Cost of Survival

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  She finished her burrito, her eyes tight.

  The creepy sensation around him intensified. How could she handle his arm around her? No other kids in camp? Who was I supposed to talk to?

  ~~~

  I don’t know what I expected for our first night in camp – campfire burning surrounded by a circle of people talking and roasting marshmallows or something. Certainly not Sarge claiming the men from dinner for a perimeter check, while Mom and I returned to our room to wait for Charlie.

  Sitting Indian-style on the hard floor across from the bed, I leaned against the wall. Mom knelt by the bed, but she didn’t bow her head. Instead she lifted her face, as if beseeching the heavens – or the ceiling. I’m not sure.

  Knock, knock.

  Our heads whipped toward the door. Mom’s shoulders hunched when she stood. She straightened them as if making a decision. She didn’t look at me.

  The knock had come from the adjoining door.

  Suddenly, harshness of the reality hit me in the face. I looked at the ground.

  Mom had never loved another man besides my father. She’d never been touched by anyone else. With her faith, she believed in chastity and marriage. Devout loyalty.

  I didn’t want a martyr for a mother, yet she padded past me, her steps short and sure.

  She faltered at the door. We didn’t look at each other, but I sat inches from the frame. I reached out and squeezed her foot. Whispering, I stared at the grains in the flooring. “Mom, we can leave. Let’s go. Don’t do this.”

  “You won’t be safe anywhere, Kel. You heard him talk about the marauders. That’s gangs, Kelley. I can at least do my best here. Don’t let anyone through the other door.” Her whisper barely reached me and she turned the handle, slipping through the doorway like a portal.

  A portal which didn’t block out sound.

  The low murmur of Charlie’s voice and a discordant rising and falling of his tone frightened me. I scooted toward the foot of the bed, staring at the gap under the door. The increasing darkness hadn’t bothered me until that exact moment.

  What if someone did try to come through the hallway door while she was gone? Tom had warned us about the men there. I couldn’t stand fast enough. Trying to push out the thoughts of what Mom had to do in Charlie’s bedroom so that we – no, I – could stay safe, I turned the lock on the door and rushed back to the bed.

  Nothing would get me out of my clothes. I crawled across the comforter and lay down, pressing myself against the cool paint of the wall.

  His voice only sounded distant, not more muffled or even – what I really wanted – gone.

  And like that twelve-year-old I was supposed to be, I plugged my ears with a finger in each and hummed softly to myself.

  I eventually fell asleep like a child hiding from a thunderstorm.

  ~~~

  When I woke I wasn’t in my bed at home with the realization everything had been a dream.

  No, I woke when the door between the rooms creaked open then clicked shut. I stared at the wall in the gray of the night while my mom crossed the floor. I waited for the bed to dip with her weight, but it never did.

  Her restrained sobs rocked the bed softly. A slight shaking from the end of the mattress suggested she leaned on the foot.

  I lifted my head carefully to check on her.

  Simple moonlight spilled through the window revealing my mother’s kneeling form at the foot of the bed. Her folded hands steepled above her head. She hid her face as she cried into the blanket.

  While I had been angry at Mom, sad about Dad and Braden, and confused about the whole war and escape thing – even as prepared as we were – an emotion I hadn’t had to deal with consumed me.

  Hate.

  I have never hated anyone. Or anything.

  Right there, as I lay in that bed, my hatred encompassed Charlie.

  And God.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning I couldn’t look Mom in the eye. So much had been torn from her – her Bible, her security in the group, and her belief in the people she’d worked with, all because of me.

  We plaited our hair into braids, Mom’s a single French down the back and mine in two different trails down the sides inches above my ears. The chill had reached our room and the cool tips of my fingers brushed my neck as I worked.

  I had slept with the bindings on my chest. What if they compressed my breasts so much, I never saw them again? We were taking the whole twelve-year-old thing too far.

  She didn’t speak as we grabbed our toothbrushes and pulled on our sweatshirts. The sun hadn’t been up long and a walk around the grounds as well as a visit to the outhouse before breakfast moved us out of bed earlier than we probably wanted. I would die before begging her to hurry. I had to use the toilet so bad I wanted to cry.

  Opening the door quietly, Mom stuck her head out into the hall and waited. After less than a minute but what could have passed as eternity, she motioned me forward. I followed her, glancing back into our for-now-home before softly closing the door. I wasn’t completely comfortable leaving our stuff unattended, but Mom didn’t have any problems.

  Windowless, the hallway’s dim interior didn’t register the rising sun. On the opposite end from us light illuminated the living quarters and the front door beyond. The house wasn’t huge but more than comfortable for a larger family.

  We tread carefully over the hardwood floor which extended throughout the remainder of the home. Passing a door, I glanced through the small opening of the ajar panel.

  A man’s body lay slumped over a desk. Black flies buzzed over a bloody hole in the back of his head.

  I covered my mouth, smothering my gasp. Mom glanced sharply at me.

  Swallowing, I shook my head and mouthed sorry. She hadn’t seen. I probably wasn’t meant to witness that. Who knows how long he’d been there. Since the uprising Jeanine had mentioned? Obviously there had been more violence than she’d let on. We moved past the door just as the fingers of a horrific odor stretched for us.

  When would the fear stop raging through me? A normal emotion would be so nice right about then. Fear and anger had ruled me since – only a day or two ago.

  Amazingly, the world had slipped into uncontrolled chaos only two days before. Two days. My life would never be normal again.

  At the front door, Mom ushered me through, like she didn’t want me to be the last one in the building. After the man in the office, I didn’t argue or try to sidestep her maneuverings.

  In the fresh early morning light, Mom and I lifted our shoulders as we breathed in. Dad had always called the move our shoulder breaths. I glanced at Mom. Did she remember that? It’d been so long ago.

  She met my gaze, lifting her lip on one side. But her eyes had faded. Overnight my mom had changed. Facing the alterations in the brutally honest lighting hurt worse than if I’d taken her place last night. I reached for her hand, finding hers as she reached for mine. Our fingers clung to each other.

  The outhouse had been constructed on a pier foundation and enclosed with brown painted paneling.

  Groaning and creaking, the steps didn’t like us as we climbed the few stairs to get to the double doors. In a ten-by-ten square, four seats had been built for people to use at once. But they weren’t separated by partitions and they all accessed the same toilet paper which hung from the ceiling on a thick wire.

  Over holes, plastic toilet seats screwed into place on crudely painted plywood. I pushed my lower jaw to the side and bit my lip. Tears threatened and I dashed them away as they overfilled and flowed from my eyelids. Porta-potties had always been the bane of my existence and there they were – something I’d have to live with the rest of... whatever this was.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Mom sighed. She always hated them, too. And now we had to pee in front of each other. Oh, the stupid injustices.

  The freezing cold seat, the lack of privacy, the odor of already spent waste – not one thing could be spun to a more optimistic outlook
. Except my mom and I hadn’t died yet. The thought made me smile in spite of the questionable toilet paper I wrapped around my fingers.

  “What’s so funny?” Mom stood, pulling her pants up, but not before fresh bruises below her underwear line caught my eye.

  I looked away, determined to talk to her about Charlie and our circumstances. We could still leave. Why hadn’t we left?

  “Trying to think of something positive and the first thought I had was we hadn’t died yet.” I followed her actions and stood, lowering the seat and not looking inside at other people’s remains.

  She paused at the door, head tilted to the side as she considered my comment. “I guess you’re right.”

  Accepting a huffing of air from her as the closest thing to a laugh I was going to get, I stretched my arms over my head.

  Outside, no one else had arisen yet. At least from where we stood. Bathrooms were usually very busy places first thing in the morning.

  The meal bell tolled once, the chime melancholy. My stomach grumbled as if on cue. “What do you think we’ll have for breakfast?”

  “Probably oatmeal or creamed wheat. Cheapest stuff to keep on hand.” She didn’t lead us toward the dining area. Instead we headed to the fence-line surrounding the modest compound.

  Built for permanently restricted privacy, the six-foot cedar fence surrounded the compound with determined stalwartness. Along the top of the border ran a two-foot diameter of tightly wound barbed-wire. The glaring points promised a fight and the metal cord wouldn’t lose.

  With my chest bound so tightly, I could run without needing to change. The idea of exercising without fleeing from something or someone sent a thrill of giddiness through me. I glanced at Mom. “Do you want to go for a run? No one is out here.”

  She lifted her gaze from the ground in front of us, careful to study as much of the camp as possible. After a prolonged moment where we trudged forward about twenty steps, she scrunched her nose and gave the barest head shake. “I don’t think we should let them see we can run.”

  I grabbed her elbow, shaking her until she faced me. “Mom, why are we still here? Enough is enough. Thank you for your attempts to keep me safe. We. Don’t. Need. This. Seriously. Enough.” Tears pricked at my eyelids. Why was I so emotional that I couldn’t even plea for freedom without losing it? “We don’t trust them. They’ve taken our stuff. You’ve been... hurt... I mean come on, Mom. What are we doing?” Pausing, I allowed the silence to fill with the rustle of the tree limbs in the breeze. “My virginity isn’t worth that much.”

  “Worth what?” She peered at me, like I knew something I wasn’t saying.

  “Worth the bruises. Worth what you went through last night.” I lifted my jaw, challenging her to deny what I’d seen. I softened my grip. “Or the loss of your beliefs.” Raising my hands like in surrender, I released her arm. “I’m not saying I share the same faith as you, I’m saying nothing is worth trading that part of you, right? If nothing else, we shouldn’t give that up.”

  She avoided me, watching the empty grounds and forest past the fence.

  I nudged her shoulder with mine. “I mean, heck, maybe you and your prayers have kept us alive this long.” My playful laugh hid the sincerity of my words. I had no idea why we were allowed to survive. I couldn’t discount the power of Mom’s prayers and their potential role in keeping us alive. At some point we were destined to join Dad and Braden. Her prayers could sustain our lives there since each word was most likely built out of sheer stubbornness.

  She nodded slightly and faced me. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

  Uncomfortable with my impassioned speech to get through to her that I didn’t want her getting hurt for any reason, I shifted my feet. My stomach hurt. I couldn’t wait to eat – oatmeal or not.

  We stamped around the fence line, careful to keep an even pace, not too fast nor too slow. I understood the concept behind keeping our strengths and weaknesses close to our chests. We didn’t speak as we rounded the last hunting tent closest to the dining area.

  Five women huddled in a group to the side while eight men sat and ate at the picnic tables. Dressed simply in gray cotton shirts and plain worn jeans, the women each had their arms crossed while they rubbed the tops of their arms and kind of jostled in place. The men, however, wore sweatshirts and flannels designed to ward off the chill.

  At our approach, the men’s conversation died off as they spotted us one by one.

  A thin, reed-like man stood, his features tightly pinched together like a weasel’s. “Where’s your man?” He growled, his voice much lower than his body would suggest.

  “My man? Are you serious, Spencer? Don’t talk to me like you control me. I built this place just as much as you did – if not more. I’m here to eat with my daughter. Sit back down.” Mom’s derision drenched the immediate area. Authority strengthened her tone.

  Glancing at each other, the guys sitting looked more constipated than confused. Spencer worked his mouth like he’d been shot and he couldn’t believe it. His face flushed and he barked at the women. “Get me more food.”

  One of them jumped, dropping her arms to her sides and rushing toward the portable camp stove. A huge pot cooked over a propane-fed burner, the lid at an angle while a handle protruded from the opening. The girl fumbled with the lid then replaced it. She turned and ran to Spencer to claim his bowl.

  He reached down and cuffed the side of her head. “I’m waiting you stupid girl.”

  Mom jerked forward, then held back. She’d seen more than she wanted to. So had I.

  “Well, well, you found the place.” Jeanine limped gracelessly under the canopy and grinned crookedly at Mom. Her right eyebrow had been split and discolored to a gnarly purple and red mix, swelling to half-cover her eye. With her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail which trailed down her back, Jeanine’s damaged ear and bruise-covered neck were plain to see.

  Mom sidled toward her, careful to keep us distanced from the men sitting at the table. Whispering, Mom leaned in to Jeanine, placing her hand on her upper biceps. “Jeanine, are you okay? What’s going on? This isn’t what Larry had planned. What any of us planned.”

  Careful to keep her expression light, Jeanine smiled brightly at Mom. She lifted her voice to encompass the group. “Let me show you where the restroom is. Sometimes, it’s hard to figure things out here – since Charlie reorganized things.” She smiled at the men and ignored the group of girls. “Come this way.”

  The last time we followed Jeanine we ended up in a camp where a control freak had taken us to stay in a small bedroom off of his with a stolen gun – who took people’s things no less. Why, then, did Mom follow her so willingly? Why, too, did the men wiggle their eyebrows at Jeanine and catcall?

  Over the yard, the distance to the bathroom went quickly as Jeanine picked up the pace the further from the eating area we got. She burst through the doors and slammed them shut behind us. Leaning against the panel, she slid to the floor, sobbing into her hands.

  Mom flicked her gaze toward me then squatted beside the broken-down woman. “What’s going on?”

  Heaven help Jeanine, if she thought she wouldn’t have to be straight with my mom. When Mom used that tone, you answered or you got ripped a new one.

  Jeanine didn’t need encouragement or persuasion. Her sobs subsided enough she could lightly pant and talk. “This isn’t how life after was supposed to be. Larry had everything planned perfectly. We were all friends before and then Charlie came in and shot Larry—”

  “Is he the one in the office inside the house?” I grimaced at the sharp glance my mom sent me. I ducked my head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Nodding, Jeanine bit her lip. “After he killed Larry, Charlie brought in new people. Spencer and Sarge totally went for it because Charlie promised them all kinds of things – like girls.” She bared her teeth. “Because I can’t think of any girl desperate enough to want a jerk like Spencer, and Sarge is a dumb stupid animal.”
r />   Her assessments seemed spot on. From what I’d witnessed, Jeanine had a firm grasp on the realities of the camp.

  “Who did this to you?” Mom softly pushed stray strands of hair off Jeanine’s face, revealing more scrapes and developing bruises along her hair line.

  Jeanine raised her shaking hand to wipe at her nose, ligature marks bright red and purple on her wrists as her sleeves pulled back. “Those men and some others last night.”

  I gasped. What else could I do? I only ever read about the cruelty of people in banned books we’d traded behind the bleachers at school. Only a few hours into devastation and society had completely disappeared. “I thought this place was supposed to be safe, Mom. Haven’t you seen enough?” People had lost all sense of decency. I grabbed her arm. “Please, we need to get out of here.”

  Clutching Mom’s forearm, Jeanine pulled her close, her one eye wide and focused. “Megan, listen to your daughter. You need to get out now. In between...” She averted her eyes for a moment, lost in a fresh memory burning pain into the creases of her face, then refocused on Mom’s face. “The men were talking about splitting up some of the women, trading them to other camps or groups for supplies.” She bit her lip, peeked at me, then focused on her lap. “They mentioned your daughter.”

  Mom jerked back like she’d been slapped. “We just got here. Charlie promis—”

  Angrily, Jeanine wrapped her fingers into Mom’s jacket. “Charlie, huh? You think he’s so great? He led the activity last night. And he was the one who brought her name up.” She paused, her chest heaving with each impassioned gasp. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

  Slowly shaking her head, Mom whispered. “No. I never would’ve come.”

  Searching Mom’s face then mine, Jeanine drew back her lips in a snarl. “Leave. You have to. Before...” She looked down at herself as if realizing she had survived the incident. Sobbing, she tried covering herself up – even though she was fully clothed. “They’re going to keep doing it. Over and over. They promised.” Her entire body shook with spastic jerks.