone had been nice to him he had forgotten what it felt like. And to have it come from a child he thought of banishing for even the briefest of seconds made him wince. “You are very welcome, young man.” He hesitated. “Did your mother tell you to say that? Does she even know you’re talking to me?”
“Nope. And nope. But Mommy always says if somebody does something nice for you, you should say thank you. So thanks.” And with that, he skipped away, bouncing a small red ball that he pulled out of his pocket. Connor watched as Blake came out from another corner of the compound. From that distance, it appeared that Jackson had run off and was getting a good scolding. As Blake shuffled him inside, she glanced up at Connor, giving him a slight nod.
Of all people, he thought. The two that he had thought about sending away were the only two to show him any kind of courtesy. Jackson had impressed him that day too…very well-spoken for his age, possibly smarter than his own children were back then—and from what he’d just seen, still smarter than his own son. The girl must have done something right to have raised such a good boy. All those adults around and it took a child to do the right thing, the just thing. For the briefest of seconds, he felt a crack in his thinking, one that made him wonder what else he had gotten wrong.
He came back into the house briefly to get a cool glass of water. He seemed to get dehydrated more easily now, and he wasn’t sure if it was the weather, the situation, or something worse. As he shut the door behind him, he noticed his wife shuffling through the fridge. As he stared at her, it still blew his mind that she chose him. She could have had anyone, but she chose him. He was unbelievably grateful for that, and vowed that even in spite of himself, he would never do anything to destroy it. “How’s the meat coming?”
“Great. Vera has picked up on it pretty quickly, once she got past the smell.”
“Is that right?” He laughed with her, not letting on that he already knew how the situation had gone. “It does take some getting used to. I can hardly blame her for that.”
Kate wrapped her arms around him. “Definitely.” She reached up and wiped her finger across his cheek. “You’re dirty. What have you been up to?”
“Oh just tending to a few things outside.” He gave her a warm smile. “I’m going to go past the gate and see if I find anything.”
“Okay, be careful.”
“Always.” He kissed her on the forehead as he walked out the door. “Kate?”
“Yes?”
“I’m doing this for our family. You know that right?”
She looked at him, an expression of concern sweeping across her delicate features. “Of course, Connor. Of course.”
He smiled as he shut the door, and a part of him realized that he wasn’t just doing it for them anymore, but Jackson as well, the four-year-old boy with the heart of a man.
***
A few nights later, Connor decided it was time to act. Enough time had gone by that he was sure his son wouldn’t catch on that he’d been spied on. Gabriel always came out to the garage after dinner, like clockwork. He’d work there until he went to bed. But this time, Connor would be waiting for him.
He heard his son come in and shut the door. He hesitated before he spoke, lingering in the dark like one of Gabriel’s forgotten projects that had grown a fine layer of dust over the years. He let him set up his work bench and start hammering away before he spoke. “You’re missing some things.”
His son jumped back, in his startle letting the hammer land on the work bench with a loud clatter. “Dad, you scared me. How long have you been in here?”
Connor slowly emerged, his face lit by the weak lamp that rested in the corner of the garage. “I did an inventory of all your weapons, and there were some missing. What did you do with them?” He stared at his son, almost willing him to dare and utter a lie.
But he didn’t. To Connor’s surprise, the first thing out of his son’s mouth was the truth. “I gave a couple to Cassius and Darius.”
“Why would you do something stupid like that?” The clench in his teeth made each word hiss its way out of his mouth.
“Because they aren’t any good to us if they can’t defend themselves. There’s no point. More people are probably on their way as we speak and they’re sitting ducks right now. Just another couple bodies to shoot.”
Connor felt as if he stepped outside of himself to watch as he pushed his only son against the wall. “They’ve barely been here for more than two days! How many times do I have to tell you…you can’t trust anyone but your mother, me and your sisters. How many times?”
“YOU are the one who chose to let them in here! For what? To do our chores? Dad, what are any of these people supposed to do if someone finds us up here? God forbid they grab Harper or Poe. What are they supposed to do to help? Ask them nicely to go away?”
Connor slapped him across the face. “You will show me respect.” As he looked at Gabriel, he thought for just a moment how easy it would be to let him win. It would serve him right if he gave up. Then when people turned on them Gabriel would only have himself to blame. But in the same instant, he knew he couldn’t do that to Kate, Poe, and Harper. He needed to protect them, not only from the new world, but from what he knew would follow.
As Gabriel rubbed his stung cheek, he said, “Maybe you should show me some too.” Connor took a deep breath and let Gabriel go. He hadn’t meant to strike him; Kate and he had never believed in that type of punishment. But a heavy feeling in his stomach told him that what he had built may already be coming apart, and his son could be the one doing the pulling. Of course Gabriel was right: eventually, the new arrivals would have to have weapons. But it would be on Connor’s terms, at his own time. As he marched out of the garage, he heard Gabriel yell behind him, “I didn’t even want to leave ten years ago; none of us did. That was all you!” He heard Gabriel spit on the ground. “You’re going to have to give them a little trust eventually. Or this whole thing is going to go up in flames.”
Connor was afraid the embers had already begun.
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, or were at least in their beds, Connor crept down to the basement. He sat down at the table that they used for skinning and preparing their meats. The blood of a hundred kills had soaked through and dried, giving the table a permanent burnt red color, and a smell that Connor couldn’t forget if he tried.
He couldn’t go to bed, not yet…not before he talked to Gordon. Gordon was up at all hours too, and even if Connor caught him when he wasn’t, he certainly didn’t seem to mind talking. He suspected Gordon lived alone, even before the pandemic hit. Though Gordon had mentioned a wife, he never heard her voice in the background, or so much as a noise from the other side of the radio that would indicate that Gordon was anything but by himself. “Any news, Gordon? I’m sure the looting and rioting is getting pretty bad over there.”
A long pause. “Nope. It’s been so long since we’ve heard anything. I don’t know if there isn’t as much crime going on as we thought would happen or there’s no one left to talk about it.”
“Nothing from your family in Florida?”
“Nothing.” For a long time, the two men sat with each other, somehow side by side yet thousands of miles away. “My niece has a birthday coming up soon. She’ll be turning five. I can’t believe how fast the time goes.”
He thought he heard Gordon sniffle. “I’m sure you’ll hear something by then.”
Gordon forced a good-humored laugh. “I’m sure you’re right. They have a radio too. No reason they wouldn’t use it here pretty soon.”
Connor didn’t tell him the only reason he could think of that they hadn’t used it, because the only thing he could come up with was that they were already dead. “Keep your head up, Gordon. Over and out.”
>
“Over and out.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DREW (before)
The young boy wouldn’t talk about what happened at first. He sat on Drew’s exam table, averting his eyes and staring at a spot on the floor that had been there since a different patient had spilled grape juice years before. Since then, Drew hadn’t allowed food or drinks in the exam room, no matter how much the parents begged him to. Grape juice, like blood, had a way of staying where you put it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?” The boy’s parents were on their way, but they lived quite far out of town, and the beating was so bad that the school brought him to Drew to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. The administration was afraid in the time it would take to get him to the big hospital a few towns over, he might pass out…or worse. So instead, a math teacher who had not been doing a stellar job supervising recess carried a boy named Gabriel Holloway into Dr. Drew Matthew’s downtown office.
The boy remained silent. “Well, Mr. Samson already told me that you got into a fight at school, but I was hoping to hear it from you. I’d rather hear your side of the story than that of a guy who just happened to walk by.”
At that, Gabriel looked up, his expression distraught. “A fight? Really? They came up from behind me. I was on the ground before I knew what was happening.” He snickered darkly. “Not much of a fight. I’ll probably get in trouble right along with them though.” He sniffed and winced as he spoke, his nose swollen from the impact of the other children’s fists.
“Were they in your grade?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He paused and turned away. Drew guessed that he was trying to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. “They looked much taller than me.”
Drew sighed. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Gabriel swallowed hard, and wiped the tears from his cheeks before he turned back, a little boy trying to be the man he wasn’t expected to be, at least not by Drew. “It’s all right. I figured it was coming.”
Drew sat in his chair and wheeled himself over to the boy, trying to meet him as much at eye level as he could. “What do you mean you figured it was coming?”
Gabriel folded his arms across his chest. “People’ve been sayin’ stuff for a while now. Stuff about my dad doing bad things and that’s why we hide in the mountains.” He coughed, and Drew could tell his chest ached too. “I always say, who’s hiding?”
“Sometimes people just don’t want to mind their own business.”
Gabriel smiled slightly. “Well I sure wish they would. I mean we’re just living. No big mystery. Just living. Why does there have to be something more than that?” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair and went back to staring at the floor.
“Good question. If you ever figure people out, will you let me know? I sure haven’t been able to, and I’ve been on this planet a lot longer than you.” Drew gave him a smile, and he was pleased that he got one in return.
Just then Gabriel’s parents Connor and Kate burst into the room. Kate of course dove at Gabriel and threw her arms around him, squeezing his already-bruised ribs. “Mom, knock it off.” His expression was one of a ten-year-old trying to assert his independence, but Drew knew it was pain masked in adolescent rebellion. He remembered being ten once, all sweat and dirt and nonsense.
She realized what she had done and released him. “Oh my gosh, honey, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and attempted to sit up straight. Drew admired the boy for being so young but so aware that he didn’t want to worry his mother any more than she already was. Boys seemed to always protect their mothers, no matter how young or old. It was a universal truth, the same as the world spun on its axis and children had an immense capacity for cruelty.
Connor addressed Drew. “What happened?”
“Apparently Gabriel was assaulted at school.” From where they were standing, Connor and Kate couldn’t see the grateful nod that Gabriel gave Drew when he called the incident by its true name. “They said it was a fight, but Gabriel said the other boys attacked him from behind. He suffered two bruised ribs, one black eye, and his right arm is sprained, but there doesn’t appear to be a concussion.”
“Can we take him home?” Kate asked. She ran her hand through Gabriel’s hair, much the same way he had to himself earlier. Drew wondered if he had been mimicking his mother’s gesture as a form of comfort accidentally or on purpose.
“Yes, but keep him awake for the next few hours, and monitor him throughout the night just in case. And of course, if anything changes, call me right away.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, then flipped it over. “Here’s my home phone number.” Handing it to Connor, he said, “If anything changes; doesn’t matter what time.”
Connor nodded. “Thank you very much, Doctor.”
Kate was already helping Gabriel off the table and out the door. She said thank you as an afterthought, but Drew understood. All she saw at that moment was her little boy, with the whites of his eyes red with blood.
After Gabriel and his parents left, Drew went out to the lobby to file some paperwork and saw that Mr. Samson was still sitting in the waiting room. “Jim?”
“Hi, Drew. Is Gabriel going to be all right? I tried to ask the parents but…”
Drew put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. They had known each other since they were kids, though Drew didn’t like him much. But the nervousness emanating off of him provoked some sympathy from Drew, and he gave in: only a little. “Yes, Jim.” Drew started to walk away, but abruptly turned around: he couldn’t help himself. “What the hell happened? What’s going on at that school?”
Jim sunk further into his chair. “I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden I just heard Rhonda Dailey’s kid scream when she found him lying on the ground.”
Drew sat down next to him. “I’ve heard the rumors going around town…about that kid’s family.”
“I know. Pretty sinister stuff. Patterson said he heard Connor’s wanted in three or four states on the east coast. But nobody wants to call the cops on account of him being dangerous and all. What if the cops can’t catch him? He could retaliate.”
“Yeah that…or it could just be a family that likes to live out in the country, away from people.” Drew suddenly felt the need to defend Connor, not for him, but for Gabriel. “Sometimes I think about getting away too. I don’t think that makes me a criminal.”
Jim scoffed. “Sure, Drew, sure. But I don’t see you inviting those people over for dinner any more than I have.”
Drew got up from his chair. He had conversed with Jim much longer than he was accustomed to, and much longer than he liked to. Sometimes, just a little kindness could make an outcast into a friend, or a monster into a mouse. There was a chance that was all Connor needed, just someone to reach out to him. “Maybe I just might.”
But he never did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POE
The first months after the new group arrived passed by with relatively little incident. Poe wondered if humans were so adaptable under normal circumstances, or did their adjustment come from the world’s force of hand. Either way ended with the same result: a group of people from completely different worlds somehow blending together to help keep each other away from starvation and death.
As she thought about it, she twirled the ring that she wore on her thumb, spinning it around and around, liking the feeling of the metal against her skin. It was her grandfather’s ring, one that she had stolen out of her grandmother’s nightstand after his funeral. She never told anyone where she got it; evidently he hadn’t worn it much. When her mom asked her once where it had come from, she said she’d found it on the ground at the park one afternoon. She’d kept it in her own jewelry box until her fingers were big enough to accommodate it, and ever since then, it remained on the thumb of her left hand. She’d never gotten to know him very well si
nce he lived so far away from them. But for some reason, that day she’d been desperate to have something to remember him by. When she carefully took the ring out of the drawer, she noticed an inscription on the inside of it that read Keep Your Friends Close, and Make Friends With Your Enemies. She realized that inscription helped her know her grandfather more deeply than any story or visit ever had, and she promptly stuffed it into the pocket of her funeral dress.
Her mother and Vera behaved as if the fact they had never been friends previously was some universal, planetary oversight. They laughed like the world outside the compound was going on its merry way just as it had before, and that there was no reason it wouldn’t continue on with the same delightful monotony that most people took for granted. As her mother helped Vera sew some new clothes for the women in the group while they sat in pink plastic chairs on the porch, she asked her about her life before, her love for Drew, and whether or not she believed rosemary to be better than thyme when they used it on chicken breasts. Watching them was like watching a magazine cover play out in front of her eyes, and Poe wondered if they truly believed everything would be okay or they were just very talented at pretending they did.
Her father hardly ever came to check on her, Blake, and Drew while they were supposedly teaching Poe basic medical first aid training. She didn’t know whether to be happy about it or allow the guilt to swallow her whole. Knowing her father trusted her enough to make it easy to hide secrets from him left a gaping hole deep in the middle of her chest, and it sent a twinge of pain through her every time she saw him. Every hug, every smile cut her just a little bit deeper, and every once in a while she wondered if she would be able to keep her secret hidden forever like she planned. But every time she looked at Blake and Jackson playing happily, safe from the world that quietly shattered outside their borders, she knew she’d done the right thing.
Her brother had made the little boy some small wooden trucks from some old scrap he had lying around the garage, and the way they made Jackson smile told her that maybe the wounds were worth it. As most wounds were, because they signified a life lived. It occurred to Poe that she hadn’t had any wounds to speak of since they had gone into isolation.
The Ocean in the Fire Page 13