The Meek (Unbound Trilogy Book 1)

by J. D. Palmer

  He pulls out a pack of American Spirits as he looks around the group. No one says anything and he shrugs and lights up. Silence but for the inhale and exhale. We watch him spew smoke as if it were some sort of novelty we had never seen before.

  I was never a smoker, hated to be around it, but to my surprise I find myself enjoying the sickly sweet smell. It gives a sense of normalcy. A brief moment in which we are just hanging out having a BBQ.

  Steven leans back, cigarette held out to the side as if he is about to discourse on something philosophical. “Beryl is a weird name.”

  John nervously laughs. “Geez bro.” He casts a worried glance at Beryl, but she shrugs, gives a nod. “Steven was never the best at making friends.”

  Steven’s turn to shrug.

  I’m getting sleepy. I don’t know why I’m so tired. Maybe the adrenaline from earlier. The tension from when I met the brothers. Maybe I haven’t recovered as fully as I thought.

  I’m not going to last much longer.

  I don’t want to leave the three of them alone. I wonder where the brothers are going to sleep. I wonder if Beryl will be able to sleep knowing they are close. I glance over at her, still holding a gun, eyes catching the light of the setting sun.

  “What are your plans?”

  John cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you staying here? In the city?”

  The brothers look at each other. “We don’t know yet. I don’t think we can stay for long. Not sure where to go, though.” John looks at me. “We just wanted to find people.”

  We sit in silence after that. Eventually Steven pulls his pack up by his head and lays back in the grass. Blowing smoke circles until the cigarette is finished. Soon he is dozing. John surprises me by reaching out a hand. I shake it and give a nod and head inside feeling an odd sort of sad. I don’t see if Beryl shook his hand too, though I doubt it, and she follows me in shortly after. I take the floor and let Beryl have the couch.

  I wonder if they will be there tomorrow. I hope they are. They didn’t have to say it for me to know that their parents are dead. And their friends. At least for Steven. That is a man who is grieving heavily. And he can’t talk about it any more than I can. But maybe that’s why we seek out each other. To share just the smallest amount of our burdens with someone can give us relief. A respite in order to accept what has happened rather than be driven into despair by the weight of it.

  It’s still pretty awkward with everyone the next day. We aren’t dead or in shackles so I’ll take it as a win. I know Beryl didn’t sleep a wink. She goes through her morning routine like a zombie.

  It’s hard watching her be so tense. And the brothers sense it. I think they are more afraid of her than they are of me. Steven keeps his distance. John tries too hard to make headway with her.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks. She doesn’t do anything, stretching the moment before giving a small shrug and walking away. I resist the urge to tell him to leave her alone. I don’t know what she needs.

  I don’t feel very good. I shouldn’t have carried that damn grill down. My sweat stinks, a nauseating chemical smell that reminds me of hospitals. Must be the antibiotics. I eat part of an apple and drink some water and find a quiet spot on the balcony upstairs. It’s overcast today, a thick marine layer greying the sky and pushing smoky clouds of mist through the trees. A flock of birds take off, black forms that flit through the air only to disappear into the thick fog. The air is chilly and silent, only interrupted occasionally by the call of an animal.

  I wonder if I would have noticed the beauty of this beforehand. Doubtful. I would have been on my phone. Or watching people. I rue the many moments I’ve undoubtedly missed.

  Jessica was good about that. Going for hikes and putting the phone down for dinner. We went to a concert once and I tried to take a picture of the band. She took my phone away and reamed me out. “Why are you recording this? You’re here! Be here!” And she flicked my nose and made me dance with her.

  I feel bad thinking about her, the knot in my shoulders coiling deeper. I should be up. Packing. Planning. Fucking driving.

  I totter down the steps, hand on the rail. I feel the sticky sweat under my eyes and on my neck and hope it’s just the humidity.

  “You don’t look so good.” Steven leans against the wall smoking.

  “Thanks.”

  John comes outside at the sound of voices. “How did you sleep?”

  How do you think?

  “Fine.”

  They stand there, John relaxed with a waiting smile, Steven aloof against the wall. I guess they are waiting on me. About what we are going to do. I don’t know how to start the conversation about leaving. “What were you guys planning on doing? Before meeting us?”

  They share a look and Steven gives me an odd look. You asked them this yesterday. John lets me get away with it. “Just find people. That’s it.” They speak in Japanese, Steven tensing and speaking in short staccato bursts. It irks me that they are carrying on a secret conversation.

  “What?” I ask. They don’t say anything and I am forced to let it drop. If I’m not going to tell them about Stuart I can’t force them to talk to me about their shit.

  “Well. We need to get ready to go. Beryl and I are heading… north.” I look at both of them. “I guess I don’t know if you want to come with us or not.”

  John gives me a weird look. “Of course we do. Look, Harlan, maybe one day we’ll part ways. But we need other people. We need to find each other so that we can find hope. You know? A reason to carry on.”

  There is a small amount of desperation to his words. Behind him I see Beryl in the doorway, watching. Steven kind of grimaces at the words. I wonder what was going on in his life before this. The way he looks at the emptiness around him is… sad. But angry. There is something dark and turbulent behind his eyes. As if the world got what it deserved.

  I turn back to John and nod. I want to warn him against being too idealistic. To watch out for the Stuarts of the world. But at least he has hope. I’m not going to take that away from him. Besides, I need to sit down.

  We plop down in the grass and discuss what we will need to do. Supplies we need to get. Beryl brings me a bottle of water and some pills. I am exhausted. The day has barely begun and I want to crawl back into bed.

  “Harlan?”

  I look up. They’re all looking at me. Shit where was I?

  “Yeah.”

  They exchange glances. I rub my head. “Sorry, I’m… Not feeling so hot.”

  “It’s okay.” John is all fatherly worry. I think he would pat my hand if he could get away with it. “Steven and I will go get some stuff. You should take the day to rest. Recuperate.”

  I don’t remember what I said after that. I remember telling Beryl not to worry and then I remember falling into the couch. I remember hoping that I wouldn’t dream.

  My body shuts down, relapsing as the infection in my neck returns. I am unable to leave the makeshift bed for the next couple days. I wander through a grey landscape between waking and sleeping, only occasionally escaping the delirium to drink some water.

  Beryl hovers by my side, one hand on her gun. The other ready with more antibiotics or water or food if I can choke it down.

  I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of heated whispering. Steven is standing ten feet away, his hands in front of him. “It’s me. Fuck, Beryl, it’s me.”

  Beryl is standing above me, gun raised towards Steven. A long moment before she drops it to her side.

  “Fuck, girl, more of that and I’m going to start getting offended. Fuck.”

  Silence as the two face off. Beryl lowers the gun, slowly, but she keeps it in hand.

  “Just getting some water. For fuck’s sake.”

  He edges backwards and out of the room. Sleep reclaims me as I stare at the silent statue of Beryl as she keeps vigil over me.

  Chapter 14

  The pills Beryl puts by the water glass brook no a
rgument. I don’t disagree. I’m feeling worse today than yesterday, a free fall back into oblivion. I swallow the white, chalky tablets and sit on the couch and pretend to be okay as if fooling everyone else will somehow make it true.

  The brothers are playing cribbage without a board, John keeping tally on a piece of paper. Beryl sits across from me, perplexed, watching the brothers out of her periphery.

  She scribbles a note and folds it before handing it to me. I know the brothers see it. Hell, she made no effort to be discreet. Makes me feel a bit like I’m in high school.

  I’m going to get food. You need to stay awake.

  I look at her and nod. She raises her eyebrows and scribbles on a new piece of paper.

  Keep your gun handy.

  I nod again. I’d be doing that regardless of the presence of the brothers.

  “You guys need anything? Beryl is going out to get some food.”

  She gives me a dirty look.

  “Pack of smokes,” Steven says without looking up.

  John immediately stands up. “I can go with you and help.”

  Beryl shakes her head and heads out the door.

  John could say something. I would. But he just sits back down and shuffles the deck of cards.

  I lean back into the couch. I listen to them play cards and get a kick out of the petty bickering that grows as the game progresses. Steven wins and they deal out the cards again. The scrape and slap of cards shuffled. Dealt. The murmur of totals counted. The scratch of pen on paper. Repeat.

  To my chagrin I fall asleep, awaking from my doze with a jolt.

  John sits alone at the table. Sits alone at a table more dimly lit than earlier and stares intently out the window.

  “Where is… Where is your brother?”

  John is startled by my voice. He jerks around and then stands up and walks over to me.

  Something is off.

  “Beryl has been gone a long time. Steven has gone to look for her.”

  I surge to my feet. Wobble. Sit back down. Force myself to stand again.

  What the hell…

  “Why didn’t you… Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  He puts out a placating hand, touches my shoulder. I knock it off.

  “We thought you would try to go out and look yourself. You can’t, you’re too sick. I’m sorry that we didn’t—”

  I stumble past him. Furious and worried and lightheaded. I get to the door and fumble with the handle, frustration making me slam it wide once I get it open. The evening sun is too bright. It hurts my eyes. I lean on the doorframe. My head feels like the inside of a cloud, swirling and murky and far, far too light.

  “He left an hour ago. Harlan. Stay. She can’t have gone too far and if we all…”

  He trails off as I take off towards the road. Fuck waiting. Fuck this. I’m mad at him for not waking me and mad at myself for not being awake. She told me to stay awake. Fuck. I should have been there with her. She shouldn’t have gone alone. Why did I let her go alone?

  John is walking by me now. I veer left at the road and head towards the orange tree. She’d stick to a route she knew.

  Right?

  Right?

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  If someone took her again… I could never live with myself. What if she is chained again? What if I can’t find her?

  I stumble down the sidewalk, eyes barely open, arms out in front of me like a man fumbling down a hallway in the dark.

  “Har!”

  John’s hand clamps on my arm and I swing around. If I was stronger I would punch him for stopping me. I can’t stop. I need to find her.

  He points.

  I squint up the street.

  Beryl and Steven walk towards us. Slow.

  I’m so relieved I almost collapse. I find that I am leaning on John, his hand on my arm holding me up.

  Beryl is limping. Steven holds his arm to his chest and there is blood. Blood on his forearm and dark marks on his jeans and why is Beryl limping???

  “Beryl!”

  I try to yell, all my worry and fear in that one word. She waves a hand at me, a small back and forth letting me know she’s okay, a rueful grimace on her face.

  We slowly make our way back to our temporary home. Not that far at all. But a long journey now that I’m without the help of adrenaline. And fear. And weak with relief.

  Inside John plays doctor, bandaging his brother while I help Beryl. Her pants are torn and there are swollen punctures on her calf. Small holes and gashes that still trickle blood.

  “Dogs,” Steven says.

  “What the fuck?” I say, even having had my own encounters with the animals. I’m still amped up on worry and the frenetic, albeit short, burst of activity.

  “There was a bunch of ‘em, man. Like they were a pack.”

  He hisses in pain as John pours rubbing alcohol over a tear on his arm.

  Beryl pulls the pad and paper to her and writes, pauses, then writes some more.

  “I was stuck on top of a car.”

  And below.

  “He saved me.”

  She looks at Steven and there is something almost apologetic in her eyes. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a pack of crushed American Spirits. She slides them across the table to Steven.

  He grunts a laugh, face still twisted with pain as his brother cleans his wounds.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Days and nights blur together as my body fights the infection. And finally starts to knit itself back together. My neck hurt so much that I had ignored the pain in my knee where I had fallen running from Stuart. I had disregarded the ache in my back where he had hit me with the chain.

  I don’t know if I was aware of my limp. Or of the way I sometimes hold a hand over my ribs. Or rub my neck. My body was messed up for so long that only the return of a modicum health reminds me of their presence.

  I wake to the sound of Steven’s voice. I turn my head and see Beryl sitting on a chair opposite of me. Steven is at the window with a piece of paper. I think he is sketching.

  “He doesn’t mean any harm, he just talks a lot. Likes to fix things. That’s why he’s a lawyer. He was always playing peacemaker with our parents.”

  Beryl is listening, but she isn’t giving much in the way of response except for eye contact. Steven lights a cigarette up by the window, turning now and then to blow the smoke out through the screen. I think Steven is done talking after mentioning his parents, but after a minute he continues.

  “John is the type of guy who used to invite the kids who bullied him to his birthday parties. He wants to be friends with everybody. It’s annoying as fuck.” He chuckles and turns to Beryl. “You like this? I’m designing a new tattoo.”

  Beryl hesitates but then goes and looks at the paper. “That’s what I did. Before this. She looks at it and then makes a weird face that makes Steven laugh. “At least you’re honest.”

  Beryl returns to her seat and I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep until my subconscious decides to do it for real.

  The next day we wake early. The brothers have somehow contrived to make pancakes on the grill, a small gesture that speaks volumes. I walk outside to eat, feeling like I’ve risen from the dead. By the looks given to me by the brothers I guess I look like it too. I eat, feeling stronger than I have in awhile. Beryl helps me change my bandages and it takes three dirty looks before John stops asking how I’m feeling.

  “How many days?” I whisper to Beryl. She contemplates for a second before holding up three fingers.

  Three days? Fuck.

  I try to figure out just how long I have been away from home. I don’t know how long I was at Stuart’s. I think it was over two months. It felt longer than that. Add the two weeks I was alone at the beginning. Plus the time here.

  I’m so sorry, Jessica.

  “We leave today.”

  The brothers exchange looks.

  “You sure you’re up for it?” John is skeptical.

 
; “I’ll be fine.”

  I am tired of being ill. And if we don’t leave now a part of me is worried I’ll wither away to nothing. I need to move, so I ignore the looks they give me.

  I heat water and show Beryl how to make cowboy coffee: pour coffee grounds in boiling water and then let them sit. After a few minutes add cold water to make the grounds sink to the bottom of the pot. It’s not tasty, too watered down, but it’s worth it for the smell.

  We examine the atlas as we eat, not even looking at Montana but focusing on the best route out of the city.

  “Yo, as soon as we get to an open road, think of the fucking cars we can get.” Steven is ready to go.

  The pancakes fill me up quickly. I am still so very thin compared to what I used to be. So is Beryl. I don’t know if we are ready for this. I am restless, I want to get going and get home, but I start to fret about my decision to leave. I wonder if we should stay here for awhile, fill up on food and regain our strength. I wonder if that is logic talking or if I’m simply afraid of getting home and finding death.

  We agree that taking the 405 freeway is our quickest bet, even walking. Driving is out of the question until we clear the congestion, and going down alleys and side roads would take time without the guarantee of progress.

  I rub my eyes and take another gulp of the watery coffee.

  “What happened to you?”

  John is watching me with concern from the other side of the table. I find my hand is running the circle of scar tissue around my collar.

  “Your neck, I mean.”

  I shake my head. “Long story. It got infected.”

  “We don’t have to leave today, you know, we could…”

  He trails off at my look.

  “Well, we will just have to take it slow. Don’t push yourself.”

  He slowly gets up and walks out to help his brother pack. I know I should say ‘thank you’ or something but I don’t. Beryl looks at me from the couch and raises an eyebrow.