Life After: The Void

by Bryan Way

  “Okay…?” I reply.

  “Alright… never try to overturn a vote like that again, okay?”

  “…is this an order?”

  “We put it to a vote, you lost, then singlehandedly overturned it. When you decided to go out for your computers, no one asked me for a chance to consider it…”

  “Don’t get jealous because you didn’t think of this.”

  “I’m not…” He stresses. “If you remember, I wanted one person in charge…”

  “And if we had your way, we’d be fucked.” I suggest.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Anderson… Melody was right, Helen’s dragging him around by his dick… you really want her making all the decisions… you want everyone lobbying for one man’s attention?”

  Rich takes a deep breath and exhales.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Anderson’s been my best friend my whole life… but you and me? We’re incorruptible. That’s why I want to debate you. And I’m serious when I say I’m not just gonna pull this every time the vote doesn’t go my way. This is important.”

  “I agree. So in the future, we both might want to consider giving a little ground to outvote him.”

  I extend my hand and Rich shakes it firmly. “Good luck.” He says, opening the door. “Luck is for the unprepared… I’ll need all I can get.” I say to his back. After checking my watch and discovering I have about fifty minutes to prepare my argument, I adjourn to my new room and start typing a dissertation against Rich’s position. In the midst of this, Melody appears at my door. I hold out my index finger while I finish typing out a thought.

  “I’m on the clock, what’s up?” I say finally.

  “…excuse me?” She asks.

  “Melody, I have… half an hour…”

  “No, no… I get it… I just wanted you to know… whatever you decide, I’ll vote for it.”

  This freezes me.

  “Okay…?”

  “But don’t think it means more than that.” Melody replies.

  “…I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “I’m still pissed.”

  In spite of her cold tone, the implication suggests a level of intimacy of which I wasn’t previously aware.

  “I looked up ‘regret’. It’s not the same thing as what you were saying…”

  “There are semantic differences, but I…”

  “Don’t talk to me like that.” She interrupts. “If you’re gonna finish a conversation before we start it, save me the trouble and keep your mouth shut.”

  I scoff, waiting for more. When she doesn’t continue, I prompt her.

  “Okay…?”

  “Jeff…” She starts, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna be blunt, there’s something here… but I’m not ready to get into it… and neither are you. You’ve gotta be sure first, you know?”

  “Well, it’s not like I have a choice.” I state.

  “…what?”

  “Well… who else is there?”

  Melody stares at me for a long time, seemingly waiting for more. “Fuck you.” She says blandly, vacating my doorway with effortless abandon. I’m struck by the notion that I completely bungled that exchange, but I force myself to forget about it for the sake of preparation. Once I’ve essentially written a thesis, I break it down into bullet points and leave space to write in the margins, aping a tactic I saw John Kerry use in the first presidential debate.

  Before I know it, twenty minutes have passed and I’m more or less ready, so I print out two pages and take them with me to the keep where I find Ally, Jake, Melody, Karen, and Mursak sitting in the first row like Supreme Court justices minus the robes. Anderson’s seated at the desk in front of the room with Helen on the floor at his side, an arrangement I suspect both Rich and I will find unacceptable. “Helen, would you mind?” I didn’t even notice Rich enter, but he’s standing in the doorway with his arm extended to the first row.

  “What?” She asks.

  “Taking a seat.”

  “She’s good here.” Anderson instructs.

  “We need an independent count.” Rich continues. “And we need you undistracted.”

  Anderson looks at me and I nod in agreement. Helen reluctantly pushes herself off the floor, taking painfully slow strides to the platform before slamming into the seat next to Mursak, who visibly edges away.

  “Anderson, do you have any rules on how we do this?” I ask.

  “Uh, not really…”

  “Each of us presents our case…” Rich starts. “We’ll have a coin toss on who goes first. After that, we have rebuttals, then the argument stops and we vote. Anderson steps in if we get out of line, and if there’s a tie, he’s the tiebreaker.”

  “Who’s watching Elena?” I ask.

  “I put her down for a nap when the news came on.” Karen replies. “Does Rob get a vote?”

  “No.” Anderson and I say simultaneously. Rich confirms this with a vigorous head shake.

  “Alright…” Anderson interrupts. “Let’s get going…”

  “Hold on…” Rich interjects.

  As casually as he can manage, Rich pulls a strip of black cloth from his pocket. My blood runs cold as I recall him doing this for Julia only two short months ago. He puts the blindfold around Anderson’s eyes and ties it behind his head. “What…?” Anderson mutters, masking his irritation with an amused smile. “Standard Chinese court procedure… lets you hide your reactions and forces you to listen to the arguments without getting distracted.” Rich’s masterful dodge would have me worried about what else he has up his sleeve, but my heart is already pounding. Helen, who appears to have made a career out of masking her emotions, is attempting to stab Rich to death with her eyes.

  Ignoring her, Rich pulls a coin out of his pocket. As he prepares to flip it, I consider that this may be the first time I’ve seen money used in a few months. “Call it.” He flips it. “Tails.” He catches it and pops it on the back of his hand. “Heads. I go first.” I’m relieved; if I get to go second, I get the last word. As I look at the pages I printed out, my hands begin shaking. I pace toward the wall as Rich leans back on the desk, clears his throat, and looks out at his audience.

  “We live in a simpler time… no government, no money, and no use for how society worked before. If we stay here, that’s what we’ll have. Is that a good thing? Consider the facts. When the militia comes, they’ll take us with the intention of a starting a community. That means more people, more guns, and more food. We’ll be protected by soldiers. More people will mean more skills, more talents, more perspectives… and with government support, we’ll be in front of whatever comes next. We’ll be the first to know when the last one of these things goes down, and when our country goes back to business as usual. Rob can get better treatment with doctors and psychiatric professionals… we can raise Elena in a safe environment. We won’t have to rely just on each other for companionship. We can be protected and integrated in a communal whole. It’s the closest thing we’ll get to the way things used to be. There are… possibilities in getting rescued. It may not happen. But when we put the flag up… at least we have a chance.”

  What a manipulative prick. Despite the fact that he’s acknowledged this isn’t going to end, he’s tailored his argument to appeal to those who haven’t. “Okay, Jeff, you have about a minute.” Sounds like Anderson watched the presidential debates as well.

  “Rich is right. We do live in a simpler time. It’s a new world, and it’s probably something you take for granted every day… but we’re alive. We have food, water, weapons… we have each other. We have plans. There are millions of people out there who didn’t last more than a few minutes… and here we are, because we know what we’re doing. Part of the Fermi Paradox is a concept known as the Great Filter. It suggests that life is uncommon in the universe because something prevents it from flourishing. The apocalypse was our Great Filter. We survived it.”

  I’m still shaking a little bit, so
I lean back against the desk and focus on what I have written.

  “And we did it with each other. Sure, we fight sometimes… do any of you doubt for a moment that everyone has your back? Can you guarantee that with anyone else? If we made it to a military base, or a citadel, would the grass be greener? And who’s to say we’d even make it there? That news broadcast went out to everyone. So there might be people out there looking to take advantage of those who want to be rescued… do you really want to advertise that we’re looking for help? I mentioned the Fermi Paradox for a good reason. You can shout for help in the void… but you don’t pick what finds you.”

  “Rich, about half a minute.” Anderson replies.

  “I’m not saying there aren’t risks, but we have an ace in the hole. Anderson. He knows military protocols. He knows how they’ll come, what they’ll say and what they’ll do. We’ve reinforced this building, come up with fighting tactics, managed our weapons, and come up with evacuation plans for God’s sake… if someone came in here messing around, they’d have more to fear from us than we would of them.”

  “Jeff, your turn.”

  “Okay. I noticed Rich used the word ‘when’ in his debate. That means he expects something to happen. But nothing is certain anymore. We don’t even know for sure if you’d come back after dying a natural death. So if we did get rescued, think about where we’d end up and how many people would be there. Rescue centers fail because you can’t keep that many people calm. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that. And Rich is right, Anderson knows what he’s doing. He trained us. He guided us. He knows that the militias could end up being undisciplined rednecks. He stepped away from his responsibilities in the Guard out of necessity, because he lost his unit. Now he’s adapted… he’s applying what he learned to us, and we’re alive because of that.”

  “That’s time. Who thinks we should stay put and not hang the flag?”

  Surprised with the immediacy of Anderson’s conclusion, I stop myself from looking directly at the audience to avoid the appearance of pleading. In my peripheral vision, I see Melody’s hand go up without reservation. Mursak follows, and Jake’s hand joins theirs. I try to mask my sigh of relief; it’s clearly not a landslide, but the odds are now in my favor. The moment of silence that follows is sufficient to make me wonder if I should announce the count.

  “All in favor of putting the flag up?” Rich asks. Karen and Helen put their hands up, and Ally raises hers a moment later, assuring me a hollow stalemate represented by Jake’s allegiance to Melody and her apparent allegiance to me. At least Mursak agrees with me. “Anderson, the tiebreaker is up to you.” I can feel his eyes rolling around as he attempts to connect with Helen, but I’m the only person in the group who can attest to Rich’s abilities at making blindfolds. Anderson reaches up to adjust it, but Rich steps in before he can. “Leave it on.” Anderson sighs and drops his hands, but nearly all of my attention is directed at potential visual clues from Helen.

  “Alright… we stay put, no flag. But… we get to have another vote at some point… you know, if something else happens.” Rich nods solemnly while I successfully restrain a victory cheer. “Okay…” Rich concedes. “But let’s agree now that we must unanimously decide when that situation arises. We stay.” As soon as Rich finishes, he grins at me and gives me a subtle nod that makes me question his intentions. The group breaks into polite conversation, but as Anderson removes his blindfold, I notice Helen giving him a look that could freeze the sun. His nervous shrug is met with indifference; this, paired with his voting decision, gives me enough insight to conclude that her control over him is less overt than I had previously imagined. After talking to Karen, Rich approaches me with his hand extended.

  “Good argument, my friend. You played that masterfully.”

  “Played?” I ask.

  “Come on… you knew how to put Anderson on your side.”

  “Uh…”

  “…I’m being sincere. That Fermi Paradox bit gave me something to think about.”

  “I didn’t have a clue what else you’d have up your sleeve.”

  “…what are you talking about?” Rich continues after a moment.

  “You know, the, uh… the…”

  “Ah, the blindfold.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Well, desperate times call for desperate measures… what would you say to a drink?”

  “Hell yeah.” I sigh with a laugh.

  Rich and I proceed to the cafeteria alone, where he leads me into the freezer containing some of the less worrisome meat products. When he reaches the cold, dark recesses at the back, he unveils a frosty bottle of vanilla Grey Goose, his mischievous blue gaze disarming me further.

  “Special occasion, you dig?”

  “I dig… I had this once at college… smells amazing.”

  “Well, it’s in your honor… Grey Goose? I never could afford this…”

  I could have lived without that comment, but the satisfaction of my victory has left me on a high. We return to the kitchen, where Rich pours us each a glass and holds his out for a toast. “To burying the hatchet… the democratic process… and blindfolds.” I swallow hard. Rich looks confused.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, I…”

  “Jeff, are you okay?”

  “It’s just, the, uh…”

  I hold out my thumb and index finger and quickly swipe them horizontally in front of my eyes. He gets it. “Oh Jesus, I’m sorry man… god, I wasn’t even thinkin’ about that.” He puts his glass down and hugs me. Though I feel imposed upon for a moment, I ultimately repeat the gesture and feel a little better. I’ll just have to try to put it out of my mind. He picks up his glass again. “To burying the hatchet.” He repeats, and this time I toast him and we both take a drink.

  “You know… I never understood that phrase…” I start. “Why would you bury the hatchet? Wouldn’t you want to dig it out?”

  “Ah, but do you ever forget an argument like this?”

  “I guess not.”

  “So you heal around it… and it gets buried.”

  “Ah… you’re a smart man, Rich.”

  “That means a lot coming from you.”

  I know I can take that remark as sincere.

  “I have to ask…” I start, in the midst of another sip. “I never imagined anything could get you angry enough to wanna… hit someone…”

  “We’re past that…”

  “The hatchet’s buried, right?”

  “Yeah… yeah…” Rich says, finishing his drink. “You ever heard of the hobo code?”

  “…there’s seriously something called the hobo code?”

  “Call it an… informal system of ethics… you don’t mess with kids.”

  “…I don’t know what you’re talking about…?”

  “Anyone who does… we report ‘em. However we can. You don’t hear about a lot of homeless pederasts, do you?”

  “No…” I reply.

  “Sometimes kids run away, you know? We try to send ‘em back. I dunno, it’s… important.”

  “That ever happen to you?”

  “Twice. One of ‘em just went home… the other one wanted to spend the night… you know what scared me most?”

  “That he’d end up like you?” I ask, taking another sip.

  “…no…”

  “…oh… sorry…”

  “No, that’s… it makes sense.” Rich responds. “I was worried some cop’d find us… god knows what he’d think. Wouldn’t matter if I told him I had a kid of my own, y’know?”

  I nod. I think the vodka’s gone to my head, because I feel strangely uninhibited.

  “Whatever happened with that?”

  “Hmm?” Rich hums, sniffing at the bottle.

  “Your kid.”

  “Oh… Kelsey.”

  “…I didn’t realize you knew his name…”

  “Her.”

  “Sorry…” I mutter.

  “It’s alright… would yo
u believe… the same private investigator found me ten years later to give me a postcard?”

  “Wow…”

  “Hardwick, Connecticut. Ally wanted to know if I wanted to meet her.”

  “Ally?!”

  “My w… my ex-wife…” He stares into his glass, taking a wistful sip before continuing. “Alexandria.”

  “Oh…”

  “I knew… I knew if I was gonna meet my daughter… I… I had to clean up. Clothes, a shower, you know… I called Bill up, he said he’d find me when he figured something out. About… three months ago, we got a chance to meet up, and he said he’d put down for some new clothes, a ticket, and a hotel room the night before.”

  “Why the night before?” I ask.

  “So I could shower, shave, brush my teeth…”

  “Right…”

  “After that I was on my own, though… so… all the… pieces… didn’t come together.”

  “Still thinkin’ about it?”

  “…all the same…” Rich shakes his head, his eyes absently scanning the bottle before he pours himself another drink. “What’s past is past.”

  “…what’s that mean?”

  “No point in dwelling on it… can’t change anything.”

  “Of course you can…”

  “…you really wanna push me on this?” Rich sneers, the smiling wrinkles around his eyes flattening as his square jaw tenses.

  “No… I’m just… y-… I’m sorry, man…”

  “Hey, it’s alright. You’re fearless. I admire that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Like you’re unstoppable. Impetuous. You’re young. It’s never… you just… keep going. Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating, right? How about another toast?”

  “…to what?”