As We Know It

by Carrie Butler

“Getting the munchies?”

  “Nah, not me.”

  Now that he’s sparked my curiosity, I have to know what Vincent said. An off-the-record quote has to give some indication of how he feels, right? I fall in step with Red. “I’ll dig you something out of the trash if you tell me what was said.”

  “Now there’s an attractive offer.”

  “Please?” I pout my bottom lip.

  “I think I’ll hold onto it a while longer. You know, just to make sure you stay in line.”

  Stay in line? What’s he think I’m going to do? I’m about to turn up the heat on my interrogation when a volunteer stalks past with a squawking radio. “—anyone have an ETA on that medevac?”

  She jabs the button, shaking her head at no one. “No, what happened?”

  “Damn crowd blocked Tilikum Crossing to stop a truck carrying supplies from PDX. Couple of nasty riot-related injuries. One assumed fatality from a fall. We got the group to disperse before they took the truck, but it’s only a matter of time before they regroup on a larger scale.”

  “I thought PDX was pudding,” she interjects.

  “Outside help’s been landing at Redmond and crossing over.” Reception breaks up for a second. “PDX is just a staging area.”

  “Ah.”

  Red leans in. “Just what they need, huh? More chaos on the river.”

  “The river?” I repeat, nerves twitching on edge. “Didn’t Vincent have to cross the river?”

  “He’s a big boy. Don’t worry.” He tosses his spent joint, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and surveys the field. “Besides, Sellwood is nowhere near the real mass hysteria. Did you hear about the fires up north? They just got ‘em out a few days ago.”

  “Well, that’s comforting.”

  “Easy, boss,” he coos. “The only things your man will have to worry about will be standard fare. You know, aftershocks, landslides, damage—”

  I don’t hear anything after that, as I follow his gaze to the ravaged morning horizon. Vincent’s out there somewhere, trying to go it alone so he can shield me. But who’s watching his back? This isn’t the time for pride or even well-intended sacrifice. We both agreed before. The only way to get out of this mess is together.

  Red leans down, in front of where I’m staring. “Now, hold on. Don’t jump to any—”

  Screw it. Before I make a conscious decision to move, my borrowed sneakers are already pounding the grass, barreling around the trees toward Hamilton Street. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know the general direction I have to go. There’s no way I can sit idly not knowing what’s happened to him. What if he… ?

  No. I can’t think like that.

  “Hey, hey,” Red calls, catching up and blocking me in a few gasping bounds. “If we’re going somewhere, at least warn me next time.”

  “I think you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty for two hundred bucks,” I assure him. “I appreciate the thought.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay.”

  He tosses a glance at the nearest house that’s shifted off its foundation, lips pursed and uncomfortable “Look, I need a distraction and you need a guide. Can’t we just help each other out?”

  “What’s in for you?” I ask. “Distraction doesn’t trump danger for a sane person, so what’s your deal?”

  God, I feel like Vincent. This whole trek has got me paranoid.

  Vincent… Damn it! I need to move.

  Red rubs his beard. “That transparent, huh?”

  Oh, crap. Is he going to jump me, too?

  He starts chuckling, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Elena, I’ve got cancer.”

  Shit.

  The antsiness buzzing inside me bottoms out. “W-When… what kind?”

  “Pancreatic,” he answers in a quiet voice. “Found out a week before the quake. Stage three.”

  “Shit.” I say it out loud this time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  He holds up a hand. “I’m not looking for pity. You asked my deal, and that’s it. Without a natural disaster, I was looking at a one-in-five chance of making it through the year. Now? Forget it.”

  “You’re just giving up?” My mind races for something, anything, we can do. Sure, we just met, but he was right. I could totally see us becoming friends. There’s gotta be something.

  “Am I not being brave enough for you?” Red’s smile turns grim. “Are you going to take my ribbon away?”

  “Come on. You know that’s not what I mean.” Exhaustion and pain have surfaced to mingle with a stunned sense of injustice, and they’re all closing in on me. I see it now. In the sunlight, his skin, gaunt and sheened with sweat, has that jaundiced tone to it. Tears prick my eyes. I had no idea. “B-But why didn’t you tell the BEECN people? I’m sure a cancer patient would be given priority for medical evacuation after the urgent traumas.”

  “And what would they do for me there?” he counters, still soft-spoken. “I’m not taking someone’s bed who has a fighting chance, especially under these circumstances.”

  “Then…” I wring my hands. “Why did you agree to keep an eye on me? A gun to your head couldn’t have threatened your outlook that much.”

  Red blows out a deep sigh, palms up. “Wouldn’t be the first time I got sweet-talked by a handsome stranger.”

  “He does use that face of his, doesn’t he?”

  “And those abs. The dude just appeared at my side, barely outlined by those generator lights, saying he had a proposition for me. I mean, who does that?”

  “Oh, geez.” I wipe at my face, barely stifling a laugh. “Then he pulled the gun on you?”

  “What? No, I thought you knew I was kidding!” Red gives a bark of laughter. “He really had a gun?”

  “Uh, yeah!”

  We’re both laughing now, standing in the middle of the uneven street like a couple of loons.

  “Look,” Red starts, holding his sides, “I know I’m not your first choice of traveling companions, and I’ll probably yack at some point on the way, but I do want to come. I promise I’ll get you to Sellwood.”

  “Won’t that exacerbate your condition, though?” I gesture at his body, not knowing where the hell I’d find a pancreas. “I don’t want to steal any of the time you’ve got left.”

  That sounded awful.

  “You wanna know what my plan was?” he asks. “I was going to travel. Everywhere and anywhere. I was all set to blow my bank account and just… live. Until I didn’t. So, if I can’t go peacefully in the mountains, maybe I can go out kickin’ in a disaster. Cancer can blow me.”

  How on earth can I possibly argue with that? As sick as it makes me, I nod along. “Fine.”

  “Yeah?” He’s back to grinning now.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. “You can join my squad or whatever. Let’s just get moving.”

  Red claps his hands. “Hah! I knew you wanted a squad. All right, I got this. We’re going to stay on Hamilton until we see Dosch. Should be on the right somewhere. I forget how far. After that, we’ll swing a left onto Sunset, where I fully intend to sing.”

  “I take it you’re from around here?”

  “Oh, yeah. My rental is doing a face-plant off its foundation a few blocks north of here. What about you?”

  “I’m a transplant Seattleite whose lake-adjacent home has probably slid into mush.”

  “Sounds like we’re both in good shape, then.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Red grins again, a growing hallmark of his. “So, you’re ready?”

  I nod. Despite my best efforts to block it out, his mood is contagious. “Guide me, oh Sherpa.”

  ❇ ❇ ❇

  Red struts ahead of me down Sunset Boulevard, gesturing at nothing. “Then you’ll see Vincent and be like, ‘Everything’s as if we never said goooood-bye!’”

  “We didn’t say good-bye. That’s exactly how it is.”

  He snickers.

  Oh.
r />   “So help me, Red!” He’s spent the past half hour incorporating song titles from the musical into relevant conversation and waiting for me to realize. “It’s not even about here, is it? I thought it was set in California.”

  “Hush your mouth. We don’t say California here.”

  “Chico blanco loco,” I mutter, shaking my head. It’s strange how taking lawn detours around power lines becomes second nature. “How far now?”

  “We just need to cross Route 10 near the ballet—and don’t you dare judge me, because I drive past it every day on the way to work, thank you very much—then we’ll cut through the high school parking lot. From there, I think Vermont picks up on the other side. We’ll follow it to whatever the next road is, and then on to Southwest Fifth Avenue.”

  “Okay?” That doesn’t tell me much in terms of our proximity to our destination. We agreed to try the BEECN where Vincent’s family is camped out first, since that was where he was headed. If he’s not there, then we can assume the worst and start looking.

  “Give me a second. I’m working without GPS here.” Red closes his eyes. “Okay, we’ll be near Fulton Park then. We should be able to take that road that runs over I-5, and then wind down a few roads to the bridge.”

  “Oh.” I let out a breath. That sounds doable. We can manage that, right?

  “See? I’m helpful.”

  “You’re better than helpful. You’re… hope.” As soon as the words leave my lips, all blood drains from my head in a dizzy, mass exodus. “That was so insensitive of me. I’m sorry. I just meant, you’ve really boosted my spirits and—”

  “Honey, I’ve got hope.” he cuts me off, unfazed. “I’m blowing this Popsicle stand and heading to a place where my body and the ground won’t conspire to kill me. Don’t worry.”

  We cross the street by a gas station with broken windows, maneuvering around motionless traffic.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Of course. Haven’t you been the past six days?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  I don’t know what to say to him at this point. What words of comfort can you give someone so serenely fixated on their own mortality? I sigh. “Do you want to sing the duet from Sunset and not think about it?”

  “Is that even a question?”

  Luckily for us, I had a musical playlist dedicated for nights Brent wasn’t home. I’ve got Betty’s part down pat.

  We belt out the number in a fit of laughter, complete with facial expressions and drama, up until we end up behind the high school stadium. It’s a nice break from reality, but that’s all it is. A break, a crack in our shared resolve. Exhaustion is giving way to hysterics, and we both know how easily emotions can shift.

  “Hey,” he pants, bent with his hands on his knees, “hear that?”

  I nod. I do hear muffled voices, but the whole scene is giving me déjà vu. If we come across some weirdo in a Crown Vic, I’m bolting.

  We pass behind the bleachers and my breath catches. Barely a day ago, Vincent and I were together in a very similar environment. Who knew we’d end up like this today? Separated, our growing bond severed without warning. It’s all I can do not to stop and try to recount it all, figure out if there were any signs I’d missed, but I know there’s no time for frivolities. We have to press on.

  “I think we found another BEECN,” Red tells me, nodding toward the field. “I would ask if you need to stop and use the bucket, but you already took care of it behind that tree, so…”

  “I’ve been living in the forest!” And it’s not as if I enjoyed it, anyway. The less access I have to drinking water, the more it burns. I can hardly stand the thought of going anymore.

  He bumps me with his hip. “Uh-huh. It does look like they have extra tents, though. Think they’ve got food?”

  “One way to find out.” I sound calm, but I will scale the fence if I have to. My stomach grumbles are getting violent again.

  “There’s the opening.” He points toward the middle of the lot.

  “Right.” Did not see that.

  We make our way among the masses, and sure enough, some religious group is serving soup under the tent—soup! My mouth waters at its tantalizing, bland-but-edible aroma, and I speed walk to the end of the line. Right now, I’d eat the Styrofoam bowls if they’d let me.

  Thankfully, no one bats an eyelash at my lack of pants. They pour us each a bowl of brothy goodness and move on to the next person with vacant smiles. It would be hard serving so many like this. Physical strain aside, you’d have to witness a constant parade of everything the quake left in its wake. The mourning and the broken, the starving and the injured. No one has it easy anymore.

  No one.

  We don’t take long to eat, and sadly, Red doesn’t hold it down long, either. He gets sick in the parking lot behind the school, but keeps on truckin’. I refrain from calling him a trooper or anything else to make him feel like more of a spectacle. Instead, I step over a tree limb and say, “What? You couldn’t hit both of my shoes?”

  He wipes his chin and flashes me a glimpse of that grin of his.

  Another round of urban wandering brings us to Fulton Park. Funny, when I packed for this trip, I never thought I’d end up seeing so many of Oregon’s parks. They’re pretty nice, destruction aside.

  “Are you kidding me?” Red yells, as we turn the corner.

  “What? Oh. Shit.”

  There, maybe fifty feet ahead, the bridge spanning I-5 is out.

  CHAPTER 21

  “So, what do we do?” Red asks, approaching the trench. “Climb down?”

  “When in Portland, do as the Portlandians do.” I nod toward the folks crossing the standstill interstate, like it’s the easiest level of Freeway ever. They must’ve made it down and around the rubble all right. “I’m surprised things are still so civilized, to be honest.”

  He shrugs and nudges a little pile of dirt that skids down the steep bank. “We’re pretty chill here. All we really want on any given day is to have a little brunch, take our dogs to the park, and then spend the afternoon upcycling a curbside credenza.”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but now’s not the time for an in-depth analysis—especially when dogs are a topic of discussion, which makes me think of Gizmo.

  Which makes me think of Naveen.

  Which makes me think of Vincent.

  Which makes me spiral.

  I shake my head. “Let’s try it. We’re burning daylight, and I want to make a push for the next bridge.”

  We link arms and start down through the foliage. The first few steps are fine, but then—oh! Fast, fast, fast. Damn you, momentum. Our connection is severed as we stumble to the bottom and have no choice but to fling ourselves over the concrete barrier.

  “That was fun,” I groan, kneeling on the other side. It’s been six days, but the cuts slashed across my stomach are still tender. That stunt did not feel good.

  “If you thought that was fun, you’ll love the median.” Red gestures to where reflectors line the top like protective scales.

  Crap.

  “Think we can vault it?” I flex my dirty, bandaged hands, willing but reasonably doubtful. My adrenaline-fueled superpowers have long since run out, and my chafed thighs are in no shape to run for it.

  “If you can get your foot up that high, I can give you a boost.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m six five. I think I can manage a crumbling three-foot barrier.”

  I mimic his words in a demented chipmunk voice as we cross the first three lanes. Do all the men in my life have to be so annoyingly confident? And to make matters worse, he’s right. A boost is all I need to find a foothold and propel my panty-flashing self over the side. He has no trouble following solo. Sickness be damned.

  We scramble across the other side and up the hill like we’re being timed on an obstacle course. As the bushes scratch my already-shredded legs, something cold hits my cheek, and I look up. Within seconds, the clo
uds give way to pelt the broken ground, further complicating our route. Of course.

  A shimmy between houses brings us down yet another steep bank, and then around the bend of a residential road. It’s all downhill from here. Literally. From this high up, if you look between the houses, you can make out parts of the—”River!”

  Red laughs. “Quick on the uptake, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t realize we were this close.” I wriggle through an opening in the chain link fence separating us from the grassy edge of the bluff. Despite the sudden downpour, the air up here is thinner, laden with chemical-tinged smoke that turns my stomach. I pull the collar of Vincent’s t-shirt over my nose and immediately wish I hadn’t. Both because it hikes the hem up another few inches and because it bombards me with memories. His woodsy scent still lingers in the cotton, like he was just here. If I close my eyes, the breeze almost feels like a touch, a caress…

  God, I miss him.

  Is that ridiculous? Who’d have thought spending every waking hour in a life-or-death situation with someone would ingrain them so deeply in your soul. I shake my head and look around. Portland could be a scene from a dystopian movie from up here, dark with smoke lingering over the city like a fog. I crane my neck and lean as far as I dare. The whole north end of the river looks like it’s been ripped from the map, charred banks slipping into putrid, oily water. I knew this was a major shipping route, but… damn.

  “Wow.” Red comes up behind me. “Worse than I thought.”

  Vincent was right not to let me see Seaside from the vista. This kind of view is sickening and disheartening and… every other -ing word I can imagine.

  “See that bridge?” he asks, raising his voice as he indicates a surprising survivor of the mass destruction. “That’s our ticket across the river. Supposedly, only a few of them made it.”

  “Lucky us.” Or not. In my experience, a stroke of luck usually begets something worse, but I smile anyway. “Better get to it, then.”

  As we make our way down, the neighborhood gives way to once busier city streets. Skyscrapers line the horizon until we make an abrupt turn and head toward the tree line again, winding down to lower elevation alongside hundreds of tiny rivulets. “You know, we’re heading to Bend after this. We’ve got a friend recovering there, if you’re up for a walk.”