Bled Dry

by Lou Cadle

  Dev said, “Remember when I left, Mom, so you can catch me up on everything I’m missing.” He went out, Rod trailing.

  Kelly said to Joan, “His parents are dead? He seems pretty calm about it.”

  “He already knew they were. He knew he had no other relatives in town. They were fairly new to town and no one offered to take him in. I shouldn’t have exposed him to some of my pleading with people to take him, in hindsight. But I can keep him. He’s not a bad kid at all.”

  “Congratulations, then,” Kelly said, reaching over to take Joan’s hand and squeeze it. “On your new son.”

  “I suppose that’s what he is. I’m exhausted,” she said, and sank down into the chair Dev had vacated. “Emotionally.”

  “Let me fix you some bacon,” Kelly said, starting to get up.

  “No, that’s okay. Can I have that last chunk of bread? It smells wonderful.”

  “Go on. We’ve eaten our fill. Well, except for Dev, who can eat eight thousand calories a day without blinking.”

  “If you want to save it for him, do,” Joan said.

  “No, I was joking. Go on.”

  Pilar said, “The apple butter is great too.”

  Joan took a bite and nodded her agreement. “Excellent. So, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Who, me?” Kelly said.

  “All of you.” Joan looked around the table. “Can the three—no, four—of us stay? I’ll do my share of work. I won’t shoot myself again.” She raised her bandaged hand and gave it an irritated look. “And I’ll get better at self-defense.”

  “I’d be happy to have you,” Kelly said.

  “I’m thrilled,” Pilar said. “You pull your weight, and you’re a good neighbor. That land will feed the four of you if you take good care of it.”

  “I’ll teach you how to turn those crab apples into jelly,” Kelly said. “At least until your sugar runs out.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Curt said. “But why? Why not return to your home?”

  “I don’t want to stay there. It isn’t the town I knew. I don’t have faith in their future the way I have faith in yours. I think—” and she frowned, as if trying to figure out how to say the next bit—“that a group of ten or twelve or twenty people will be able to adapt and flourish. But I’m not so sure about a group of thousands. Do you know what I mean?”

  Sierra did.

  Arch said, “There will always be a few rotten apples in a big group.”

  “Yes,” Joan said. “And perfectly reasonable people who start fighting with each other just for the sake of fighting. Believe me, like every priest, minister, and rabbi, I know a lot about that side of human nature.”

  “Will you ever go back to your house?” Kelly asked. “Or the church?”

  “I don’t need to. I brought most of the kids’ things today, everything important to them. Misha’s rock collection. That sort of thing. All our clothes. Linens. Keepsakes. A folding cot and an air mattress. I packed the car full, trunk and backseat, hoping you’d say yes.”

  Pilar said, “You should have known we’d say yes.”

  “I didn’t want to assume.”

  “So you lost Rudy but gained this Rod kid.”

  “We all lost Rudy.”

  “I hope he doesn’t give away any of our secrets,” Arch said. “I suppose I need to move the trip wire, that sort of thing.”

  “I doubt he remembers all that much,” Sierra said. “He was never a good warrior.”

  Arch said, “Not like you.”

  For a moment, she’d been able to forget her worries. But that one stung. She’d not worried until now what Arch would think of her if he knew her secret. Or the other people at this table. She’d thought of Pilar’s reaction, of course. But she’d lose the respect of everyone here.

  Only what she deserved.

  Was there no way out of this? It was like a cyclone of feelings inside her most of the time. Guilt and remorse and shame. And fear too, fear of being found out. Fear of telling. Fear of not telling.

  She had missed a few exchanges, but tuned back in when Curt said her name.

  “Sorry. I was thinking about—” She cast about in her mind for a good lie. “Standing watches. Do you think things are safe enough we can quit standing watch, Arch? Or should we continue as before?”

  “For now, I’d like to stick to a three-hour-per-day schedule. Or wait.” He counted people at the table. “Plus Dev is seven. So three hours and some minutes per day.”

  Curt said, “Three hours and just under a half an hour.”

  Pilar said, “Easier to give one person a four-hour shift, everyone else three.”

  Sierra said, “Give the longer shift to me.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” Kelly said. “We’ll rotate it, and we’ll rotate night shifts like before too. Arch will work it out.”

  “You mean I’ll work it out and you’ll correct it,” he said.

  Pilar shook his head and rolled his eyes at them.

  Back to normal, Sierra thought. Everyone was back to normal. Everyone but her.

  Chapter 22

  In the next week, their world went back to a routine, but a calmer routine than since the first man had tried to steal food from Arch’s shop and had been shot. No one attacked, and Arch was working hard on a secret project, as he called it, to make sure attack would be less likely.

  Several hens were sitting on eggs, the garden was bearing, and they’d planted new crops of green beans, peas, radishes, cabbages, beets, and carrots for late-fall harvest. A few weeks from now, they’d plant salad crops again, leaf lettuce and spinach. They’d relied on internet weather forecasts before to know when the first frost was coming to harvest the last of the delicate foods, but this fall, they’d have to do something different, rely on their best guess and hope an early frost didn’t catch them unaware.

  Everything was normal in the neighborhood. Everything except Sierra. She was still having more bad moments than good. She did her work, but sometimes she wondered why she was bothering.

  She’d been avoiding Dev, but one day, she had to take over from him for watch duty, and made herself deal with the unresolved issue between them. “I want to talk with you,” she said. “Wait, would you?”

  “This can’t be good,” he said.

  “It is good,” she said. “Good for you. Maybe bad for me, but that’s as it should be.”

  “Look, I was hurt. And I had a headache. And I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  “You did know. And I know you’ve got a crush on me.” It felt far better to call it a crush. And maybe it was kinder to him to use that word. “But I’m not the person for you, Dev. I’m really not.”

  “I get it. You don’t like me.”

  “Not true. I like you a lot. I trust you. I think you’re a really good man. Like how you’ve been with Rod this week? That’s just so sweet to see you teaching him things, like hammering and all that. You’re going to be a great husband and father one day.”

  “But not with you.” He was looking at the ground.

  “Oh, Dev. You deserve so much better than me.”

  That made him look up. “Better than you? Who is smarter than you? Prettier than you?”

  “Beauty is only skin deep. You’ve heard that one, haven’t you?”

  “You’re beautiful deeper than that. And you’re strong. I want kids. You have that right. I want a strong mother for them. A fighter.”

  A killer? She shook her head. “We’re going to be interacting in Payson and with the other place, with Wes’s people. And if that thing goes through where you go stay there for a week or two in the winter, there might be a wonderful girl down there for you. Anyone who has survived is going to be tough and smart. You just need to find someone kind and good too. And who likes you the way that you like her.”

  “I don’t want anyone else.”

  She wanted to cry. “I am a terrible person, Dev. I really am. If you can’t see that now, you will one day. An
d I’m not beautiful inside. I’m a mess. You don’t want it. I don’t even want it.”

  His expression changed as he studied her face. “What is it? Did someone hurt you?”

  She knew what he was thinking. “No. Not like that. I wasn’t raped or anything.”

  “Did something else happen? Something before? Or something recently?”

  She didn’t want him thinking about it. His next question was going to be about when such a thing might have happened. During the day they put up flyers? During the liberation of the jail? He’d get too close to a truth she wasn’t willing to share. “No! Nothing specific happened. I just don’t like myself very much right now.”

  “I like you.”

  “I know you do. I know your folks do, and Pilar, and Joan, and Curt all do. But that doesn’t change how I feel about myself.”

  “You want to talk to me about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Please forget what I said before. About liking you and wanting something with you. Just talk to me as a friend.”

  He only made her feel worse by trying to be kind to her. “I can’t. It’s something I have to work out myself.”

  “And when you work it out, you’ll like yourself again?”

  “I hope so. But even then, Dev, nothing’s going to happen between us.”

  “Is there somebody else?”

  “What? No.” She couldn’t imagine that right now. Her sex drive was dead for now, her interest in romance maybe dead forever. “No, it’s not someone else. It’s not your fault either. You’ll be wonderful for the right woman.”

  He just stared at her, as if he was trying to bore into her brain. Or maybe push a message in there. She knew the message, and she felt terrible that she didn’t want to hear it. She tried a joke. “I bet your father will be glad you’ll never be involved with me.”

  “I don’t give a damn what my father thinks. And it might surprise you what he thinks of you. But if you don’t love me back, you don’t.”

  “Not like that,” she said, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t.”

  “Have a nice watch,” he said, and he stalked off.

  Well, wasn’t she just a steaming pile of shit? She was like some natural disaster, doing damage all over the place. She’d done everything wrong but kick Jasper.

  Later that night, sleepless in bed, she thought again, for the hundredth time, about turning herself in to whatever authorities Payson had now. September first would be the next trip to Payson, and she could go along and offer herself up to their justice system, whatever that might be.

  There was some relief in that thought, that the secret would be out, and she’d be punished. But she was afraid. Her cowardice seemed as ugly as the truth.

  She wasn’t thinking clearly—she knew that much. But even if she were, she didn’t believe she’d know what the right thing was to do.

  Chapter 23

  “Sierra.” Her father sounded angry.

  She glanced up from her plate of eggs and salsa.

  “What is wrong?”

  “With the eggs?”

  “No, not with the eggs! With you!”

  “Nothing is wrong with me.”

  “Then why are you playing with your food? Why are you eating so little? Why are you up and down all the damn night through?”

  She looked at her plate. She had been absentmindedly stirring the scrambled eggs and salsa around and around. It was an unappetizing mess, but she bent her head and started shoveling it into her mouth, holding her breath so she wouldn’t taste it.

  “Stop. Stop eating, and look at me.”

  Swallowing the mouthful she had, she put her fork down and wiped her fingers on the napkin. They had been made by Lisette. “Do you ever wonder about Lisette?”

  “That won’t work. We aren’t going to talk about Lisette, and we aren’t going to talk about your mother, or Emily or that dog or my ribs. We’re going to sit here and talk about you.”

  She had a childish urge to run into her bedroom and slam the door and lean against it. But she knew that wouldn’t work. This is where she lived—the only place she could live now. She couldn’t take the car and stay at a friend’s in Payson overnight to avoid her father and his questions, like she could have in May. She was stuck here.

  “Sierra, I’m worried about you.” He had moderated his voice, but the undertone of anger was still there.

  “I’m fine. Not sick. Not injured. Even the little ding on my leg is just a dry scab now.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re upset about something, and it shows. Joan noticed it. Kelly noticed it. I notice it every time we’re in the same room.”

  “It’s nothing, really. Just something I need to work out myself.”

  “But you aren’t,” he said. “I’ve left you alone for two weeks because I thought maybe you would, but you aren’t working it out. If anything, you’re getting worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could think of to say.

  “I’ve talked to you about my depression, right? Is that what this is? Are you thinking about k—” He had to stop for a moment to get control of his voice. “Killing yourself?”

  “No, I’m not going to kill myself.” Though the last couple days, the thought had crossed her mind that if she were dead, she wouldn’t feel what she felt. But she hadn’t thought about how that death might come about.

  “Promise me. Promise me you won’t, that if you get that urge, you’ll come and find me immediately.”

  “Okay,” she said, wondering if a promise like that had ever made someone not kill herself who really wanted to. “I want to live.”

  “Is it that we’re not fighting anyone? Do you miss the battles and the killing?”

  “No!” She felt her stomach turn over, the salsa and eggs in there wanting to come back up. “No, not at all. I’m glad it’s done and hope it’s all behind us.”

  For a long while—three minutes, at least—he looked at her, and she had no idea what was going on in his head. It was a bit creepy because his face was so serious.

  Of course he had no idea what was going on in hers, did he? She couldn’t explain where the thought had come from. She didn’t think she had a spark of empathy left in her, but she realized that he might be as creeped out by her as she was by him right now. She had a sense he might do or say something he’d never done before. It scared her to imagine what.

  “The night of the fighting. Something happened, didn’t it?”

  She tensed.

  “Sweetheart, did someone…hurt you?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Are you sure? If you were raped, you can—”

  “I wasn’t!” she said. “No one said even a rude word to me. Not a look. They were all….” Her throat closed.

  “All what?” Pilar said, when she didn’t answer.

  She shook her head, not trusting herself to open her mouth and say a word like “respectful.”

  He came out of his chair then and kneeled beside her. “Baby, please. Tell me.”

  Tears poured out of her eyes and she opened her mouth to refuse, but all that came out was a sob.

  He reached for her, and she let him, sliding off the chair and holding on to him and letting herself cry. She’d been holding it back so much, afraid he’d hear her if she cried at night, and now it was all coming out. There were a lot of tears built up back there. She cried, and he held her, and every time she tried to say something, all that came out were shuddering breaths.

  It took a long time to stop, a long, long time before she got control of herself. By then, he was rocking her back and forth and crooning to her like she was an infant.

  She sucked in a long breath, starved for oxygen. When she let it out, she felt a bunch of tension leave her. Only then did she realize she’d been physically tensed up for days and days. She took another deep breath, another. The tears were slowing down.

  “I need a handkerchief,” she
said. She hardly recognized her own voice, it was so raspy.

  He reached back and grabbed a dish towel from the back of his chair. “Here,” he said, and he used it to wipe her face.

  That made her cry again.

  “Okay, you do it.” He handed the towel over.

  She wiped her face. Her shirt was wet. “I have snot everywhere.” She looked at his shirt with bleary vision. “On you.”

  “I’ve had worse on me. Are you ready to talk?”

  She shook her head and looked down at the wadded-up dish towel. “You’ll hate me.”

  “I will never, ever in a million years hate you. I’m your father, and I love you, and I’ll always love you.”

  She looked up. His eyes were damp too, and she tried to memorize the look on his face while he still felt that way. Either she’d lose his love or his respect in the next few minutes, and it hurt to know it.

  But the secret was like a cancer inside her, eating her up. She had to tell. Maybe had to tell everyone. And Pilar would be the kindest listener.

  “I killed a man,” she said, and she looked away immediately so she couldn’t see his reaction.

  He didn’t say anything, and she risked a look at him. He was frowning. Then he said, “I was worried this would happen. It’s gotten to you. You realize what you’ve been doing, and—”

  “No!” she said. “Or yes, I guess that’s become a part of it by now, but no. I killed a man. Me. Killed him. Took his life.”

  “Yes?” he said, but he was obviously confused.

  She tried to get her thoughts straight. Though if she did, it’d be the first time since it had happened. “You’ve heard of friendly fire?”

  “Of course. You mean you shot someone on our side?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “I swear it was an accident.”

  “Of course it was. Who?”

  “A man from Payson. He was a nice guy, and in the dark I thought he was one of them, and I shot him in the back. And killed him.” She started crying again. “And I feel like shit.”

  “Of course you do, honey, of course. But it was an accident.” He took her chin and raised it so she’d look at him. “You didn’t mean to. Stuff happens in war.”