If the Light Escapes: A Braving the Light Novel

by Brenda Marie Smith

  “We better patrol the park woods before we go home,” I say. “It’s time.”

  “Yep. Time.” Milo veers toward the back side of the park.

  We comb through the woods with our rifles, lugging our jugs of fuel. We don’t see anyone, but we’re breathing so loud that any intruders would’ve scattered by now. We come out of the trees, and I plop down on a picnic table.

  “Shit, man,” I say. “Was that some kind of militia? Why were four guys burning tires this time of night? How many other guys are over there sleeping? What the fuck are they up to?”

  Milo sits down in the dead grass. “Maybe they’re guys guarding their neighborhood?”

  “In camouflage with burning tires? What are we going to do about them? We can’t go back over there to spy on them. They could kill us.”

  “Stay away from them,” Milo says, wincing.

  “They’re more than three miles away, but that’s too close. We can’t go past the park anymore. We don’t want them to notice us.”

  “But there’s stuff at the building site.”

  “Not any stuff worth dying over. Let’s get home. I’m starving.”

  I also need a nap, but I’m not gonna get one.

  I can’t get the neighbors to understand how scary these guys could be. Everyone, even Uncle Eddie, seems to think they’re just men guarding their neighborhood and going overboard about it. Plus, Eddie’s all mad at us for leaving here in the first place.

  “Lots of guys in Texas collect guns and military gear,” Jack says. “This new life gives them a chance to use it. They aren’t smart like you and your grandmother. They feel helpless, and dressing up like warriors makes them feel safer.”

  “Remember how the men here used to burn fires and hang out all night when this first started?” Silas asks. “Before your nana got us organized?”

  “Maybe that’s all it is, but what’s to keep those guys from taking it further?”

  No one has an answer for that.

  The consensus of the neighbors is that we should keep to our side of the park from now on and stay alert. It’s not enough, but no one’s listening to me. Maybe we need to pack up and leave, but where could we go with all these old people and kids? Maybe I’ll give up sleeping and patrol to our east all night every night.

  It doesn’t help for me to worry so much, but worrying is my specialty.

  That afternoon, I’m sharpening tools in the open garage. I don’t notice Alma’s little brothers approaching until they roll a bicycle up our driveway. One of those BMX bikes that tweener kids like Pedro and Chris love so much. You can pop great wheelies with a BMX.

  “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

  Chris, who’s thirteen, gives me a little smile while Pedro, who’s eleven, looks at the ground. These guys are my brothers-in-law, but they’re so shy I feel like I barely know them.

  “Can you fix this bike?” Chris asks.

  “I can try. What’s wrong with it?”

  Chris jiggles the handlebars to show me a wobble in the front wheel. “Wheel’s loose or somethin’.”

  “Or somethin’.” I take hold of the handlebars, jiggling them again. Then I flip the bike over to stand it upside down, and I turn the wheel. “Looks like the wheel hub’s loose. I’ll show you how to fix it.” As I dig around for wrenches, I ask, “How you guys doing? Are things going okay living with the Barneses?”

  Pedro doesn’t say anything. He frowns hard, like maybe he might cry. He does this every time I try to talk to him.

  But Chris says, “Shit, yeah. We have our own bedrooms. We always had to share a bedroom before.” That Chris is an upbeat kid, but I wonder what’s up with Pedro.

  “I didn’t have a room until me and Alma got married,” I say. “I slept in the upstairs den across from my uncle.”

  “Wow. Your house is so big. I thought all you kids would get your own rooms.”

  “Yeah, well, one of the rooms was Tasha’s.”

  “Oh.” Chris looks down with an embarrassed frown. I want to ruffle his hair to make him feel better, but it’s a stupid thing that adults do to kids, and I don’t want to be a stupid adult.

  “Let me show you how to fix a loose hub.” I take off the bike wheel, and Chris bends down to watch me. Pedro slips down to the street to kick a can between the dead cars.

  “Is Pedro all right?” I whisper to Chris. “Does he ever talk?”

  “He used to talk before… you know.” Chris crumples his forehead. “Not so much anymore.”

  “So, he stopped when the sun zapped us?”

  “Not at first.”

  “Did something happen to make him stop?”

  Chris shrugs. “I guess it’s ’cause our parents never came home.”

  “Poor guy,” I say, knowing how Pedro must feel, since my mom was missing for so long and still isn’t “here” for me. My dad’s off in California, I guess, where he’s been since I was twelve. If he’s even alive. You can’t count on people being alive anymore. “You seem to be doin’ all right, Chris.”

  He puffs out his chest. “I have to be. I’m the man of the house now.”

  I bump Chris’s shoulder with mine. “Good man.” Chris blushes, and I finish tightening the hub and rehanging the wheel. “There you go.”

  Chris spins the wheel, then flips the bike upright and jiggles the handlebars. No wobble. A grin spreads across his face.

  “Thanks, Keno!” Chris mounts the bike and pedals away toward the Barneses’ house, where these Ibanez boys live, and where Alma lived until we got married. Pedro follows Chris, kicking his can.

  Alma stops hoeing corn in the Barneses’ front yard to check out the bike with her brothers. I lose my breath just looking at her, with her sleek black hair falling to her shoulders and the love shining on her face for her brothers. When her parents didn’t come home after the solar pulse, she didn’t have any adults to help her, but she kept Chris and Pedro alive. I can’t imagine how hard that was. But I know that it caused her a lot of pain, and her pain is my pain, too.

  Several months after the sun zapped us, Tasha and I went to our mom’s house with Nana and a bunch of neighbors to get supplies. Tasha found Alma and her brothers alone, and Nana said we should bring them to our neighborhood to protect them. Silas and Doris Barnes took them in. Nana would never leave children to fend for themselves.

  Only Alma and I, Uncle Eddie, and Milo live in Nana’s house now. We asked Chris and Pedro to move in with us, but Pedro didn’t want to. He wouldn’t say why, but we think he’s afraid of living with new people. And Chris wants to look out for Pedro.

  “Plus,” Chris said, “Doris and Silas really like us. They’d be sad if we moved out.” I think Alma was a little hurt by this, but she didn’t show it to her brothers.

  This house seems pretty empty now, and sometimes, that makes me ache. For a while, it was stuffed with people. Stuffed to the gills, as Nana would say, if she could talk like herself again instead of like a simple person. I don’t think she’s simple in her mind, though. She’s still thinking the same smart shit she always did; she just can’t tell us much about it anymore.

  CHAPTER 7

  Grandpa will not stop being a dick. He’s out there in the Mint’s backyard, screaming at someone right now. He’s got a damned shotgun, and he means business.

  Uncle Eddie and I frown at each other in our dining room.

  Eddie blows out a blast of air. “We better go see what the hell he’s doing.”

  I’d rather finish my breakfast. I give Alma a look, and she rolls her eyes. I want to kiss her, but Eddie’s already halfway to the Mint’s backyard.

  Grandpa’s been keeping people out of the Mint’s garage all week, and we need to get food and tools out of there. He’s been home for two months, and he’s more of a dick every day.

  “I said, ‘Get the hell out of my yard!’”
Grandpa’s howling, waving his fucking shotgun at Phil Hendrix, who must have gone over there for tools. Phil looks freaked, backing away with his hands in the air.

  “It’s not your yard, Dad!” Eddie yells as we slip through the hedge between our two backyards. “Leave Phil alone!”

  “Shut up, son! Get your pansy ass out of here.”

  “This pansy ass is gonna whip yours to Hell and back if you don’t put down the goddamned gun.”

  Uncle Eddie’s all muscled-up like a wrestler. If he says he’s gonna whip your ass, you’d better run. Grandpa never used to complain about Eddie being gay, but now that the old man’s so angry, he must be letting out whatever shit he’s been holding inside for freaking ever.

  If we don’t get Grandpa under control, the neighbors are gonna run him out of town on a rail. Shit, I might help them.

  “Dad!” Mom calls from an upstairs Mint window. “Cut it out. Put the gun down!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” He’s like a brat kid gone out of control, my grandpa, except he’s got a gun and he’s meaner.

  While Grandpa’s glaring at Mom in the window, Uncle Eddie motions for me to sneak behind the old fart.

  “Don’t try to get the gun, just pin down his arms.”

  As Grandpa turns to re-aim the shotgun at Phil, me and Uncle Eddie crowd up on Grandpa and trap him so he can’t move.

  “What the hell?” he shouts, his skinny shoulders scrunched up between us.

  “Put the gun down,” I say, nice and even-like, trying to be all mellow while my heart’s chugging like a speeding train.

  “Down, Dad,” Eddie says. “I’ll back away, but if you don’t put down the gun, I’ll knock you to the ground and rub your face in the dirt.” Uncle Eddie would do it, too.

  Grandpa must believe this, because he lets go of the shotgun, and it falls to the dirt. The ground’s so hard from no rain that the gun bounces. I dive away from it.

  “Duck!” Eddie hollers, and he sticks his foot on the gun to make it stop bouncing. The gun doesn’t fire, but it could have. Crazy bastard Grandpa.

  Phil’s flat on the ground, his hands over his head, like that would stop a shotgun shell. Aunt Jeri and Uncle Tom run out the Mint’s back door with their mouths hanging open. Mazie’s watching, bug-eyed, through the bay windows. I hate for her to see this shit.

  Grandpa was stunned for a minute, but now he’s mad as a hornet. He shoves Eddie.

  “What the blazes? Attacking an old man! What’s wrong with you, boy?”

  “Dad, you’re a menace to the neighborhood.” Uncle Eddie inches closer to Grandpa’s face. “I’m taking your guns. They’re Mama Bea’s guns anyway.”

  “Bea’s guns, my ass! There’s community property in Texas. Those guns are mine, too.”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and since I’m stronger than you, the guns are mine now.”

  “You don’t respect the laws God made for us. Damned queer.”

  Eddie sighs so deep I think he’ll never quit sighing. He picks up the shotgun, cracking it open to eject the shells.

  “Nice, Dad. Real fucking nice. So, I should give up being a gay man, and I should be a prick like you?” I would melt into a puddle if Uncle Eddie ever stared at me the way he’s staring at Grandpa. For once, the old man doesn’t know what to say.

  “Jeri, Tom, where are the other guns?” Eddie asks with his mouth sideways, still staring holes through Grandpa.

  “Now, Eddie, we don’t need to go that far. He didn’t shoot anyone.” Why is Aunt Jeri defending Grandpa? He’s a total bully, and there’s no compromising with that shit.

  “I’m taking Mom’s guns,” Uncle Eddie says. “You can hold on to one for protection, but you have to keep it locked away from dickhead over here.”

  Tom gets it. He nods and goes inside. Phil brushes himself off and starts slinking away.

  “You okay, Phil?” Eddie asks.

  “I’m good.” Phil’s either awfully hot or he’s blushing.

  “It’s not fair to take the guns from Dad!” Jeri whines. “Mom dumped him like he was nothing. He’s already lost everything.”

  “We’ve all lost everything,” Eddie says. “No one else is threatening to shoot people over it.”

  Aunt Jeri yammers on about Nana hurting Grandpa and everyone ganging up on him, her voice getting more and more heated. I tune her out, the way I have to do if I’m going to have any peace around here.

  Uncle Tom comes back with a couple of Glocks and two bolt-action rifles—I forgot those guns were over here. He’s got the AR-15 strapped over his shoulder.

  “I’m keeping the semi-automatic,” he says.

  Uncle Eddie nods. He’s sad and disgusted. Me too. We take the guns and turn around to go home.

  Mom hollers from her window, “I have a gun, but I’m not telling you guys where it is.”

  Shit, Mom. Why don’t you just invite Grandpa in to rampage through your room and throw your shit around, looking for your stupid gun? She’s not usually so clueless, but this is the new Mom, the wounded and pissed-off Mom. I guess she’s siding with Grandpa, too, still blaming us about Tasha.

  She blames Nana as much as or more than she blames me. I hope Mom gets past that shit soon. Nana may not live much longer, and Mom will be screwed up forever if she doesn’t forgive Nana while she’s still alive.

  “You’re gonna leave me here without a gun?” Grandpa cries out. “What am I supposed to do about these prowlers?”

  “What prowlers?” Eddie and I both ask.

  “These damn people skulking around here day and night, looking for stuff to steal.”

  “Grandpa,” I shout, “they aren’t freaking prowlers. That was Phil. He’s a neighbor coming to get tools. Neighbors need stuff from the Mint to do their jobs and to feed you.”

  “Well, they can’t have it! This is not a charity. I need those tools.”

  “Everyone needs them. That’s why we share them.”

  “I don’t care what everyone else needs.”

  I want to punch Grandpa, but I walk away seething.

  “Time to get to the gardens. We’re late,” I holler to everyone, including the neighbors who are standing around watching. I’m supposed to be in charge of the gardening, like I have any control over these people, especially the ones related to me.

  I’m still all shaky inside when we come into our yard with the guns. I make sure they’re not loaded then set them on the patio table, and Alma jumps into my arms. The minute she touches me, I already feel better.

  We’re still hugging when Jack comes around the west side of the house with his scruffy white mustache, pushing my tiny, wasting-away Nana in the wheelchair.

  Jack parks Nana on the patio. Winter weather in Central Texas goes back and forth between warm and cold, but it’s warm today, so Nana will want to stay on the patio. That makes it easier for Alma to watch over her while Alma harvests greens from our garden before a frost comes and kills them off.

  Nana is like the family treasure. Sometimes I say these things, and Alma tells me I sound like Nana. I was embarrassed at first, until Alma said, “I love it that you admire your grandmother so much.”

  Nana throws her arms out to Eddie, and he stoops down to be sucked into them.

  I look away. I’m afraid Uncle Eddie will cry, and I won’t know what to do if he does. Grandpa saying all that shit must hurt Eddie something fierce. My dad was hardly ever around, but at least he didn’t call me names, act like I’m not even human.

  “Do you think Grandpa’s losing it?” I say to whoever wants to listen. “Like he’s getting all senile?”

  “Might be coming down with dementia,” Jack says.

  “He’s a jackass,” Nana says. Ha! That’s Nana’s word for a dick.

  Uncle Eddie backs away from Nana. “Dad can’t have a gun anymore. T
hat’s all I know.”

  “We have to get back into the Mint,” I say. “People need shit in there. We haven’t had bread for a week.” I never used to cuss around my grandparents until this apocalypse. Nana doesn’t want us to be rude, but she doesn’t care about casual cussing anymore. She was married to Grandpa for thirty years, and he never stops cussing.

  “Let’s think on it,” Jack says. “We can talk about it at dinner tonight. Got to get those pinto beans harvested before a frost comes.”

  “I’ll be planting winter wheat in the park,” Eddie says. “With Phil.”

  Milo comes outside just as Mazie scampers into our yard to join us. They’re going to collect firewood from the park, which I’m hoping will be safe, since it’s daylight, and Phil and Eddie will be there.

  “Take a gun,” I tell Milo. “You two need to help me with the tomatoes after lunch.”

  “Can we eat a tomato?” Mazie wants to know. That girl loves tomatoes.

  “If you help me, you can eat a tomato. The rest of them have to be canned.”

  Alma nods sideways for me to follow her inside. I would follow Alma to Mars if she asked me to.

  As soon as we get in the door, Alma grabs me and French kisses me. If I had my way, I would spend all day kissing Alma, but there’s too much work to be done, so I have to stop.

  “You okay, Keno?”

  “I’m good.” I’m trying to stop feeling rattled.

  “Poor Eddie. Grandpa was so mean to him. And there’s not any other gay men around for Eddie to talk to.”

  “Uncle Eddie’s got his eye on Phil,” I say.

  “I didn’t know Phil was gay.”

  “He seems to like Eddie an awful lot.”

  “Everyone loves Eddie. He’s so good-looking, he’s almost pretty.” She has that funny grin of hers, all crooked and cute.

  “He is awful pretty, isn’t he?” I smile and kiss Alma again, then I grab my buckets, tools, and water bottle, and I head down the block to the tomato garden in old Mr. Bellows’s backyard.