Last Girls

by Demetra Brodsky

  Luckily for Birdie, Mother’s room isn’t underneath ours or she’d never get away with sneaking out to meet Daniel. I’ve only snuck out once, with Blue, and it was to follow Birdie and make sure she was okay. My sisters and I share an upstairs bedroom for sleeping and use the other for doing homework. The extra room is small, more of a walk-in closet that’s filled with supplies we’ve stockpiled. Canned soup and vegetables, dried foods like macaroni and cheese, powdered milk, and medicine. The bedroom and study are separated by a long bathroom with two sinks, accessible by adjoining pocket doors on either end.

  I’ve never minded sharing sleeping quarters with my sisters. We all have our own twin beds. Mine is in a corner since I’m the oldest. Birdie and Blue are in bunk beds. None of our blankets and sheets match like you see in fancy catalogs, but they’re warm and we did get to pick them out ourselves. Sometimes I wish I had my own room, and at least a full-sized bed, but I prefer being near my sisters at all times. Rationally accepting a situation is part of the way we live and train. This aboveground setup prepares us for living in close quarters in the bunker in the event of a nuclear attack or natural disaster.

  “I have zero interest in going to bed,” Birdie says. “Despite Mother and her attempts to baby us into complacency with her dumb herbal tea.”

  She paces around the room and pulls back the curtain, peering outside like she wants to flee.

  “Don’t even think about roaming around tonight. Not after that meeting.”

  “She won’t have to,” Blue says.

  Of all the weird shit Blue has said, this one takes the cake for vaguest. Birdie stares at her like she has gamma rays for eyes and can see inside Blue’s brain.

  Something scrapes against the house and Birdie rushes past me to the window. I follow in close pursuit, and sure enough Daniel is making his way onto the roof. The uneven row of nailhead-sized freckles puckering above his brow.

  My sister lifts the sash and wraps her arms around his neck so quickly he nearly loses his balance.

  “What happened?” Birdie asks.

  “I had to see you before I leave.”

  “No. I meant that literally,” Birdie says, momentarily clueless to his adoration. “What happened? What do you mean leave? For how long? Where are you going?”

  “We did what we were supposed to do,” Daniel says, which tells us nothing. “Dieter is sending me out on a solo mission. Somewhere in the woods. He says it’s a test of fealty. I’m supposed to lie low and retrieve things on a list using a topographic map and coordinates. He expects me back by the time my suspension is over. I saw the list and distance and think I can be back by Monday.”

  “But we never go anywhere by ourselves,” Birdie says.

  “Ansel asked if he could come with me, but his father said no. He wants me to think about how and why I got caught alone.”

  One corner of his mouth twitches, and anyone can see he knows why he got caught but doesn’t want to say.

  “Because of me?” Birdie’s singsong voice quavers. “I think I panicked and blocked pieces out. They say people can black out from stress.”

  My sister is staring at him for answers with the big brown eyes of a doe, her long end-lashes curling and blinking in a way that makes Birdie appear innocent, even when she’s not.

  Daniel shakes his head. “You didn’t black out. You threw the first one.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Daniel tips his head like he doesn’t understand why Birdie is denying her involvement. To him of all people.

  “Yes,” Daniel says. “You did. Annalise pushed you into it. Don’t you remember?”

  Birdie shakes her head. The opposite of Big R Responsible.

  “Did she hit Whitlock’s car?” I ask.

  Daniel nods and I throw up my arms in frustration.

  “My god, Birdie. He’s my teacher. What were you thinking?”

  “Don’t worry,” Daniel tells us. “Dieter doesn’t know you were there, and never will.”

  “She shouldn’t have been there,” I snap.

  “I know. That’s my bad. It got intense. But Birdie’s capable of doing more than milking goats and collecting eggs.”

  “Of course she is, Daniel. We all are. That’s not the point.”

  Daniel’s eyes dip because he knows I’m right. Unlike Birdie, who looks like she just hatched from an egg.

  “Dieter might not know Birdie was there, but Annalise does,” I tell them.

  “Ansel is working on that,” Daniel says.

  Ansel, who couldn’t look me in the eye for more than a few seconds.

  “I’ll come with you,” Birdie says. “All I need is my bug-out bag.”

  “The hell you will,” I tell her. “I’m not going to be the one that has to explain why you’re gone to Mother, first of all. Second, we stick together, no matter what. If you go, we go, and I’m not about to risk facing some huge punishment so you can follow your heart into the woods.” I look at my sister’s boyfriend and he hangs his head. “No offense, Daniel, but I’m not down with all this secrecy.”

  He doesn’t meet my eyes when he says, “None taken,” because his pained gaze is glued on my sister. “Honey’s right. You can’t come. It will just stir up more trouble.”

  “Since you seem to remember what happened, maybe you can explain what the hell you guys were doing in the first place.”

  “I wish I could tell you, but if I say anything else about the mission or where Dieter’s sending me, he said I won’t be allowed back into the coalition. Talk to Ansel.”

  Daniel is quietly confident to a fault. Quick to learn and succeed in all our training. But right now his thin smile is revealing his own apprehension.

  “He shouldn’t go,” Blue says, so quietly I forgot she was in the room. She’s breathing heavier than normal. The words barely escaping her lips. She’s always been like this, an empath in touch with people’s feelings. This time she’s picked up on Daniel’s reluctance to leave.

  “I don’t think you should go, either,” Birdie says. “I’ve never heard of Dieter sending anyone out alone.”

  She glances at me and back to Daniel. Caught in her own struggle with fealty.

  “It does seem kind of harsh,” I offer.

  Daniel looks away and I can’t read his expression.

  “I’m not the first. He sent this guy named Thane out once. He was a guy Dieter knew in the military. He didn’t have a family and wanted to join up with us, but he was aggressive with his opinions on how we should do everything. He thought because they went to Desert Storm together, Dieter would put him in equal control of everything. When he didn’t, Thane tried to recruit Burrowers into a new group. My dad said he thought the guy had Gulf War Syndrome. But Dieter is all about loyalty. If you break that trust, he wants you to prove you’re worthy of staying.”

  “What happened to him? Where is he now?”

  “Dieter sent him on a solo mission to think about what he wanted. He asked my dad to follow Thane to see if he might fake out and circle back. We all thought Thane would leave and not come back. He never fit into the greater group, and because of that they never trusted him.” Daniel shrugs one shoulder.

  “So he came back?”

  He shakes his head and chews the inside corner of his mouth. Reading body language is an important skill for preppers. We use it to assess people’s motivations, based on their energy. I don’t know how Daniel’s parents died, but his energy is telling me this isn’t the right time to press him about it. “Did you bring Birdie’s EDC with you?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “No. Ansel has it somewhere safe.” He peers over his shoulder at the yard like he didn’t come here alone.

  I rush to the window. “Is he out there?”

  Daniel fills up the window with his frame to keep me from looking out, giving me my answer. I turn and grab my flashlight from my nightstand. Before Daniel can even make sense of what’s happening, I yank him into the room by his jacket and take his place o
n the roof. The Burrow Boys don’t make the rules here. I do. I shine my tactical flashlight on Ansel, hitting him with twelve-hundred lumens right before his own light fades and he ducks behind a tree.

  “Why is he hiding?” I snap.

  “Because he brought me out here against his dad’s orders. He didn’t want anyone to know in case someone followed us, or we got caught again. That’s why we didn’t bring Birdie’s bag.”

  I crawl back inside. “You better go.”

  “Don’t go,” Birdie pleads. “Blue is right. She’s always right.”

  “I know. But this is my only home, Birdie. I have to prove myself so I can come back here. To this. To you.”

  Her shoulders sag before she wraps her arms around herself. It’s hard to tell if the visible chill that runs down Birdie’s spine is from the cold air filling the room or Daniel being sent away.

  He removes his army-green field coat and drapes it around my sister’s shoulders. “Take this. Wear it until I get back. It will be like a hug from me every day.”

  I roll my eyes hard enough for a full rotation, because Mr. Chivalry is the one who got her into this mess.

  “Promise me you’ll come back,” Birdie says.

  “I promise, Birdie. I’m gonna do this fast and be back by Monday. End of day, the latest. If anything else comes up about what happened at school, play dumb and DTA.”

  Don’t Trust Anyone.

  “What about Ansel? We have to get our phone and her EDC back.”

  “He’ll get it to you,” Daniel says. “I trust Ansel with everything, even my life.”

  Birdie hugs Daniel tight enough to crack his spine. Normally, I’d look away and give them some privacy, but his gaze is locked on me, making sure I heard him, so I nod without knowing why. My top priority is keeping Birdie from flying out that window. If Daniel thinks something might come up and can’t or doesn’t want to tell us more, you can be sure I’ll do whatever it takes to find out why.

  Before he leaves, Daniel turns and gives Birdie the same crooked smile my middle sister fell for in the first place, all mischief and adventure and promises made with kisses in the dark. “I’ll see you soon,” he says.

  Daniel is halfway down the cucumber trellis when I duck back onto the roof, closely followed by Birdie. When he reaches the trees, he turns and waves. The gulp of Birdie choking back a sob hits me and I sling my arm over her shoulder, pulling her into a sideways hug that she only allows for a few seconds before going inside. Not me. I wait until Ansel emerges from the trees, and just as expected he glances up at our roof, at me, before they jog through the trees to The Burrow.

  “What is happening?” Birdie fusses when I get back inside. “Dieter is sending Daniel out alone, Mother is the leader of The Nest, Annalise looks like she wants to murder us. The whole coalition is in flux.”

  “Did it occur to you that you participated in something that’s creating that flux, even if you supposedly can’t remember?”

  Birdie’s hands jump to her hips. “Don’t believe me. I. Don’t. Care. I know everything can’t stay the same forever. We know that better than anyone. But if Daniel isn’t back by Monday, I’m out of here.”

  “Stop saying irrational shit, Birdie, before I tie you up in a bunker to save you from your own stupidity.”

  “We’ll all see reason,” Blue says nonchalantly.

  My eyes flick to where she’s stitching nothing but eyes onto a ten-inch, stretched hoop, using every shade of blue that comes with a rainy day. All-seeing.

  “You are not the boss of me, Honey,” Birdie gripes, grabbing the comic she’s been working on and flopping on her bed. A comic where post-apocalyptic Bucky Beaverman is wearing his cape and saving us from a dark rabbit hole where Alice, our mother, lives deep underground.

  “Yes, I am. And if I have to tether us together for the next ten days, I will.”

  I ignore her passive grumblings and grab my own notebook so I can write a letter to Bucky, the only person who won’t turn a deaf ear to me today. How’s that for weird?

  Dear Bucky,

  I have been wanting to talk to you since the shit hit the fan. Not in the ultimate prepper way, but still. I knew it would once Blue and I found Birdie hiding in the locker room. I can’t believe she tagged along with her boyfriend on a training mission. She helped them make flash-bang grenades to use as a distraction so they could “get something” for the leader of the prepper compound. Steal something is more like it. Yeah. You read that right. How many ways are there to say dumb? Birdie seems genuinely sorry and distraught. Frankly, everything is a mess. The only saving grace is Birdie not getting caught, otherwise Dieter would be sending her away with her boyfriend, who I don’t like much, to say the least. The leader, not the boyfriend. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I hate Dieter Ackerman, but I’ve been inching toward it for months. I’m still holding out some hope that he’s a decent guy, since he is the one who offered us a place to live where we’ll be safe if and when the proverbial shit hits the fan for real. Stability isn’t something we’ve ever had. Daniel, Birdie’s boyfriend, that messy-haired rebel with a cause who stares at Birdie like the moon rises and sets in her dark eyes, is kind of sweet, if I’m being honest. But he still put her in harm’s way by dragging her along for the ride. And now, he’s off proving himself to Dieter, whatever that means. And tomorrow, the three of us have to go back to school, after I crawled through an air shaft in front of my entire class to escape during a lockdown. You read that right, too. I may have to talk to my chemistry teacher again, who we think is a prepper like us, but could be a lone wolf trying to feel out our group. Most of all we have to try to act somewhat normal, if that’s even possible, because what’s normal? For us, prepared is the new normal. We’ll be the odd girls out in a new and improved way. Rémy Lamar is the only one who won’t treat me any different. But I wish he’d stop trying to take my picture, or get to know me or whatever. Shit! Birdie just started sobbing in her bunk. She’s wearing headphones, which makes me think she might be listening to songs she and Daniel talked about all those times she snuck out. I’ve run out of things to say to her that might make her feel better. She’s not alone. The entire compound got put on curfew. Dieter’s personal version of martial law. Birdie told Blue and me she doesn’t remember everything that happened, but that seems impossible, right? So why is she lying? What if they were trying to steal something for Dieter that could get them in real trouble? Ansel knows. He must. I don’t care if his father said we weren’t allowed to talk about it at school. It’s happening. Ansel has Birdie’s EDC, and a lot of explaining to do. Thanks for listening to me vent. Update soon.

  Love,

  Honey

  FUD

  FEAR, UNCERTAINTY, AND DOUBT

  I LEFT MY EDC in the station wagon, opting to bring a plain black backpack to school. Mr. Whitlock, my prepper-slash–chemistry teacher, is probably right about erring on the side of caution. BSTS. I waited to be summoned to Principal Weaver’s office all day, but nothing interrogatory happened by definition. That could mean Mother handled it sufficiently or it’s still coming. Either way, I’ve championed through the unavoidable speculation of five of my classes. Honestly, I deserve a pat on the back for managing to not give my thoughts to my tongue during this class in particular, because I definitely noticed the eyes glancing my way while Mr. Whitlock taught today’s lesson. Heard the occasional whispers of weird sisters, involved, Daniel Dobbs, and succeeded in keeping my hair-trigger responses on safety. Mr. Whitlock must have heard them, too, because his eyes landed on mine several times. I only noticed because I was watching him like a hawk—no—like Achilles. Anticipating what he might say or do in case I had to swoop in, but he gave away nothing about what happened, and that leaves me waiting for him to yank away the dangling fish he held out for us yesterday.

  For now, he’s letting us use the last twenty minutes of class to make up work from what he termed as yesterday’s interruption. Let’s agree right here and now that inter
ruption is an excellent example of putting it mildly.

  I try to focus on my own paper, but I’m sharing a lab table with Shawna Mooney, Rémy Lamar, and his lab partner, Brian Sharazi, who’s been elbowing Rémy in the ribs for the last twenty minutes like it’s an uncontrollable twitch. I don’t know much about Brian. He’s on the soccer team with Rémy and they hang at the same table during lunch. I saw him there today. Stealing glances at my sisters and me, but mostly Birdie, who was perched on the table with one foot on the bench, legs crossed casually, looking around at, well, everyone, daring them to comment. Other than noticing how often Brian scrolls through social media on his phone to laugh at whatever he’s seeing, the frequency with which he copies Rémy’s work, and his overall lack of participation in class, I know nothing. I’ve never gone to a soccer game to see how he performs on the field, but I’d be surprised if his disposition was any different. In fact, I’d wager he’s a perpetual wingman. On and off the field. Right or left wing TBD.

  THREAT ASSESSMENT:

  BRIAN SHARAZI|5’9” STRONG TO AVERAGE BUILD|CLOSED SOCIAL GROUP|TRUSTING

  MOST LIKELY TO: try and become an internet sensation.

  LEAST LIKELY TO: achieve said level of success based on work ethic.

  8/10 WOULD IMPEDE GROUP SURVIVAL IN AN EMERGENCY SITUATION.

  CASUALTY POTENTIAL: medium

  “Would you stop doing that,” Shawna snaps at Brian through gritted teeth. “You’re only making it weirder.”

  Yes. Please don’t test the oldest weird sister.

  I’m startled by Shawna’s outburst. And thankful for it, truthfully. But when our eyes meet, she shies and dips her eyes to the peanut butter cookies she added to our table on the sly, even though food isn’t allowed in the labs. I read her wrong. Shawna Mooney is a rule-breaker. Still, the static tension in the air around us is higher than if we were doing the balloon experiment all over again. I focus my attention on documenting the chemical reactions, hoping their fear, uncertainty, and doubt about my unconventional exit doesn’t make things weirder.