Chapter 26
The sleep I have neglected these past weeks catches up with me. I can't recall the last time an entire night has passed without a single nightmare playing out in my unconscious mind. It has been even longer since I've had the luxury of sleeping on something even half as comfortable as the sofa. Still, when I wake it is in confusion—in a swirl of color and grogginess. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and it's only when I open them again that I reminded of where I am.
Light seeps into the room, throwing everything in sharp relief, highlighting everything the darkness hid last night. The room mocks me in its preserved state. My parents no longer live here, yet their touch is everywhere: the paintings and rugs and vases my mother bought to adorn the place; the elk antlers mounted in the far corner, remnants of my father's first bull; the bookcase of redwood my father handcrafted for my mother, filled with novels she would devour in the evenings and weekends; all of it exactly as I remember. I wish it weren't. It shouldn't look the same—not when my parents no longer call this place home.
The knowledge hurts more than I thought it would. Last night should have been cause for celebration. I should have woken up to my mother hovering over me in my sleep, telling me she just had to make sure she wasn't dreaming. I should have heard the deep rumble of my father's laughter, asking me if my mother was smothering me yet. Today would have been a new beginning. Instead, it's just more of the same. But just because they are not here doesn't mean they are gone. There are relatives they might have gone to stay with, friends they might have banded together with for safety. If they can be found, I will find them. With that notion I stand and stretch, the last vestiges of sleep escaping me.
"About time you slept through the night," comes Felix's voice, making me start. I look behind me and spot him sitting at the kitchen table. I open my mouth to ask why he's creeping in the shadows but the words never form. They're lost the moment I focus in on my friend.
"Felix...you alright?" The words sound hollow even as I ask them. He sits forward in his chair, elbows propped on the table, hands clasped together and resting against his forehead. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, it's as if the house has claimed him—preserving him in time as everything else here seems to be. I stand a body length away from the table, afraid to move any closer. The singsong chirrups of birds reach from outside, its sound bright and merry and completely at odds with the energy within the room. Felix goes so long without answering I half expect he didn't hear me. Or maybe I really have stumbled into some weird time lapse with everything frozen in place. But finally, he speaks.
"Alright?" The question seems to echo long throughout the kitchen, his voice full of a rawness I missed earlier. Something has changed in the hours I slept, and it's tearing my friend up inside. He moves then, his hands unraveling and reaching for the bottle his body hid from me. He removes the cap and drinks the vodka down like water. He sets it back down so hard its contents would slosh out if they weren't so depleted. His breathing is jagged, and when he turns to face me I feel as if I’ve been drenched in cold water. I've known Felix over half my life, and never have I seen my friend look so lost. "Not really, Moe. I don't think I've been alright in a really long time."
The words don't sound right coming from his mouth. I know they're true. It has been too long since any of us could say we're alright. Still we persevere, not allowing all that's happened to defeat us. That's exactly how he sounds now—defeated—like someone who has been stretched so thin they finally break.
"What happened?" I ask.
He winces at my question. He's scared to go into that place which haunts him. He takes another slam from the bottle, giving him the voice to answer. "They're gone, Moe," he says, his words slurred together and laced with pain. He breathes heavily a moment. "Uncle Frank...Aunt Christina...Lena, Brianna, Rob...they're all gone." The word's tear at my heart. Two months of hell we've been through. Two months of scraping and struggling, fighting off those who would have seen us dead or stranded, all so we might find our loved ones. Yet here we are at the end of the road, still alone in this world except for one another.
"You went while we were sleeping?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
He nods and closes his eyes, more tears leaking out the corners. "I had to," he says. "Went into the garage and took Gene's mountain bike. I know it was stupid...but I had to know.” I understand. It was stupid, but I know my friend, and I believe him when he says he had to go. No sense in lecturing him. I wouldn't have the heart to anyway.
"Your uncle's tough," I say putting an arm around his shoulder. "He's smart and resilient...like you. We'll find our families if they're out there. I know we will."
He shakes his head. "No, you don't get it," he says. "You don't get it; you don't get it; YOU DON'T GET IT!" he repeats over and over, shaking his head, till finally he shoots out of his chair and pushes me away from him. He staggers backward and collides against the wall, it alone keeping him on his feet. Leon is awake now. He stands beside me as we watch our friend unravel. "It's not the same," he says looking around. "Not like this," he gestures to air. "House was a fucking wreck. Door busted open...windows shattered...the inside...so much blood...so much fucking blood...I can't get it out my head...please, God...get it out."
He breaks then. His legs go out from under him and he slides to the floor, curling up in a ball as heaving sobs rack his entire body. Leon and I share a glance, his eyes reflecting the horror and helplessness I feel inside. Neither of us know what to do, or if anything even can be done. Silently, we cross the kitchen and slide down the wall on either side of him, our hands touching some part of him, reminding him we are here.
I don't know how long we sit. I feel like crying, but for Felix's sake, I force myself to stay strong. Still, his family was like an extension of my own. His Uncle Frank, who would take us fishing and hunting and anything else that kept his head under the sun and fresh air in his lungs. His Aunt Christina, who was genuinely the nicest woman I've ever met, but who could turn fierce if anyone crossed her family. Lena and Brianna, twenty and eighteen respectively, who could pass for twins if not for the two-year age gap. And Rob, thirteen and wild as they come. His home was always so warm and welcome, his family so accepting and kind. The thought of them hurt or worse is enough to make me sick.
Emily comes down at one point and witnesses the sad scene. I wave her away, shaking my head before she can ask. She looks confused and concerned, but she retreats back upstairs, trusting me. Finally the sound of his retching ceases, and not long after he's composed enough to sit up straight, resting his head against the wall.
"When does it end?" he asks. He sounds tired, like someone who's had the fight knocked out of him. I can't let that happen. But I can't lie either.
“I don’t know, Chavo,” I tell him. I think to what Elroy told me two days ago, that despite how dark things looked, it wouldn’t last forever. It’s what I tell Felix now. “I think things are going to be bad for a while. Living is the hard road to take with things the way they are. We just have to keep hold of the things that make it worth traveling. If we do that, we’ll see a day when we can put all this behind us."
Leon reaches out and squeezes the opposite shoulder. "We'll get through this, Chavo," he says. "We've been through too much to give up now. We'll find our families. I don't know how, but we'll do it together."
Felix hitches again, but the tears stem quickly. He balls his hands together and wipes his eyes furiously, a sound of pain, of anger—a primal animal roar escaping him as he buries his grief. With our help he makes it to his feet, though he's still unsteady. His face remains tortured, but his eyes still burn, the fight not yet gone from him. He reaches out and takes both Leon and I behind the neck, bringing our heads to his. We stand, forehead to forehead, arms linked across each other's shoulders.
"I hope to God we do," he says. "But if we don't..." he pauses, forcing the grief back down again. "If we don't...you two are my fucking brothers...you're worth traveling dow
n this road with." And with that one sentence, Felix sums up the basis of our friendship.
Not long after, Leon and I carry Felix's unconscious form upstairs to the guest bedroom. The scene feels so strangely familiar to me. How many times over the years have we carried one another after a night of too much drinking? More than I can count. So much has changed since those days. Before, it was always in toast—in celebration of our youth, of our friendship, of the simple joy of being young and alive. It was never to numb our pain or forget about lives. Of course, I can't fault him. Had I walked in and found my parent's home destroyed, I don't know what I would have done—what dark place my mind would have dragged me to. How could I have ever felt bitter about finding my parents home so preserved? The fact alone gives hope they are still alive out there: that they left under their own terms. What kind of hope can Felix have after seeing what he saw?
Lauren, Emily, and Maya sit at the kitchen table waiting for us, worry lines on their pale faces. Emily must have filled them in on what she saw. I take a seat, unable to meet any of their eyes, knowing if I do I'll need to explain what happened. I'm not up for that quite yet. I keep my eyes on the table, on the patterns of grain embedded in the wood, trying to recall better times spent here. But all I can picture is the nightmarish scene Felix must have walked in on. I reach for vodka bottle and take a pull, needing to calm my nerves. I pass it to Leon who drinks as well. I'm tempted for another but I can't afford to numb myself, not right now.
"Ok, one of you needs to tell us what the hell is going on," Emily says, blunt as ever.
I share a look with Leon who looks every bit as unprepared to relay the news as I am. I’m thankful that he finds his voice first. "Felix went to check on his aunt and uncle while we were sleeping," he says. He pauses, picking his words carefully. "The house was wrecked: door kicked in, windows shattered, he said...said there was a lot of blood. He was wasted, so he didn't go into detail...but it had to have been bad to break him like that."
"Shit," Maya breathes quietly. "That's not what you want to hear first thing in the morning."
Emily looks like she's about to be ill. She may not have known his family as well as I did, but she knew them well enough. "What the hell?" she whispers in disbelief. She shakes her head, and when she speaks it’s as if to herself. "Things were supposed to get better here, not worse."
She takes the words right from my mouth. We've spent so long killing ourselves to get here, and in so many ways we're no better off now than we were on the trail. It's as if the trail was our Yellow-Brick-Road: a path filled with trials and dangers, but at the end of which held something that would make it all worthwhile. Now I know what Dorothy must have felt when she opened the curtain, and discovered the truth behind all the lies. If only this too were a dream I could wake from, and find myself surrounded by those I love. My mother and father would be there. Emily, Leon, Felix, as well as a dozen others would be there as well. But then I meet Lauren's eyes, and with a pang, I realize she wouldn't be—that I would never have met her—never felt my heart stutter at her smile, or tasted the sweetness of her lips had this not been real. If ever there was a silver lining in this whole mess, it is her, and I wouldn't trade it away for anything. Watching her now steadies me, reminding me of the future still worth fighting for.
"I know things don't look good right now," I say. "This definitely isn't how I pictured our arrival, but shit hasn't gone how I thought it would in a long time. Still, we find a way to keep moving forward. This is no different. What we need to focus on is where we move on from here." We spend the remainder of the morning working out a plan on how to proceed. Leon, Emily, and I rack our brains, thinking of anywhere our parents might have gone, and who they might have reached out to for help.
"My parents have some friends, but none I'd say they're really close with...not close enough I could see them reaching out to anyway...besides your family," Leon says.
"Mom knew about half the town it seems," Emily says. "Remember grocery shopping with her?" she asks with a small laugh. I can't help but grin at that. My mother could make a trip for bread and milk last half an hour. "Her friend Tammy...possibly Sharon. Maybe. But they both live pretty far out of town."
I shake my head. "They would have checked on family first. I doubt Tammy or Sharon would be alright with so many people showing up on their doorstep. And mom and dad wouldn't have left without them."
"Well, I think we can rule out Uncle Mitch's apartment. And Aunt Virginia’s place has less space than here. That leaves Aunt Claire’s"
"I agree," I nod. "If they were going to try and hole up somewhere, it’s as good a place as any." And it is: a massive two story, five-bedroom house in Rockridge with an attached garage and furnished basement. The location would allow them easy access to hunting grounds, surrounded on three sides by forest at the fringe of town. The problem is making it there while trying to keep a low profile. The upscale neighborhood may be semi-secluded, but we will need to pass through some populated areas to get there.
"We have to wait till dark," Lauren says. "I know I don't know the area, but I can't imagine it smart to move around in broad daylight.
"Maybe Leon and I should scout it out first," I think out loud.
"I don't like that idea," Maya says. "We need to stay together. If something were to happen to either group, the other wouldn't have any way to know about it."
"Leaving together will make being stealthy hard. Especially with all our shit," Leon says.
"It's a risk we have to take," this from Emily. She looks at me. "I don't want to split up."
I look to Lauren. Her eyes tell me all I need to know: if I go, she goes. "Alright, together it is," I give in. I hash out the route we should take with Emily and Leon while Lauren goes upstairs to get Grace, and Maya digs through the packs to get us something to eat. We eat a meal of fruit and vegetables, figuring it best to go through the perishables first. By the time we've finished, we have our route mapped out for tonight.
With nothing left to sort out, I look to keep us busy. We inventory the house, looking for anything worth salvaging. We find little. The kitchen cabinets and pantry are bare as the day they were built. The gun safe sits open and empty in the hallway closet. Leon and I head to his parent’s place only to find it stripped of most everything of value. We do find some useful items, though. Between both houses, we scavenge enough winter clothing to protect us from the brutal cold that’s only a few short months away. There are other odds and ends we add to our supplies, like candles and spare tools, but really there isn't much.
Searching the houses didn't take as long as I'd have liked. The entire afternoon still stretches before us. Everyone meanders about, looking to fill the time in their own way. I have a hard time of it. These past two months have been all go and I've grown used to it. There’s too many hours till dusk. Too many worries ready to burrow into my idle mind.
My thoughts keep drifting upstairs, to the guest bedroom and my unconscious friend. So many memories were had at his Uncle's farm: summer camp outs on the edge of the property, sometimes just the three of us, sometimes a dozen or so, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs and anything else you could skewer onto a stick, getting high on sugar and caffeine, arguing over movies and sports and girls—the things that so occupy adolescent minds, all the while howling with laughter. Then years later, during our final years of high school, on nights when no parties were had and we and other friends would smoke and drink in the barn, passing out in hay bales and the back seats of cars, and in the morning when everyone left, Felix's aunt inviting Leon and I for breakfast. Too many good times to count. My heart hurts thinking of the place defiled and broken.
Suddenly I can't take these walls surrounding me, my body yearning for open space and fresh air. I pass through the kitchen and out the back door. I breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of grass and the sweet rot of fallen apples on the lawn. The grass is overgrown and yellowed, the hedgerow fat and bushy. I smile, wondering what my father would
think seeing his usually spick and span yard so forlorn.
"Needed to escape the house too?" comes Maya's voice.
I look around with a start, spotting her lounging in a lawn chair to my right. "I guess you could say that," I reply. "Felt like the walls were pressing in on me. Too much time on the trail I guess."
She smiles. "Tell me about it. Anyway, it's much too nice out to be stuck inside."
"Goldilock weather," I say.
"Excuse me?" she asks, arching a brow.
"Not too hot, not too cold, but just right," I say, making her snort and roll her eyes. I say this jokingly, but I really have always loved this time of year. The transition phase between summer and autumn, when the green in the leaves start to fade and the temperature mellows out. I wish it could stay like this all the time. I park myself in the chair beside her, sighing as I recline back.
"You alright?" she asks. I give her a quizzical look. "You sound like an old man sinking into a rocking chair."
I laugh. "Yeah, I feel like one sometimes." The sun has just past its crest, already starting its slow descent toward the west. The sky is cloudless, leaving the warm rays unimpeded access across my body, bathing me in warmth. If only I had a beer and some headphones it would be perfect.
"How are you though, really?" she asks, the mocking gone from her voice. She's turned to me, her face concerned. "You're always looking after everyone. It has to take a toll on you." I grow quiet, wondering how much to share. It's not a matter of trust. I trust Maya as much as anyone. But that doesn't mean I want to burden her with all my troubles. She reaches out, grabbing my forearm gently with her hand. "You can tell me. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 29