Me and Sam-Sam Handle the Apocalypse

by Susan Vaught

  “Charlie’s wearing a cone,” I said.

  “He’ll get all that off in a few weeks with the cast,” Aunt Gus explained. “The mobile vet said he’d be fine.”

  “We’re okay,” I said, still hugging my dog.

  “We’re okay,” Aunt Gus echoed.

  “But we’re not,” I said. “We’re not, Aunt Gus. Dad’s hearing is tomorrow, and I never found out who took the money.”

  Aunt Gus made an effort at smiling but didn’t quite get there. “Sweetheart, Avery is nothing but toothpicks and peeled roofs. I doubt they’ll even have court tomorrow.”

  “But what if they do?” I had to hold my breath between sentences not to cry. Hold, release. Hold, release. “We don’t have a house anymore, and they could take Dad, and—”

  Hold, release. Hold, release.

  “Hush, Jesse. Don’t do this to yourself.” Aunt Gus kept her hand on Charlie but her eyes on Sam and me. “It’s just a hearing. We’ll get through it.”

  I had let my father down, even though I had tried so hard to find out the truth. I felt like trash. I felt like dirt. I felt like—I felt like—

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.

  Then I got terrified about something totally new, that there wouldn’t be any bathrooms, that I’d have to hike into Pond River Forest to do my business.

  But Aunt Gus took Sam from my arms, and with Charlie thumping and snuffling behind us, she led me through the gigantic, sectioned tent, then out one of the open flaps into the gray, misty morning. Every one of my muscles complained when I moved. I felt like I’d run ten marathons, or how I’d imagine that would feel.

  Behind the tent, I found a giant row of plastic, square things, blue and no bigger than a closet.

  “Knock yourself out,” Aunt Gus said, pointing to them. “But you might want to hold your breath.”

  I opened the door of the first blue closet, which was labeled JOHNNY’S JOHNS, EVENTS AND EMERGENCIES.

  Okay . . .

  A few gaggy minutes later, I managed to pee into some unspeakable blue liquid and stumble back out, never wanting to see anything blue again.

  Aunt Gus had gone back inside with Sam, and I wished she hadn’t. I could have smelled his fur to get that . . . blue out of my head. My brain itched and twitched as I hurried back into the first open flap I saw. Instead of finding Aunt Gus and Sam on the inside, though, I ended up at a table stocked with pastries and cups of coffee, with people standing all around it talking and eating. Most were dressed in rumpled and torn clothes, streaked with dirt and black stuff. I knew some of them from my neighborhood. Others were strangers, and there—oh, great. Three familiar cockroach faces, and one of the police officers who arrested Dad, the dark-headed one, in his wrinkled uniform, standing next to the two people I least wanted to see, other than Chris and Trisha and Ryker.

  Jerkface and the cockroaches noticed me but didn’t say anything awful, probably because grown-ups were standing beside them. Ms. Jorgensen nodded at me. I had never before seen her look dirty and so . . . unpressed. Coach Sedon saw me, too. He didn’t nod. He held his splinted hand to his chest and looked down instead. I noticed his whistle was missing from his green basketball uniform, and that his arms had cuts all over them.

  I rubbed my hands together, then winced from all my own cuts, the ones I had gotten rescuing my aunt. I wondered if Coach Sedon had helped rescue people from that house where I saw him and Ms. Jorgensen, when Springer and I had been running to save Sam-Sam—

  Oh.

  Wait.

  I froze in place as my mind shifted through sights and sounds from the last day, and I thought hard about going past the place that used to have AJS-green shutters on the front, and no flamingos anywhere in the yard, and shutters in the back that I couldn’t trespass to count. The house Dad had told me to stay away from before, because of illegal businesses like . . .

  But . . .

  Ms. Jorgensen and Coach Sedon had been standing around outside that house, even though Coach Sedon was supposed to be at the hospital getting his hand fixed.

  My own hands stung, and my muscles ached, and my nose was still full of blue nastiness, but I started walking. Right past Jerkface and the Cockroaches I went. Then I passed the officer who’d tried to steal my father, and I went straight up to the bad guys.

  Coach Sedon kept his hand cradled and his head down.

  “Good morning, Jesse,” Ms. Jorgensen said.

  From somewhere back in the tent, I heard Aunt Gus say, “Oh, no. Derrick? Hey, Derrick? Better come in here.”

  Then I heard her coming, stomping on the grass, Charlie making his bulldog-snarkling sounds with each step she took.

  Sam got to me before anyone else. He danced on his back feet and scratched at my legs, and I picked up my baby even as I kept my eyes on Coach Sedon’s hurt hand, so my brain wouldn’t itch any more than it already did.

  I pulled Sam close, imagined myself made of as much steel as Mom, and said, “So do you have a drug problem, or a gambling problem, Coach Sedon?”

  The background conversations in the tent snuffed like one of Aunt Gus’s cigarillos when she stepped on it. People started moving away from us in a hurry, clearing space until it was just the seven of us standing in the area.

  “And there it is,” I heard Aunt Gus say from somewhere behind me. “Too late again.”

  “You can’t talk to my father like—” Chris started, but Coach Sedon silenced him with a single look.

  Then Coach Sedon faced me, took a slow breath, held his hand even closer, then let the air out just as slowly. “Since you asked, Jesse, I have a gambling problem.”

  “Good for you,” Ms. Jorgensen murmured to him.

  “That’s why you were at the bad house during the storm,” I said. “You went there instead of getting your hand fixed like you were supposed to.” My gaze shifted to Ms. Jorgensen, and I stared at her elbow. “And you—you went to get him.”

  “I did,” Ms. Jorgensen said.

  “All those times you haven’t been at school when you were supposed to be,” I said to Ms. Jorgensen. “You were out trying to stop Coach Sedon from gambling, because you’re his friend, and you wanted to help him. You went to that house to get him the day of the staff meeting, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Ms. Jorgensen said. “I really was trying to help. To give him a chance.”

  “Go away, Messy,” Trisha said.

  “Don’t call her that,” Springer said as he came jogging up beside me. “Ever, ever again.”

  Aunt Gus stepped up beside me, too, holding Charlie in her arms. She said, “I’ll second that. No name-calling, or the dogs start biting.” Her tone turned chilly. “And I don’t mean the four-legged ones.”

  Trisha closed her mouth and looked miserable, and also like she hated me and maybe Sam-Sam and Aunt Gus and Springer, too. Ryker wouldn’t look at me, a lot like Coach Sedon. Trisha did, though, and so did Chris, who said, “You three and those nasty dogs need to move away from us.”

  “That’s enough,” his father snapped.

  When Chris looked at the officer who’d arrested my father, the officer swallowed his bite of donut and said, “Hey, it’s a central disaster response tent. Everybody can be here until other shelters are set up. You’re free to leave if you want, though, seeing as you and your dog didn’t spend their night helping save people.” To me, the officer said, “Want some juice and a pastry, Jesse?”

  “No, thank you,” I told him. Then I glanced at Springer.

  “Morning,” he said.

  Taking strength from my friend and my aunt standing right beside me, and the fuzzy war dog of fury in my arms, I made myself focus on Coach Sedon again. “My father has a hearing tomorrow. Can’t you just tell this officer here how you took the money out of Dad’s desk during the staff meeting, then took it to that house to pay your gambling debts? Don’t let him have to go back to jail. Please.”

  “He won’t go to jail.” Coach Sedon finally looked at me
. Well, more at my dog, but close enough. “Fines and community service, maybe. I didn’t take the money, kid. Sorry.”

  Ms. Jorgensen turned to Coach Sedon and cleared her throat.

  “What?” Coach Sedon adjusted his injured hand. “I didn’t take that cash.”

  Ms. Jorgensen frowned at him. “When I took you to square up with the bookie Monday evening, you paid an amount very close to what was stolen. I’ve been waiting for you to come clean about it.”

  Coach Sedon shook his head. “No. The cash I paid was our money. Chris got it from selling that motorbike he didn’t use anymore. Boy wanted to help his family, so I let him.”

  All eyes shifted to Chris, including mine.

  My father made it over to us. Dad was about to say something to me, but Aunt Gus stopped him with a “Shhhhh,” and she pointed to Chris. “Not now. I think he’s about to confess.”

  “No,” Trisha said. “He’s not.”

  But she sounded shaky. She sounded like she was starting to cry. Chris blinked at her. A cloud of feeling seemed to cross his face, but I couldn’t tell what feeling it was. The police officer stood a little straighter, sipping his coffee, eyes laser-focused on Chris.

  Chris ran his fingers through his hair, then sighed. “Okay, yeah, it was me. I wrecked that bike months ago, Dad. But I heard you and Mom yelling about the gambling stuff, and how much you owed, and how it had to be paid right away. I knew you needed the money.”

  My heart thumped against my chest, once, loud and hard, and I almost woozy-swayed like Aunt Gus had done the night before.

  Sam-Sam chose that moment to wiggle like crazy, but I held him as Springer’s shocked voice said, “You stole the money out of Mr. Broadview’s desk, Chris?”

  Trisha started to cry for real. Ryker tried to put his arm around her, but she punched him in the shoulder. Coach Sedon gaped at his son, and Ms. Jorgensen seemed to be in shock. She just stood there, fidgeting with the button on her torn, raggedy blouse.

  “Are you confessing to the theft, young man?” the police officer asked.

  “Yeah, I’m—” Chris started to say, but Trisha stepped between him and the rest of us.

  “No, he’s not,” she said. “Because he didn’t do it.”

  “Yes, I did.” Chris tried to come around her, but she held out both her arms and blocked him.

  “Chris didn’t take the money,” she repeated. She lowered her arms, and when he came up beside her, she smiled at him. Like, a real smile that changed her whole mean face into something softer, more peaceful. “But he is trying to take the blame.” She swallowed so hard I could hear it even feet away. “Thanks for that.”

  Then, before anybody could say anything else, Trisha looked at my father and said, “I took the money out of your drawer.”

  Nobody seemed to be able to speak.

  Except, of course, me.

  “Your sister’s friend saw the amount and said something to you and Meredith, and you knew it was there, right?” I asked.

  Trisha nodded. “It was one of the days we were waiting in the band room for Nancy to drive us home. I got to your dad’s room during the staff meeting, before the doors got locked at the end of the day.” She shrugged. “It was easy. I thought if Chris’s dad could get out of trouble, then he’d stop being so tough on Chris, and Chris would—I don’t know. Be himself again. Settle down and quit being a butt.” Her eyes flicked to me for a hot second, then to Springer, and back to Dad again. “I didn’t know you would get blamed for it, Mr. Broadview.”

  “Touch coming,” Dad said to me. Then I felt his hand rest on my shoulder, and he squeezed it gently. I was glad, because I still felt dizzy.

  “I’m sorry,” Trisha said, sort of to everybody, but mostly to Dad.

  “Thank you,” Dad said, but he didn’t tell her it was okay, what she did, stealing stuff and letting somebody else get in trouble for it, no matter how good her reasons might have been.

  Chris just stared at Trisha. He looked sad. Then mad, like the guy that helped Ryker smack people for fun. Finally, he said, “You think I’m a butt? I just confessed to save you and you called me a butt?”

  Trisha gave him a pained look.

  Ryker ignored Chris and put his arm around Trisha’s shoulders. “Do you have to arrest her?” he asked the police officer.

  I realized the officer had put down his coffee and donut when he dusted his hands off and asked Trisha, “Where are your parents?”

  “They work at the hospital,” Trisha said. “They’ve been there all night. My sister’s there, too, helping out with paperwork.”

  “It’s why she’s with us,” Coach Sedon said. He nodded at Ryker. “His dad’s a lineman and his mom’s on the city council. They’ve been at it all night, too.”

  “Why don’t we head over to the hospital to chat?” the officer said to Trisha. To Coach Sedon and Ms. Jorgensen, he said, “One of you got a functioning vehicle? It might be nicer if you drove her.”

  Ms. Jorgensen raised a hand, then fished keys from a pocket in her slacks. “My car’s two streets over. Come on, kids. Let’s do as the officer asked.”

  Coach Sedon immediately walked Trisha and Ryker and Chris out of the tent, with Ms. Jorgensen bringing up the rear. She stopped at the tent flap and glanced at Dad.

  “Derrick,” she said.

  Dad nodded his head once, like he understood whatever Ms. Jorgensen meant to say.

  The police officer stopped in front of Dad and stuck out his hand. As Dad shook it, the officer said, “Looks like we’ll get this cleared up soon, sir. You and your daughter get some rest and take care of yourselves.”

  “Thanks,” Dad said.

  Next, the officer stopped in front of me. “Good job in that apocalypse last night, Jesse.” He smiled at Sam-Sam. “And you, too. He’s what kind of pup?”

  I started to say Pomeranian, but Springer beat me to it with “War dog of fury.”

  The officer laughed. “You bet. War dog of fury it is.”

  He turned to leave the tent, then lifted his hand to shield his eyes against the sunlight trying to break through the crowds outside. “Looks like some news vans coming.” He turned back long enough to give me a wink. “Suspect they’ll be wanting to talk to you.”

  Then he headed on out, like that was just the best thing ever.

  I stood like a frozen statue, holding my wriggling dog in arms that suddenly felt a lot like concrete. Heat rose from chest to my neck to my cheeks, and that dizzy sensation in my head got even worse.

  “News,” I echoed. “Talk to me?”

  “Oh, crap,” Aunt Gus said.

  “I’ll handle it,” Dad told us. “Be right back, Jesse.”

  “But why do they want to talk to me?” I called after him.

  After a few seconds of silence, Aunt Gus said, “Honey, you and Sam and your father helped save thirty-two people before the search-and-rescue teams got here with their big dogs and equipment.”

  My woozy feeling doubled, then tripled. I really did sway on my feet.

  “Help?” Springer asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He steadied me with hands on either side of my waist.

  “Thirty-two?” I asked Aunt Gus. “Like, three tens and two ones?”

  “Sixteen plus sixteen,” Springer said.

  “Four times eight,” Aunt Gus agreed.

  I took myself out of Springer’s steadying grip and sat down on the damp grass floor.

  Sam-Sam stayed in my arms, then shifted himself to my lap. I picked him up and went nose to nose with him, gazing deep into his liquid black eyes, feeling absolutely no brain itch at all. “Springer was right,” I told him. “You were never a bomb-sniffer. You were search and rescue all along.”

  Sam wagged his fluffy tail and licked my nose.

  “You okay, honey?” Aunt Gus said. “You know your dad won’t let those people talk to you with all their flashy lights and microphones, if you don’t want it.”

  “I don’t want it,
” I told her. I shut my eyes and hugged Sam, and realized I didn’t want to open them. My arms and legs felt so heavy. My brain felt heavy. Snips and snaps from the night before zipped through my mind. People being pulled out of broken houses. Dad carrying me. Sam barking.

  We had done that. Helped those people. Sam was a warrior. I had been a warrior, too, with my father’s help.

  And we knew who took the money.

  Dad wasn’t going to jail.

  My heavy muscles turned all floppy, and I said, “I really need to go back to bed.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Aunt Gus agreed. “Want me to carry you?”

  “No, thank you,” I managed, and somehow, I got my dog and my shaking self to the far side of the big tent where the dividers were, and into the little cot where I had spent some of the night.

  After helping to save thirty-two people.

  I covered Sam-Sam up with the sheet, then pulled it over my head.

  I heard Aunt Gus come into the little section behind me and sit in the folding chair.

  I heard Charlie grunt.

  I heard Springer say, “I’ll stay right out here, Miss Gustine. They’ll have to come through me first.”

  Sam settled under my chin, and seconds later, I tumbled into deep, blessed nothing.

  Epilogue

  After Sam-Sam and I Handled the Apocalypse and Helped Save Thirty-Two People

  Sometime later on Tuesday, I had a vague memory of Dad carrying me into a home that smelled like fresh sheets and vanilla, with a hint of pot roast. It smelled so good I dreamed about potatoes and carrots and thick roasty gravy on fresh bread. Every now and then, Sam licked my ear and woke me up, but I went straight back to sleep.

  When I woke Tuesday night, I finally got some of that roast. Ms. Regal had made it, and I found out we were staying with them until our insurance company could process claims and help us rent a place while we rebuilt. I sat at their dinner table with her and Dad and Springer. Mr. Regal was out working, and Aunt Gus was out walking the dogs.