Chapter Text
i.
“I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society”
– Henry David Thoreau
.
Harry’s hands are shaking.
The forest looks solemnly back at him, stoic and unmoving, save for a gentle sway of the winter air. The sky above him is straining, full with dark clouds that promise fractured change. He strains his ears for the snap of a twig, trains his eyes on the ground to spot the movement of a chipmunk, and is gifted with nothing. There is no movement behind him, either, the road empty. He stands still in dead air, listening to his erratic heartbeat, his breathing. A hitching sound.
January had not been kind. Christmas had come and gone, every moment lackluster, a tree Clark had chopped down tilted at an angle in the corner of the church. New Year’s had been met with closed doors and silence. There was nothing to celebrate about a new year in a place like this.
There had been no feasting. They were running low on food, and the cold had come quickly – those at the farm were waiting for the ground to thaw. They would have to wait until March, at least, and then begin the process of tilling the land, picking out rocks of varying sizes. Even then, there was no promise of success. Farming in Connecticut had never been a gentle venture.
Thinking about the farm makes his chest heavy, and he wants to go home. He tries to avoid thinking about the food, the farm, these days, makes that Lexie’s shit to deal with, because when he thinks about the farm he thinks about the forest and then he’s here – here, staring at the foliage that seems to be growing inward towards them, that’s overtaking more of the road, swallowing them whole, and she was right, Allie was right –
He waits for Kelly to come out of the forest. For Allie. For his mom, for Cassandra, for anyone. He watches for anything to emerge, but nothing comes. This moment is one of absence, a tangible thing, and he hates it. It makes him ache. There is no movement. Not even a mouse, or a cardinal. The forest steals sound. He realizes that he could yell, and no one would come for him. He stays silent.
I’m sorry, he tries to say, but it dies in his throat. It wouldn’t be worth it. No one that needs to hear it is here, and he doesn’t trust the trees to pass it along.
His thoughts hang heavily off of him, like chains. He is afraid to say anything out loud, lest someone hear him. Sure, he has his house back, elegant and bare, but that’s all he has. Everything he does, he does without air. Who is he? Even when he was everything, was he anything at all?
The trees only stare back at him, leaves quivering soundlessly, mocking his trembling hands. The forest is boundless and gaping, and it wants to eat them whole.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He digs it out, holds it in his fingers. He only gets messages from one person now, since he drove everyone else away. Reading the message leaves a bitterness in the back of his throat. From Campbell: the mayor is needed in the church.
Harry watches the tree line for a moment more. He doesn’t expect anything to come out, for any sign to appear; nevertheless, when nothing comes, he is still disappointed. He breathes one last full breath and then walks, oiled and empty, back onto the streets of New Ham.
.
“Hey Grizz, it’s looking good!”
Grizz wipes sweat off of his forehead, rising to his full height from his position hunched over a wooden two by four. In the distance, Bean is walking past the tent circle with a fishing pole in her hand. She waves and gestures with the pole toward the pond. He waves back, and she gives him a thumbs up.
He turns and looks at the object of her praise. At first, they had all walked the mile and a half through the woods every morning and every evening before sundown to start the work of farming the meadow. It had become clear very quickly that they would need a separate place to stay; they couldn’t get enough work done, and the forest still made everyone feel uneasy and unsafe. Those a part of their little group had put down their tents, one by one, into a circle near the middle of the field. It’s going to snow sooner or later, though, and Grizz is now worried. He wants to put a roof over their heads. Some guys that aced woodshop helped him with the supplies, but Lexie and Harry had made it very clear that once it was in the field, they were on their own. This is what he had to show for it all: a wooden platform in the grass.
He sticks out his hand, waiting for the first snowflake to fall. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches until Bean makes it to the pond, sitting on a rock and casting her line out into the water. They have to take turns fishing now. It’s too cold to keep the stationary position for long. From the tent circle, the baby begins to cry.
Grizz’s heartbeat immediately skyrockets without his permission and he sits, waiting, until the door of the tent flaps open, and Sam steps out into the brisk January air. He watches in the pale dawn light as the boy walks closer to the fire in the middle of the circle, bouncing a small bundle on his hip. Even from this distance, it is so quiet that Grizz can hear Sam shushing the baby softly, humming quietly in soothing, off-key tones.
Something tightens in his chest, clenching so tightly it begins to cramp. He puts his hatchet on the ground and looks at his calloused hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam straighten up as the baby quiets down. He turns and looks at Grizz, sitting alone on the wooden platform.
Before Grizz can do anything, Sam is walking over toward him, holding Eden flush against his chest. The baby is wrapped up in about four blankets, underneath which she’s wearing the most thermal baby onesie they could find. They only had the one baby in New Ham, after all – they had their pick of whatever they wanted in the store.
Grizz stays rigid, passing the hammer he’d been using back and forth between his hands. Sam sits down next to him – not too close – and sighs. From underneath the blankets, Grizz can hear Eden coo softly, shifting. Sam places a hand on the back of her head. He stares out at the soft pink sky, the wisps of clouds passing overhead, promising to become more substantial.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” Sam says, but it comes out as more of a whisper. Grizz drags a hand over his face, hates that he understands that Sam is trying to be quiet, gentle. Hates that it excites him, too, to understand. It’s like reading a book you were told not to open. Every new thing he understands about Sam makes him feel more invested, and that’s the opposite of what he’s trying to do. Both for his sake, apparently, but also for Sam’s.
“There’s a snowstorm coming,” Grizz says, not looking at Sam but signing as he speaks. Sam nods. He doesn’t sign back, his hands occupied with the squirming baby.
“Kelly is going to take Becca and Eden back to town,” Sam replies. “Right now everything is fine, but it will be too cold.”
There’s a pause between them. Grizz watches as a wren flies down a few feet from them, picking at the ground with its beak. It finds a seed and hops off. He wonders what it will be like when the ground is covered in snow.
He turns toward Sam so he can see his face. “Are you going?”
Sam kicks at the dirt with his foot. “I don’t think so. I want to stay and help.”
“You don’t want to help Becca?”
“At the town, Kelly can help more. I will just sit there, and feel afraid. Here, I can be useful.”
“And feel afraid,” Sam stares at Grizz’s hands as he signs, blinks at his stiff posture. He swallows whatever is in his throat, looks down at the ground again.
“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I suppose so.”
Gwen emerges from her tent, walking toward the fire and stoking it with a large stick. She adds more wood, and after a minute it is burning higher. Grizz wishes he could feel the warmth from here. Will slowly walks out and sits by the heat, large hoodie and coat wrapped around him. Gwen offers him a piece of smoked fish from the night before. Will waves it away.
“I don’t want to lie,” Grizz says, and then looks at Sam when the boy’s head turns toward him, questioning. “I don’t want to lie.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t –”
Grizz concentrates on speaking slowly, on signing what he can. “If you want to stay, you can stay. We could use the help. But if you’re with Becca, be with Becca. Don’t ask me to be here with you when she isn’t. Don’t ask me to lie with you.”
Sam’s hand flies up to sign, eyes hurt, and then he drops it. Eden makes a sound from underneath her blankets, shifting, and Sam’s other hand tightens around her.
“ I – okay,” Sam whispers, nodding. His Adam’s apple moves up and down, his eyes wet. Grizz pretends not to see, staring at the fire. It’s probably just from the cold. “Okay.”
Grizz stands, dropping the hammer and reaching his grip around the handle of a drill. He fishes some screws out of his pocket, grabbing another two-by-four and laying it across a hole in the platform. The final piece of the floor. Sam watches him, and Grizz tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. He gestures at the drill, and then to Eden. Sam nods, standing and walking away, back toward the circle of tents. Grizz waits until he’s back inside before starting again. He’s already made Sam cry. He can’t make his baby cry, too.
At night, they all sit around the fire in silence, as embers escape up into the night sky. Kelly finishes stacking her and Becca’s bags next to the tents, prepared to leave in the morning. The first ghosts of flurries are beginning to fall from the sky. In the old world, Grizz imagines they’d all be excited about the oncoming storm, putting spoons under their pillows and praying for a snow day. Now, everyone’s faces are grim. Allie has her head buried in her arms, propped up against her knees. Will puts an arm around her silently, and she doesn’t react.
Bean passes around a plate with roasted fish on it, everyone taking small bites and placing them gingerly into their mouths. Grizz gnaws a bit on a charred bit of fish skin. With a sigh, Gwen turns and goes into the food tent, emerging with a bag of cheddar popcorn. Grizz raises an eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes.
“It’s getting colder, we need the carbs,” she says. “And I’m fucking hungry.”
No one objects, and Gwen peels open the bag. She grabs a handful and passes it to Mickey, who is shivering. Everyone flinches when he drops some into the dirt. When the bag makes it around to Grizz, he puts one kernel in his mouth first, closing his eyes and savoring the cheese flavor. When he opens his eyes, he makes brief eye contact with Sam. Sam blinks, and then tears his gaze away. Grizz grabs a handful of the popcorn and nudges Allie’s foot with his, shaking the bag. She looks up at him for a moment, and he offers her a small smile. She straightens up, shaking off Will’s arm and reaching a hand into the bag.
Kelly tries to distract everyone with a funny story, which turns into a game where everyone says a sentence as they go around, building the tale. Every time it reaches Sam he simply waves it away, skipping to Becca.
“And then, the giants decide to go on a great journey!” Bean exclaims, gesturing her arms in a big arch.
“To find out what existed on the other side of the Giant Giant Mountain,” Kelly continues.
“And to find out if there were other giants out there, or if they were truly all alone.” Becca says.
“When they got over the other side of the mountain, they discovered there were miles and miles of civilizations,” Mickey adds.
“But the people that lived there were normal sized,” Gwen says. “They were too small.”
“The giants were too big, and the people couldn’t understand them,” Will rasps. “It was like they weren’t there at all.”
“All they wanted was to talk to the people,” Allie says. “To be accepted into their houses, to be warm. Their heads touched above the clouds, and it was so cold.”
Grizz’s turn. “So all the giants huddled together for warmth.”
“But when they huddled together, the giants were so big that they blocked out the sun,” Bean contributes softly.
“Without the sun, no crops could grow,” Kelly says. “The people began to grow hungry, and they too were cold.”
“They cried up at the giants, not understanding.”
“But the giants were too far up, and they couldn’t hear,” Mickey’s voice is shaking.
“And so both the giants and the people were cold, and lonely.”
“Neither of them could understand,” Will speaks, his voice in monotone. “They could only ask why.”
Everyone falls silent, shivering despite the crackle and roar of the fire. Becca peeks down at Eden, bundled inside her coat against her chest. Mickey reaches out at the flames, trying to warm his hands. Allie rests her head on her palm, eyes following a coal as it falls from its position to the edge of the fire, just an inch or two from the grass. Grizz looks around at the faces of his friends. All he can see is cold, and longing.
“’Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.’” Grizz speaks, and nearly everyone turns their heads towards him. He clears his throat. “That’s, uh. That’s from Vonnegut. I think.”
He looks up from the ground. Allie is staring at him. She follows his gaze to Sam, whose eyes never left the fire, and never heard what he said. After a moment, Bean silently begins to cry.
.
“Let the third council meeting of 2020 be henceforth called into action!” Clark bangs a small gavel he had found in the debate team’s practice room. It echoes off the church pew in a way that sounds discordant and off.
“Shut the fuck up, Clark,” Luke mutters. “This isn’t a courtroom. Or a real council.”
“This isn’t a real council?” Jason asks. “We all got voted in, and everything. Seems pretty real to me.”
“Look the fuck around you,” Luke rolls his eyes. “The council is the Guard, plus Gretchen.”
Gretchen gives a small wave from her place across the aisle.
“Just be happy you’re on the council, Lukey,” Campbell says, standing behind Jason. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have any real power at all.”
Luke sighs, looking past Jason at the other end of the row. Lexie is looking at her nails, and then quickly switches to picking at her split ends. Harry is looking out the stained glass window, gaze vacant. He had stumbled in late, like always, and just sat down without saying a word. Like always.
Luke can barely contain his frustration. He rubs his fist against his sternum, and then cracks his knuckles. Takes a deep breath.
“We’re actually here to talk about something real, so uh,” Luke leans forward in his pew. “People are getting sick. We’ve run out of chicken soup, and uh, all the soup that was in the pantry. It seems just like the regular flu, but people can’t work.”
“And it’s going to snow,” Jason chimes in. “We need hands to shovel, and other stuff.”
“How do we know it’s gonna snow?” Clark asks. “We don’t have the weather channel anymore.”
“Dude,” Jason replies. “The clouds.”
“Do we have a list of everyone’s who’s sick?” Lexie asks, interrupting them.
“Yeah,” Gordie speaks up from his place a few rows back. He looks uncomfortable, constantly wringing his hands. Luke has seen him pacing the streets of town when he’s not working, looking out at the woods. He knows he wants to leave and be with his friends out at the farm. They won’t let him. “I have a list, and I’ve made a count of all the cold medicine we have. I’m trying to ration it, but a lot of people are getting sick. Luke is right, it seems like it’s just the flu, but it’s not like any of us got our fucking flu shots this year.”
Gretchen coughs. Everyone turns to glare at her, and she shrinks into herself. “Sorry.”
“Make an updated work shift,” Lexie says. “I want to see how sick everyone is. If they have a fever, they don’t work. If they’re just coughing, they can suck it up.”
“We’re gonna have to keep changing the shifts,” Gordie argues. “People are going to keep spreading it, more people are gonna catch it. Going into public spaces to work while they’re sick isn’t going to help.”
“And what are you doing to stop it?” Campbell asks, leaning forward. “I thought you were our doctor.”
“I’m not a fucking doctor, I’ve just read some books.” Gordie clenches his fists. “I don’t know what I’m actually doing, not if someone needs fluids, or runs too hot, or –”
“No, we’d need Kelly for that,” Campbell taunts, tone flippant and uncaring. “But she ran away to take care of the whore.”
Luke forms a fist by his side, but doesn’t move. Gordie turns red. “She’s not a fucking –”
“Don’t.” Harry’s voice is hard as he turns toward Campbell, pointing a finger. It shakes. “Don’t talk about Kelly that way.”
“Kelly?” Gordie fumes. “Sure, but Becca –”
“Do what you can,” Lexie interrupts. “Don’t waste all the cold medicine, and don’t use prescriptions unless you have to. Only we are allowed into the pharmacy, no one else. Everyone who’s well enough will be split into shoveling or cooking duty for the next three days, until the snow is over.”
There’s a pause, and then Clark speaks. “This fucking sucks.”
Lexie stands, wringing her hands. “This is what we’ve inherited. Until spring comes, this is what we’re working with. Get used to it.”
She walks toward the door, opening and slamming it with the same force. There’s a beat, and then Gordie gets up and walks out, too.
“Well, uh,” Clark stammers, and then slams the gavel down again. “That concludes the third council meeting of the new year. Congratulations, everyone.”
Luke stands up. “I guess I’ll go compile all the shovels. So we can, you know, do our fucking jobs.”
“I’ll come help you, bro,” Jason says, and gets up. Clark follows them as they leave, trailing behind like a lost puppy.
“Can we get some candy, or something, after?” He asks. “We’ve had a hard week, and I have a craving.”
“Sure,” Luke says, pushing the door open. The world outside is barren, as well. “Whatever, dude.”
He leaves the church behind, the remaining occupants sitting silently. Campbell looks after them, and Luke gets the message: they weren’t dismissed. Luke huffs to himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Campbell can think he’s in charge if he wants. At the end of the day, this whole plan is falling apart, and Luke doesn’t plan to be caught in it when it comes tumbling down, rubble and ashes. He does plan for Campbell and Harry to be caught in the fall. Right in the middle, like they wanted. Like they deserve.
He tries to imagine getting married to Helena in the church. Tries to imagine community dinners, movie nights, flag football. Anything joyous has been washed away with the coming of the new year and the falling of the snow. Even if he could take charge himself, could reach out to Allie, he couldn’t. He’s on a leash, and Campbell is holding the end of it.
Fuck him.
.
Eden cries when Becca takes her out of Sam’s arms. It’s always like this. She always cries.
“She likes my singing,” Sam says, smiling as he signs.
“No one likes your singing, Sam,” Becca scolds, and he laughs at her. She looks at him fondly. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” He replies. “Stay safe, and warm. No town meetings.”
“We’re staying at Kelly’s house,” She says softly. Kelly hoists the massive backpack onto her shoulder and smiles. Small snowflakes are making their way down from the sky.
“I mean it,” Sam’s eyes are strained. “Stay out of sight.”
“We won’t even exist,” Becca smirks, sass lining her words and her motions.
“Becca.” Sam scolds. She falters.
“Gordie says people are getting sick.”
“Like I said,” Sam reaches out to pull a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Stay safe.”
“We’ll be back when the snow stops,” Kelly says, coming into Sam’s line of sight. “It can’t be cold forever.”
Sam nods, eyes strained as his hands move. “Right.”
“Okay,” Becca says, looking past Sam at the rest of their group gathered there. “Goodbye, everyone.”
Everyone echoes the sentiment back to them. Grizz raises one large hand, smiling, and then drops it by his side. Allie gives her a strained grin, but doesn’t maintain eye contact. As soon as her and Kelly turn away, she puts her hands into her pockets and walks off toward the lake. Will gives her a long look, but doesn’t go after her. Grizz stays where he is standing, ten feet behind Sam, who watches them go until they disappear into the trees.
Immediately, Becca is winded. “I am so out of fucking shape,” She wheezes.
“Give yourself a break,” Kelly says, all peppy and athletic and shit. “You gave birth to a baby almost two months ago. A baby that was nine pounds, by the way.”
“We don’t do anything half-assed,” Becca coos to Eden, who is strapped to her chest by a papoose they found at a looted CVS. “We Gelbs are winners. Maybe you’ll be more athletic than me.”
Eden gurgles in response. Kelly smiles.
“My little Olympic star,” Becca says, stepping over a fallen log. “I’ll teach you to ice skate. We’ll start on the pond, and then sneak into the ice arena. Just the two of us. You’ll be the best in New Ham. If we ever make it back home, the best in the world.”
To prove her point, Becca skids a bit on a patch of ice, nearly tripping over a root. Kelly shoots out a hand to steady her, and Becca smiles a thank you. They keep walking, Becca humming a lullaby under her breath, occasionally blowing warm air into Eden’s coat. A few minutes down the trail Grizz had subtly marked in the woods, Kelly sighs.
“What is it?” Becca asks.
“What? Nothing.”
“Come on,” Becca teases. “We’ve been hanging out nonstop for like, three months. I think I know when you’re lying.”
“Fine,” Kelly concedes, tugging her backpack tighter and looking ahead at the trail. “I just. I feel bad.”
“Why? Because you’re making a recently pregnant woman walk over a mile through the woods?”
“You say recently pregnant like it’s a medical condition.”
“Get to the point.”
“I feel like I figured something out about this place,” Kelly says. “Not much, but something. And then I just left it all behind. For good reason, to take care of Eden, and you, but ever since I found out about Pfeiffer, I’ve felt like we’ve been right on the edge of discovering more about this world. And we’ve got nothing more to show for it.”
“That’s not your fault, Kelly.” Becca trots to catch up the couple steps to her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder. “This is all so fucked up.”
Kelly stops in the middle of the trail, looking at Becca. “And I. I feel like I let Harry down.”
“Harry down?” Becca says incredulously. “He overthrew Allie in a coup. With Campbell.”
“I don’t think that was his choice,” Kelly defends. “I don’t know, I just feel like. I know Harry. I don’t think he would have thought to do that.”
“Maybe he didn’t think to do it, but he did it,” Becca asserts. “Look, I’m sorry, but forgive me if I’m not so lenient toward your piece of shit ex-boyfriend that overthrew my friend in a weird parallel universe shadow government.”
Kelly huffs, and shifts on her feet. A hand comes up to nervously tug at her hat, bringing it further down over her ears.
“I know,” she says. “I don’t know. You don’t know Harry like I do.”
A cloud passes over Becca’s face as her eyebrows furrow. “I know I don’t. But I know enough to know he’s not good enough for you. You’re wasting your precious brain space on a douchebag that’s made it clear that his top priority is himself.”
Kelly looks out into the woods, biting her lip. She kicks at the ground, displacing a patch of moss. “You shouldn’t swear so much around the baby.”
“She doesn’t know what I’m saying, do you, cutie?” Becca tickles Eden’s cheek, and the baby squeals.
“You’re too used to being around Sam,” Kelly comments, beginning to walk again. She leaves the Harry argument behind – she knows Becca’s right, but not entirely. The world doesn’t work in whole stories. “Where you can swear as much as you want, and he wouldn’t even know.”
“Oh, he knows,” Becca says. “He’s the worst, much worse than me. Like, I’m living proof that not all goodie two-shoes are innocent. Have you heard him wax poetic about porn?”
“You guys are both trash-mouths.”
“Gets me all the boys,” Becca says snidely, and when Kelly turns to look at her face it’s turned away, eyes dark and troubled.
After a while, they start to come up toward the bridge over the train station, nearly obscured by the thick foliage but still visible. Kelly eyes the train cars sitting, stagnant, on the near frozen tracks. Thinks about how Gordie and her broke into one before she left for the farm, packing away a few medical supplies, a few cans of food, some other supplies. Just in case. No one had thought to use the trolley cars for shelter, with all the houses around, and it seems like that mentality has held true – the trains are undisturbed.
An insurance policy, Kelly reminds herself. Just in case.
The barely-worn dirt path becomes pavement, suddenly, like a change in mood. Their steps are halted, more tentative, as they walk into the silent streets of New Ham. Before, when the weather was kinder, people would walk around together, hang out in the quad, the streets full of talk and anxious laughter. Now, Kelly is sure that if the wind would die down, you would be able to hear a pin drop. Hear as a bullet shell fell to the ground.
“Do you think people are gonna be happy to see us?” Becca asks, but she’s joking. Her voice is thin, and afraid.
“I think Gordie will be,” Kelly replies. “No one else needs to know.”
“What about food?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Kelly says, and Becca gives her a pointed look. “Fine. I have some food stashed away in my house, in the basement. From, before, in the beginning. Look, I was scared at first, like everyone, and –”
“Kelly,” Becca says, placing a gloved hand on her arm. “It’s okay. Everyone did. You’re not a bad person.”
“Yeah,” Kelly nods.
“I’m honestly impressed you didn’t eat it,” Becca muses. “When I first started to get cravings, before you figured out I was pregnant and started bringing me rations, Sam snuck into the kitchen and stole a package of little debbies for me.”
“He snuck in? Sam. And he didn’t get caught?”
Becca laughs, a soft snort coming out of her nose. “Of course he did. Will tapped him on the shoulder from behind and he lost his shit. Still let him take some, though.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Barely. Sam went in to grab a whole box, and brought me back two. Lasted me about half a minute.”
Kelly looks down the street and sees no one, most of the houses shut with their blinds pulled. Only a block more to go. Both of the girls carry the same level of anxiety, and Eden must sense it, because they all remain silent for the final walk into Kelly’s neighborhood, and then around back to the back door of her house. Kelly doesn’t know why she’s so nervous, but she doesn’t breathe properly until they’re inside the house, she’s locked all the doors, and made sure Harry nor Campbell were waiting for them. It’s warmer inside the house than out on the street, but just barely. Kelly considers turning the heat on in the whole place, then decides to just turn it on upstairs, where they’ll be sleeping.
As soon as they make it to the bedroom and shed their coats, Eden begins to fuss. Becca sighs and sits on the bed, slipping the shoulder of her shirt and bra strap off. She positions Eden against her hip, and then pulls down her shirt so that Eden can nurse. She does it casually, like Kelly wouldn’t be bothered at all by seeing her even a little bit naked. She’s not. She’s seen it a million times now, helping out with Eden, and hell, her birth. Nonetheless, she finds herself turning away slightly, bending down to unpack their bags. There’s a blush starting to creep up the sides of her neck, and she tucks her jacket collar up to hide it. It’s best if she doesn’t have to explain anything, doesn’t have to think about what it means.
“Kelly?” Becca asks softly.
“Yeah?” Kelly asks, looking back at her. Becca looks sad. “What’s wrong?”
“You were right,” she says. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t swear so much around Eden. Sam said he read a book once that babies can understand words pretty soon after they’re born, especially if they hear them a lot. Sam thinks it’s still okay, but he thinks that people don’t understand him when he talks anyway, so why should the baby? And that’s not fair, he’s not fair to himself, and I just… what if my baby’s first words are like, fuck, or something?”
Kelly breathes out a laugh through her nose. “Eden’s first word isn’t gonna be fuck.”
“It could be!” Becca sits up a little straighter. “It’s a fucked up world here, it could happen. It’s not gonna be mama, or dada, or Kelly, or food, it’s gonna be fuck.”
“Glad to see I rank up there with food.”
“Of course you do, you’re basically her aunt,” Becca says, and that stirs something within Kelly. She’s just not sure what. “When she’s not gonna be asking for me or Sam, she’s gonna be asking for you, or for food. That’s what I would do.”
“Then she’s gonna be a very smart, lucky baby,” Kelly says, rising to sit next to Becca on the bed. She reaches out at the small wisps of hair on Eden’s head, dark brown like her mother’s. “Having so many people to love and care for her.”
“It takes a village.” Becca smiles at her, and Kelly grins back.
There’s a sudden outburst of shouting, and a door banging open, but from far away. Kelly jumps up and runs to the window, parting the curtains to look out into the street. When she squints, she can see people at the end of the road. One of the Guard, recognizable by their jackets, is shouting at someone in the middle of the street. They’re only wearing their pajamas, and are hunched over. They shout something again, and the other figure nods, rising and getting into a car waiting at the end of the block. Faces gathered at the door of the house disappear, and the door closes.
Kelly turns around, and Becca is staring at her intently. “It’s nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Becca argues.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Kelly corrects, sitting back down on the bed. She places her hand over Becca’s, her thumb sweeping across her skin softly. “It was one of the Guard. Looked like someone skimped out on their work shift.”
“Work shifts,” Becca scoffs. “There’s trash everywhere. No one’s been working.”
“I guess not.”
“Are they looking for us?”
“No. They won’t find us. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Is it snowing yet?”
“Just a little bit.”
“I’m scared, Kelly,” Becca says, and her voice finally quivers. Kelly scoots just a tiny bit closer, puts a warm hand on Eden’s back. Breathes.
“I know.”
.
Sam stands for a long time, watching the edge of the woods. He fidgets with his hands, unaware of Grizz sitting on a log, stoking the fire behind him. Grizz looks up at Sam occasionally, but Sam doesn’t turn around. After a long while, Grizz stands and walks away, toward the platform at the edge of the clearing. There are three boards perched up tall, the beginnings of a wall, but nothing else. Will thinks he should go help him, but imagines he might just get in the way. A long while after that, Sam finally turns around, eyes wet, and retreats back into his tent.
“He should’ve gone with her,” Allie comments, leaning her head against her palm. She sits like this most often now, bundled up and curled over next to the fire. Even on the nights Will gets her to come to bed, he wakes up without her next to him, and finds her stoking the fire outside.
“Allie,” Will scolds gently.
“What?” She scoffs. “He can’t hear me.”
“I can,” Will says. “He’s your cousin.”
“He’d agree with me,” Allie shrugs. “He made the wrong move. Once it starts snowing we won’t be able to get anything done here, anyway. We’ll all be focusing on making sure we don’t all freeze to death.”
Will turns away from her, back toward the fire. He reaches forward and pokes it with the giant stick, watches how embers crackle and release. Allie shifts next to him.
“Not as if family does a fat load of good, anyway.”
“Hey, do you wanna, I dunno, maybe take a walk with me?” Will asks, blinking and pivoting back to face her. Allie blinks up at him, a disbelieving smile on her face. A shutdown smile.
“Take a walk with you.”
“Yeah,” Will says. “I just feel like we’re always so just, cooped up here.”
“We’re in the great outdoors.”
“You know what I mean.” Will stands. The snowflakes coming down around them are light and small, barely sticking. He hopes it stays that way. “Sitting here around the fire all the time is the equivalent of you sulking in your room.”
“I’m not sulking,” Allie says petulantly, but she stands with him anyway, walking slowly out of the tent circle and across the field. “I’m keeping warm.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
“Sure,” Allie rolls her eyes. “That’s gonna happen.”
“Will you just work with me, here?” Will snaps, and Allie’s lips purse. “This sucks, I get it. You don’t want to talk about going back, about fixing things. I get it.”
“What is there to fix?” There’s an emptiness to Allie’s voice that reminds Will of when Cassandra died. He figures that wasn’t actually all that long ago. Maybe it just stayed. “We barely made it out of there, alive. If they knew where we were, or cared to actually figure out where this place is, we’d be dead. End of story. We could have chosen that, to die knowing what we did was right. Instead we chose this. To sit here, and freeze to death, and not fix anything.”
“We’re not trying,” Will says.
“You mean I’m not trying,” Allie replies, bitter. She kicks at the ground, and the soil is just cold enough to not move at all.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“And even if there was anything we could do, any power I had, it’s gone. It’s not like we can form a rebellion with nine people and a dream. Our cell phones can’t even reach the town from here. And if we were to just take it all back, just to be in charge again, no one would trust me! No one would trust us. No, fuck that. Fuck them.”
Will slows down slightly, searching Allie’s face. They’re near the pond now, and the dying grasses and cattails shudder in the wind. There had been emotion in Allie’s voice, but when Will looks in her eyes, he’s not sure he sees anything at all. There’s barely any trace of the girl that existed before they came to this place, save for a small spark he knows is still within her. But the girl she was before, Will’s not sure he fell in love with her. He fell in love with the person Allie had become when she stepped up to the plate, took charge, took accountability. She had made good decisions, and taken care of people.
And it had landed them here.
“What about us?” He asks, tilting his head. Allie snaps her head up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What about fixing that?”
Allie huffs. “You’re such a –”
“No, come here, sit with me,” Will says, and he grabs Allie’s hand gently, leading her over to the fishing log. Mickey had left his post twenty minutes earlier, with two fish they would share throughout the coming days of the storm. That is, if they can keep the fire going. He tries not to think too much about that.
Will sits with Allie on the wood of the log, crossing his ankles and leaning forward on his hip. He reaches forward, trying to entwine her hands in his, but she pulls back, allowing him to simply hook his pointer finger at her pinkie. She sighs and stares back at him. Will studies her face. There is no smudged eyeliner, no run mascara around her eyes. No wrinkles on her face. No stress grays in her hair. Still, she looks exhausted. Not for the first time, he feels a surge of guilt run through him, deep and confusing. This is what this world had made of Allie. This is what Will had helped shape her into.
This is what he had fallen for.
“That’s not fair,” Allie is shaking her head, lips curled in a sardonic smile. Will thinks for a second she’s read his mind, but she keeps talking. “You can’t look at me like that. Not right now. Not anymore.”
“What?” Will asks. “What am I doing?”
“Looking at me like I’m going to make it all better,” Allie snaps. “Looking like I’m just gonna get over it, and forgive you, and forgive all of them, and help them still. Why do I have to be the bigger person, here? Why do I have to sacrifice every part of me for people who don’t give a shit about me? Who only give a shit about themselves?”
“No one’s asking you to do that,” Will says, but Allie’s been keeping this all in for over a month, now, and no one is going to stop her now.
“That’s exactly what you’re asking me to do,” Allie says. “What you’ve all been asking me to do, since Cassandra died. Because no one else could do it.”
“And the election was my fault too, I suppose,” Will frowns.
“The election was Campbell’s fault,” Allie says. “Because he took it from us. It was a good idea. I wanted to be wanted, Will. That’s all I ever wanted. If I was going to be in charge, I wanted people to ask me to do it. Now no one will ever want me to do that.”
“I want you.” Will asserts softly. Allie narrows her eyes at him.
“Bullshit.”
The word sits between them, heavy and looming. No matter what Will says, nothing seems to be right. It didn’t come out of his mouth right, and Allie didn’t hear it right. But he had learned through his whole life that intentions didn’t mean shit. If he couldn’t make Allie believe he cared for her through the things he said and did, it didn’t matter what he felt. Still, he can feel control over himself slipping through his fingers – control over his situation, over his emotions. It’s just all sliding away.
“I don’t want you to take charge again,” Will whispers. “I just want you to get some rest.”
“I can’t,” Allie says. “I can’t sleep, or sit still, or be happy, or anything, knowing what Campbell did, and knowing what he’s doing to the town. I wish I was never put in charge, I wish this all had never happened. I know too much.”
“I’m sure Grizz would know some good, wise quote about wishes. All I know if that wishing never gets anyone anywhere,” Will smiles. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twig of holly he had found on a walk along the edge of the field. He takes Allie’s hair in his hands, thrown back today in a haphazard side braid, and gently thumbs the stem into the twists. He sets it back down, and admires it. “You look pretty, Allie.”
“At least I have that,” Allie says, and then turns away from him. She gets up and leaves him there, walking the distance back to the fire.
.
“Fuck Campbell. Fuck Harry. Fuck Clark, fuck all of them,” Gordie mutters to himself, pacing quickly down the dark streets of New Ham. It’s after the unofficial curfew, but they’re not going to do anything to him. He has been in the clinic all night, treating people that came through the door for flu-like symptoms. Which, he is figuring out very quickly by reading his books, could mean literally anything.
He is so way in over his head. He’s running out of DayQuil, and Robetusin. If people start really going downhill, they only have a limited amount of rehydration drinks left. He thinks he could figure out the IV, now, if he tried. But he is so damn tired.
Gordie grunts in frustration, a ragged sound under his breath. He takes a minute to lean against a streetlamp. The snow is coming down now, steadily but softly, and it glistens under the glow of the fluorescent light. For moment, the lamp flickers, and the snow darkens, but then it comes back, lighting his way.
His way. Gordie has no idea what his way is anymore.
He can’t continue on like this, treating people for their coughs and sniffles from dawn to midnight. Only occasionally slinking home for the night, more often sleeping on infirmary cots with his water bottle in his hand. Maybe, if Kelly was still around, he could manage it. But he is alone, and he has Lexie and Campbell breathing down his neck. He’s pretty sure Harry doesn’t care – he’d probably catch the flu himself, if he could, and save himself all the trouble.
He slides a bit on the ice, and catches himself on a mailbox. Looking down at the ground, he realizes the bottom half of his right pant leg is stained with vomit.
“Great,” Gordie groans. He really needs to find some more scrubs to wear. He hasn’t had the time to do any laundry, and no one is going to help him out of the goodness in their hearts. Guess he would be wearing vomit pants back into the clinic tomorrow. Everyone could deal.
How was he not sick already? Must be all the exposure. He washes his hands as much as he can, but it’s not like everything is one hundred percent sterile. Brandon had projectile vomited onto the far wall the day before, and it hadn’t really all come out all that well.
He shakes his leg out, futilely hoping the stain will flake off in the snow or something, before he hears the bang of a door. He looks to his left, and sees Clark sauntering out of the next house down, hands in his pockets and a big grin on his face.
“Gordie,” Clark calls. “What are you doing out?”
Anger settles deep under Gordie’s sternum, where it’s been living for some time. “I’m going home. I just finished up at the clinic. You know, taking care of people?”
Clark regards this for a second before brushing it away. “Well make it snappy,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to report you for being out after curfew.”
“What curfew?” Gordie mutters to himself. It doesn’t reach Clark’s ears. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”
“Hey,” Clark barks, and Gordie freezes. Clark’s hand is at his hip, a threatening gesture, and even though Gordie is pretty positive he doesn’t have a gun, he can’t be entirely sure. “Be careful how you speak to the Guard, runt.”
The anger in his chest morphs into something more akin to hatred. In times like this, he imagines the person speaking to him is the person that has talked down to him his entire life, the one that bullied his friends, who killed Cassandra. After seeing what Clark and the Guard did to Allie and Will, he doesn’t have to use too much of his imagination.
“Sure,” He says curtly, and continues walking. “My house is just a little farther. I’ll be on my way.”
“You do that,” Clark muses, but doesn’t move. He stands there, one hand on his hip and one in his pocket, as he watches Gordie walk down the street and around the corner. He does it all with the same smirk on his face. Some sick power trip.
Gordie rounds the corner, but he doesn’t stop at his house. He keeps walking down the street, fury painting the path in his steps. He passes his house and goes up the hill, past the gas station and around the bend to the bridge. He crosses it, paying no mind to the lack of streetlights. Right now, it’s a good cover.
He thinks about just leaving, right now. Despite only being dressed in his scrubs and winter coat, not even holding a knife or a flashlight. He’s not equipped, but he’s angry. Angry at working to help ungrateful patients, angry at not knowing what he’s doing, angry at being left behind when all his friends ran away. He understands why he had to stay, why Kelly and him couldn’t both leave New Ham. But it stings.
It’s why he keeps coming and almost walking into the woods. Almost, every time. For the past month, he’s had a logical reason to turn around, to let it go. Right now, he’s just pissed, and lonely.
He makes it farther than he ever has, about twenty yards into the underbrush. Enough for the faraway lights near the bridge and the gas station to feel subdued, like he’s stepped into yet another world. For a moment, he feels outrageously bold, like he could find the subtle clues Grizz has left along the way in the dark and find his friends, get away from the bullshit, and survive. Like that would all be crazily, ridiculously easy.
For a second, he laughs.
The sound continues after he’s run out of air, a continuation of the space behind his breastbone. A soft growling, mixed with the whistle of the wind. The snow falls straight down, a soft dusting coating his hair in equal gesture. Gordie feels goosebumps on the back of his forearms, on his calves, on his neck. He turns to face the sound, whipping around to see, because he’s sure he heard it. He calls out to it, but it’s swallowed by the wind. He hears it again, and turns toward the dark forest to confront his mother’s voice.
Gordie takes a step backward, eyes trained on the spot. He shivers, and then the moment is shattered. He’s not quite sure what he came here to accomplish, what he was so sure he could do. He realizes he is covered in snow, and shakes it off of his sleeves. It feels heavier than he remembers it, last year when he went out with his brothers during the snow day. Wiping tired eyes, he turns back to the road, and walks away from the empty forest.