In the corner of the basement was a door they rarely used. He opened it and walked up from underground like he was climbing from the center of the earth. The sun was a terrible wall of light that made a froth of the line of empty houses and bushes down the sidewalk.
He was walking, though he thought he was standing still. It seemed the street was turning around the steady point that was his head.
He was at the abandoned house, through the yard, standing at the hedge. All the leaves were gone from it, and the turning stopped. The world was still again.
Through the sticks, though, he saw Bill Peters’s dead, claylike face.
He’d thought it would be Laura.
A strange hatred welled inside of him.
Bill Peters.
Bill Peters didn’t have to face any of this. Eddie had to face it.
Back at the Davises, it took Mike Sr. a long time to answer the door.
“Have you seen Laura?” Eddie asked.
“She’s with us.”
When Eddie saw her, he said, “How could you do that to me?” She was sitting on the love seat. Patty was lying on the sofa, breathing heavily with her eyes closed. Mike Jr. was on a nest of blankets in the middle of the floor. All his clothes were off, his penis like a cork, gray and removable-looking.
“I came over to help. You were gone for a long time,” Laura said.
“Were you helping?”
She stared at him fiercely. “Were you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Mike Sr. was leaning on the counter, and Laura turned to him when she spoke to Eddie. “You could have done something for those people on the bridge,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it, is all.”
“You’re on that now? Laura, I didn’t even see them. There were other people standing around gawking already.”
“They could have been hurt. You didn’t know. You just ran past it all.”
Eddie looked at Mike Sr., who stared into the space above Laura.
“Mike?” Eddie said.
Mike Sr. raised his eyebrows.
“You know about work crews and stuff. Tell her. You’re supposed to wait for the paramedics.”
“And what if there are no paramedics?” she said. “What then? You just ignore it?”
“Oh, shut up,” Eddie said.
Mike Sr. said, “We just pray no one gets hurt when we’re on a job.”
Mike Jr.’s eyes were closed like his mom’s, only his breath didn’t seem to be coming.
“What can I do?” Eddie asked.
Mike Sr. went into the kitchen and started messing with a bowl. He brought it over and mashed the salsa with a spoon.
“You can help me get this down him,” he said.
Eddie sat down next to Mike Jr., and Mike Sr. knelt across from them.
“Just make him comfortable,” Mike Sr. said.
Eddie stroked Mike Jr.’s arm. It was dry and hot.
Mike Sr. took a spoonful of the red mash and put it onto Mike Jr.’s lips. It sat there on his face.
“Come on, Mikey,” he said. He put a finger between his son’s teeth and got his mouth to open. Then he pushed the mash in. It was clear from the way Mike Jr. lay there that the salsa was just inside his teeth, resting on his tongue. Mike Sr. ran his fingers up and down his son’s throat, the way he’d get a cat to take a pill.
“Where are the cats?” Eddie said. The Davises had two Siamese he’d often seen pressing against the screens.
“Gone,” said Patty. It was the first she’d spoken, and Eddie felt relieved that she was able to. “They were gone right off the bat.”
“They’re smart animals,” Mike Sr. said. “If there’s a way to survive, they’ll find it.”
Mike Jr. swallowed.
“Yes, buddy!” Mike Sr. said. He worked another fingerful into his son’s mouth and rubbed his throat again. When he’d swallowed a second time, Mike Sr. brought four teacups from the kitchen and put a spoonful of the salsa into each. He handed one to Patty, and then one to Eddie and Laura.
“We can’t,” Laura said.
“Don’t be a hero now.”
“I just keep thinking about those cars on the bridge. I don’t know why. What if there were people in them? People who died? I can’t get it out of my head.”
“She’s punishing herself,” Eddie said. He smiled, and the muscles in his cheeks tightened beyond his control. “She lost a daughter when she was young.”
Mike Sr. looked over at her. “I’m real sorry to hear that,” he said.
“Eddie,” Laura warned. It was almost a whisper.
“But it’s okay,” he said. “She’s pregnant again.”
Laura stood from the love seat. “I need to go,” she said, but her legs gave way and she crashed onto the carpet. She lay there making small sobbing noises.
“At least she might be pregnant,” Eddie said.
Mike Sr. went to her and put the spoon of salsa close to her mouth. “Can you swallow?” he asked. “Don’t think of anything else.”
Eddie chewed his own spoonful, releasing the sharpness of the juice. He couldn’t so much taste it as feel where the liquid touched his palate, where it settled between his teeth. He kept it forward with his tongue, letting it release slowly to the back of his throat.
The day felt inconsequential, like a lazy weekend. He moved over to where Laura was lying and went down next to her. The dreaminess had returned.
“No one holds it against you,” he whispered. “You know Mike and Patty are nice people. They understand.”
“But why would you say that?” she asked.
“I don’t hold it against you, either. We’re starting over. Both of us.”
They sat there on the floor in silence, staring just beyond themselves as if sharing the quiet of a fire. Old cigarette smoke clung to the yellow walls, and it buzzed in Eddie’s nostrils.
“How far along are you, sweetie?” Patty asked.
Laura didn’t answer, and Eddie rubbed her back.
Then she said, “Just a couple weeks.”
“It’s not anything yet, then,” Patty said. “You can’t think of it as anything.”
Mike Sr. said, “What about fracking?”
“What?” Patty said.
“Hydraulic fracturing. These gas companies pump all kinds of chemicals into the ground to break up where the gas is. It goes into the water and messes it up. You can light your tap on fire. I saw it on the news.”
“That’s up in Pennsylvania,” Eddie said. “They’re not doing it down here.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“The ground is all connected, though,” Mike Sr. said, “with plates.”
“It’s too big,” Eddie said. “It couldn’t happen all at once. You’re wrong about that. You’re just scaring them.”
“It’s an answer.”
“I’m not scared,” Laura said.
“It’s the wrong answer,” Eddie said. “So what does it matter?”
“What happened, then,” Mike Sr. said, “if you know so much?”
“It’s something deeper. Like, something wrong with the earth.”
“You’re not scaring me, Mike,” Laura repeated. She spoke in the tender way she would to a child. “It’s a start. It’s just an idea of what it could be. We have to start with something, right?”
They slept in the Davises’ living room.
Eddie curled up next to Laura on the carpet, but she turned and pushed him away with her leg.
“Laur,” he whispered. “It was a dumb thing to tell them.” Then he said, “I don’t know why I said it. Come on, Laur.”
“Now they know,” she said into the carpet.
“You have to conserve your strength, though.”
“So?”
“Being angry takes up energy.” When she was silent, he said, “I need you to be strong. We have to forgive each other.” He stroked her hair until she was breathing lightly again. “I’m s
orry. Really. I didn’t mean to.
“Laura,” he whispered. “Laur …”
When he woke, it was dark and Patty was snoring on the sofa. Mike Jr. was near his feet in the nest of blankets. Eddie pushed at the boy’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe. His own legs were wobbly. He had to hold on to the coffee table to stand. Mike Sr. wasn’t there.
Eddie stood at the window facing the street. The dark inside the house was deeper than the dark outside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. There were people moving out there. A big group of them. Some had backpacks—some pulled heavy-looking suitcases on wheels. He tried to speak, but his voice was splintery and stabbed his throat, making him cough. He grabbed for the wall but it was slick and he slid down and continued coughing on the floor. There was a pain deep in his side that felt like something tearing. He squeezed to keep it whole until the coughing fit had passed.
When he could stand, he opened the door, but the street had emptied out. He walked out into the night. How long had he been on the floor? The sky had the whitish tint of dawn. It was hot out there, but maybe the house was hotter. Had he seen them? Those people in the street? The memory had sunk beneath the clarity of his vision like a coin to the bottom of a pool.
In the living room, Laura was sitting up. Mike Jr. was in her lap and she was bent over him as though he were a much smaller child. The way she cradled his head made him look like a corpse she’d lifted off the ground.
“Laura,” he said.
She rocked Mike Jr. and his head lolled.
“Laura. Put him down.”
Mike Jr.’s eyes flashed open, and Eddie caught his breath, stepping back.
“He’s sick,” Laura said.
“It’s okay,” Eddie said. “You can put him down.”
“I have to take care of him. I’m responsible this time.”
He saw that she was dreaming.
He touched her shoulder and she flinched.
“It’s okay,” he said.
She looked down at the boy in her arms. His eyes had the unhinged quality of blindness.
“How you doing, buddy?” Eddie asked.
Mike Jr. was silent and didn’t redirect his gaze.
“I don’t remember it,” Laura got out. “Picking him up.”
“You were concerned,” Eddie said. “It’s okay to be concerned about him.”
He took Mike Jr. and placed him back down on the blankets on the floor.
“Lie down,” he said to Laura. “Rest. It’s night. We’ll start over in the morning.”
“Okay,” she said, and when she was down, he knelt beside her and stroked her hair again. He bent to kiss her ear, and felt her hair at his mouth. It was still coarse and strong.
She slept, and he went back and stood at the window. There was no one in the street, but he watched as if he could produce the vision again. They’d been leaving the neighborhood, leaving their homes, and Eddie had not gone with them. When he shut his eyes he could feel the asphalt beneath his shoes, could feel himself running through the night—that old buoyant joy of sprinting through late-summer streets.
But they were gone.
He had missed them.
The salsa jar on the counter was empty except for a residue. He tipped it to his mouth and got out a few sour drops. When the retching came, he went to the sink. His stomach tightened and he spat out a brownish gob.
There was only baking soda in the fridge, and he got a spoonful of it and put it in his mouth. It stayed powdered until he worked it around. After a minute or so, it turned into a paste that he could swallow. It would settle his stomach, at least.
A flashlight was magnetized to the door of the freezer and he clicked it on. He expected to see Mike Sr. sleeping in the next room—a dining room with a polished wooden table—but the room was empty. The hallway was empty, too. There was a linen cupboard at the end of the hall, and on a top shelf, a box of bandages and ointments. A bottle of liquid cold medicine. Eddie unscrewed the cap and held it to his nose. He had to breathe in hard to smell the orangey syrup, children’s strength.
In the living room, he pried Mike Jr.’s mouth open and pressed the plastic bottle against his teeth. When the liquid touched the back of his throat, he swallowed, and kept on swallowing. There was more in the bottle than Eddie had realized, but he continued to hold it to Mike Jr.’s mouth.
When the bottle was empty, he sat beside Mike Jr. and touched the boy’s silken hair, letting it float electrically between his fingers. It took a long time for Eddie to check on the boy’s breathing. He pressed in close, but Mike Jr.’s little chest didn’t rise or fall. Eddie put a hand to the boy’s mouth and felt nothing—nothing coming from his nostrils, either.
Laura had turned onto her stomach, her hands at her sides as if she was going to push herself up. Her eyes were open. She was looking at him.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
Eddie listened to the quiet in the room. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s comfortable now.”
“Is he okay?” she repeated.
He tried to imagine their life together, what it had been—but he couldn’t.
He felt the warmth in the boy’s chest.
She lunged forward, reaching for Mike Jr., but she was too far away and only flopped down on the carpet.
“Please!” she sobbed.
She thrashed around there, but made no progress toward the two of them.
Eddie put his hand over her mouth, hushing her and squeezing her by the shoulder. “He’s not yours,” he said. He felt her tongue and teeth on his fingers. “He’s not yours,” he said again.
She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Then she pressed her hands into her belly.
“Mine’s gone.”
“Don’t say that.”
He got her beneath her armpits and moved her toward the door.
“No,” she said. “Let go.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” Eddie said. “This is a family thing.”
Outside, they sat on the Davises’ deck. Eddie put his head down because it hurt to keep it lifted. The boards were hotter than the air, and pressed into his bones. His temple ached where it touched the wood. He needed to get onto the grass, but when he tugged on Laura’s arm, she didn’t budge.
“Leave me,” she told him.
“We can’t sleep here.”
“I can.”
“Come on, Laur.”
She was lying down, too. He got his arm under hers again, and when he tried to stand, his weight moved her forward. She groaned a little. Her head was near the edge of the porch, but it wasn’t hanging off.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m here. I’ll be right here.”
He went down to the grass and lay on it. It was as sharp as splinters, but he pretended it was cooler than the deck. The basement would be cooler, softer, but he couldn’t conceive making it back inside his own house. The basement might as well have been a mile away, ten miles away. His fingertips tingled, the insides of his elbows, too.
He looked up and saw Laura watching him from the porch. She was smiling. Maybe he’d done something funny. He was beneath the overpass, and he had fallen from high above. He’d covered himself up with ash again. The ash was warm and velvety on his skin.
In the light, he saw a man coming from the Mathiases’ across the street.
He had a suitcase on wheels with the handle extended so that he didn’t have to bend as he bumped it down the steps. He wore long pants that looked like suit pants and a shirt that wasn’t tucked in.
Eddie lifted his face from the ground and felt where the grass had stuck into his cheek.
The man was coming up the driveway. Laura wasn’t near the steps, and Eddie felt the panic of having left the knives inside. He sat up. The inside of his mouth was rough against his tongue and his tongue was fatter than it should have been. It felt more like a piece of meat. He didn’t know if he could speak. He couldn’t get to his feet.
“Hush, now,” the man said as he
approached. “I’m just a neighbor.”
Eddie dropped to his side and used his elbow to drag himself along the ground, but didn’t make it far. The man stood next to him. Eddie could feel the weight of the suitcase—its black rectangle blotting out the sun.
“I’m here to help,” the man said. He unzipped the suitcase and took out a clear gallon jug. Eddie looked up beneath it and saw where the liquid in the bottom made a section of the sky dance like a swimming pool. The man tilted it over a coffee mug.
“Here,” he said. “Drink.”
The man got Eddie sitting against the base of the house, and put the cup to his lips. He couldn’t swallow, but felt it going down. Whatever skin and muscle was in his throat was swollen and almost numb. He let his head drop and took deep breaths. Then he felt his head get lighter.
“Easy,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Eddie managed.
“My name is Steve McCarthy.” He knelt down next to Eddie and kept his eyes pressed closed. It was as if he were trying to keep them from floating off his face. There was stubble on his chin and his teeth were yellow. His shirt was stained coffee brown beneath the armpits. Eddie couldn’t smell him, though. He couldn’t smell anything. His nose was full.
“I have a wife,” Eddie said.
The man nodded, but continued to hold his severe expression.
Eddie pointed at the Davises’ porch. “She was up there.”
He looked at Eddie and then dropped his chin to his chest. When he lifted his face, his eyes were red-rimmed. “This is going to end. God sends everyone everywhere, so I guess he sent me here. I really believe that.” He paused as if to double-check. “Do you?”
Eddie examined Steve McCarthy’s face. “Yeah,” he said.
“Your wife? She’s living?”
“On the porch.”
“That’s good. Just rest now. Let the water do its work.”
“How many have died?”
“I only minister to the live ones.”
“Where did you get the water?”
“I have a supply.”
Eddie tried to ask him How? and Where?, but his voice was stuck again.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Steve McCarthy said.
Eddie collected himself. He swallowed.
Thirst Page 14
