by Patten, Sean
No sense in thinking about it, and no doubt that millions of shitty fates like that were playing out all over the country. Hell, maybe even the world.
The two of us trudged on. At about the halfway point, I began to feel a familiar sensation in my chest. It was a tight, sharp pain, followed by a tingling that traveled up and down my arm.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I tried to ignore it at first, but with each step I took the pain became worse, and soon it was hard to breathe. My blood pounded in my body, each heartbeat sounding like a boulder slamming into a steel wall.
I stopped, my hand shooting instinctively to my chest. A split second later I was on my knees, the other hand stuck out into the sand in front of me. The only sensations I could feel were the pain and the shortness of breath.
That and the black slowly creeping in out of the corner of my eyes.
Pills. I needed them but they weren’t there. I’d had some bad spells since this shit went down but this was by far the worst.
Through the pain I tried to remember what my doc had told me to do if I ever ended up in a situation like this: just focus on breathing and make sure you don’t panic, because panic only makes it worse.
“Ed?”
Amy’s voice sounded muddy, underwater, like it had when this happened before.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Breathe. Just breathe, dammit. You’re not going to die in the middle of the desert on a bike trail for yuppies with five-thousand-dollar bikes. Not going to happen.
I brought in air, slow and steady. Then I felt the light pressure of a hand on my back.
“Ed?”
Breathe, breathe.
I kept it and, and sure enough, it began to work. My breaths became fuller, the pain fading, my vision returning to normal.
“Ed!”
Now her voice was clear. I let out one more breath, and then it was over.
I was okay.
“Shit,” I said, the only word that came to mind. “Shiiit.” I dragged the word out, shaking my head as if my spell had been a stupid decision I’d made.
“Ed, are you okay? Please, say something!”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing out the word. “Fine.”
“You didn’t look fine,” she said. “And you don’t sound fine.”
I summoned all the strength I had, pushing myself up from the sand and up to my feet. Once I was up, my head spun a bit from the blood pressure, but quickly evened out.
“What’s going on, Ed?” said Amy. “What just happened with you?”
Was it time to tell her? Was it time to let the girl know that the guy she’d decided to tag along with was more-or-less a dead man walking?
No. No need to scare her right now. Maybe once we got to Sandy Vista and she was safe with her mom. Until then, I’d suffer in silence.
“Happens sometimes,” I said, still getting my bearings. “Stand up too fast and my blood pressure gets all wonky.”
Hey, it wasn’t a total lie.
“But you’ve been on your feet for a few minutes,” Amy said. “It happened so soon after?”
“That’s how it is when you get older,” I said. “Shit starts going wrong that you didn’t even think could go wrong.”
There was a long silence, and I could tell she was trying to figure out what to make of this information.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Fine.”
Another few beats of silence.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe get you some water and something to eat.”
There was relief as I realized that, while she might not have totally bought what I’d been selling her, she was at least ready to move past it. Best I was going to do.
Before too long we arrived at the bridge, a simple but well-made steel construction that curved over the surprisingly wide creek. Amy and I crossed it, sitting down in the sand once we reached the other side. It was late in the night, the air cool and still.
Once I’d sat down I realized how hungry I was. My hands disappeared into the bag that contained the sandwiches from the machine in the Dead Air break room.
“Okay,” I said. “Turkey or roast beef?”
Amy’s eyes flicked back and forth as I held up the two sandwiches.
“Turkey,” she said with a nod.
I handed it over and the two of us set to work opening up the packaging. Once that was done, however, something occurred to me.
“What?” asked Amy, apparently able to sense that something was up.
I set my sandwich down on top of the bag and got up.
“I’m filthy,” I said. “Haven’t showered since yesterday morning.”
After stepping over towards the creek, I dropped down onto my butt and began taking off my boots, followed by my laces.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “This is just going to be a hands-and-feet kind of affair.”
“No,” Amy said. “A wash sounds really nice, actually.”
She set her sandwich down and came over to where I was, slipping off her now-dirty white sneakers and socks, revealing a pair of small feet.
However bad of a state her shoes and socks were in, mine were worse. They’d been fresh-from-the-dryer clean when I’d put them on, but by this point they were damn near unsalvageable.
“Should we wash them?” asked Amy.
“Nah,” I said. “No time for that. Not like they’d even dry off in this chill. And trust me. The only thing worse than a pair of dirty socks is a pair of wet ones.”
I rolled up my sleeves and dunked my hands into the cool, clear water and watched the dirt and grease and whatever the hell else was on my skin float off and disappear.
Damn, it felt good.
Feet were next, and I quickly dunked them under the surface of the water once my hands and forearms were clean. Right as Amy was about to, I stopped her.
“Hey,” I said. “Grab those sandwiches first, would you?”
She flashed me a smile, seemingly knowing what I had on my mind.
“Sure.”
Amy hopped up, returning seconds later with the food and a couple bottles of water. Once she’d handed them over, she slipped her feet into water and rubbed them together, the dirt disappearing.
And we sat like that for a time, our pants rolled up our calves, our feet in the water, eating our sandwiches. The stars twinkled overhead, the moon low in the sky.
It was the first thing approaching “peaceful” I’d experienced since this all went down.
“These aren’t bad,” said Amy. “For sandwiches you get from vending machines.”
“Enjoy them while they last,” I said. “Because anything packaged like this is going to spoil or get eaten in the next few weeks.”
Silence, then, “You really think this is for keeps?”
“I’m happy to be proved wrong, but that’s my operating assumption,” I said. “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, you know?”
She nodded. “In that case, we’re going to the best possible place: right out the middle of nowhere.”
“Assuming the people leaving Dead Air don’t find it,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Amy. “And as far as most people know, Sandy Vista’s been gone since the factory closed. I even heard some of the homeowner’s association guys got it taken off maps of the area.”
I chuckled. “Seriously?”
“Yep,” she said, wiping a small trace of mayonnaise from the side of her mouth. “The town’s so small now that it doesn’t even really qualify as a town. It’s like a big camp or something.”
I let out a snort. “So much the better.”
“And…they’re not really the most welcoming people in the world,” Amy went on. “Doubt they’d take too kindly to random people showing up demanding food and water.”
“That going to be a problem for me?” I asked.
“Nah,” she said. “I mean, maybe at first, but once I explain who you are and what you’ve done for me I’m sure they
’ll be fine with letting you stay. Not like they’re hurting for space—there’s a whole abandoned town around them.”
She went on. “It’ll be great. They’re really self-sufficient out there, like I said. Bet they’ve got years’-worth of supplies.”
I nodded, wanting more than ever to get where we were going.
“Might even have water stored up for a shower,” Amy said.
“God,” I said. “A shower and a bed. That’s all I’ve been wanting for the last day.”
“And not to be shot at,” she added with a faint smile.
“Yeah,” I said. “That, too.”
Silence fell again, Amy kicking her feet softly in the water as she looked up at the stars.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking about how, I don’t know, if there weren’t any roads, and I had to figure out how to get to Mom’s on my own. Then I got to thinking about how people used to use constellations to find their way.”
“There’s also the north star,” I said.
“I’m not sure I even know which that one is,” she said. “It’s that one, right?”
She pointed to the brightest thing in the sky other than the moon.
“That’s Venus,” I said. “You can tell because it’s not twinkling like a star.”
“Oh,” she said. “I just figured because it was so bright.”
I shook my head as I ripped off a piece of crust and tossed it into my mouth.
“Common mistake,” I said. “People think because the north star’s so famous that it must be really bright.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. Which one is it, then?”
“Here’s the trick,” I said.
I pointed up at the sky. “You see the Big Dipper, right?”
“Sure. I think that’s the only one I do know. Oh wait, there’s Orion, too.”
“Good,” I said. “Look at the far side of the dipper part, those last two stars.”
“Okay.”
“See how they kind of form a line?”
“Like, a two-star line.”
“Right. Keep going up into the sky and, bam, there it is.”
I moved my finger along the sky, guiding her.
“That small one?” she asked. “Right there?”
“That’s it,” I said. “Now you always know which way’s north.”
She smiled. “That’s…really good to know,” she said. Then she crinkled her forehead. “But what about in the daytime?”
“That’s a different story,” I said. “Usually you can use shadows—they move from west to east in this hemisphere, and point north at noon. But if it’s a cloudy day…”
I looked around, my eyes landing on a small cactus with sprouting wildflowers. I plucked one of the white petals, the thing about the size of my thumb. Then I turned my attention to Amy.
“You got a hair pin?”
“Sure.” She slipped her fingers into her hair and produced one almost instantly, handing it to me. “Here.”
“I’m going to show you how to make a compass.”
I held up the pin.
“First thing is you need one of these.”
Then I held up the petal.
“And you need a leaf or a petal.”
“What else?” she asked.
Nearby was a hand-sized rock with a basin-like indentation. I set the petal and the pin down and began scooping water into it until it was full. Once that was done I wiped my hands on my jeans and picked up the pin.
“Then you need standing, still water—no motion is the important thing. First thing is you have to magnetize the pin. If you have an actual magnet, then it’s easy; all you gotta do is drag one end of the magnet over the pin in the same direction a few times.”
“But most people don’t carry magnets around with them.”
“Right,” I said. “In that case you need to improvise. Some wool or silk will do the job.”
I took my dirty sock into my hand.
“But you have to do it more than just a few times. Like, a hundred. And make sure it’s in the same direction, otherwise it won’t work.”
“Okay…” she said, her eyes on my hands.
I went to it, dragging a clean portion of the wool over the sock again and again, all the while counting in my head. Once I hit a hundred, I carefully placed the pin onto the petal before setting the whole thing down onto the water.
“Now watch,” I said.
Neither of us said anything as the pin did its work. At first it was still, but after just a couple of seconds, it began to slowly move, turning where it floated until it settled on the direction of the north star.
“Holy shit,” said Amy. “It really worked!”
“Yep,” I said. “Might save your life one day.”
As soon as I spoke the words, something occurred to me.
“What?” asked Amy. “You look like you’re thinking of something.”
I was. There was something else that I could teach her. But I didn’t know if it was right. Something about it seemed distasteful, like I’d be doing something wrong.
But I realized then that “right” or “wrong” didn’t matter anymore. She needed to know.
“I am,” I said. “Wait here.”
I got up and stepped into my boots and hurried over to the car. Once there, I looked around for the thing I had in mind.
And there it was.
A gun.
3 Ed
I gripped the gun tight as I stepped through the sand, still feeling a tinge of hesitation—and not because we were about to use some of the few bullets we had left. It was one thing to teach Amy how to find north without a compass. It was something else entirely to teach her how to take a life.
But she needed to know.
Her eyes went right to the gun as I approached.
“What’s up?” she asked, evidently reading the serious expression on my face.
No sense in bullshitting around.
“You know how to use one of these things?”
I held up the gun, as if there was any confusion as to what I was referring to.
“A gun?” she asked. “No. I mean, kind of. Point and shoot, right?”
“Little more to it than that,” I said. “Come on.”
Hesitantly, she slipped her feet out of the water and got up, quickly putting on her shoes and socks. Moments later she was at my side.
“Okay,” I said. “So, first thing’s first, you’re right: point and shoot. But first you need to know the basics.”
I held the gun out. “Take it.”
Her eyes flicked to me then to the gun then to me then to the gun. Finally, she wrapped her skinny fingers around the grip and took it.
“Point it down at the ground.”
She did.
“First thing is do not, and I repeat, do not point it at something that you don’t intend to shoot. Anytime you hear about some poor SOB getting killed in a ‘gun accident’ it’s because someone was screwing around with a gun they’d assumed was unloaded.”
“Got it,” Amy said.
“And when you’re not getting ready to shoot, let your finger rest on the side of the gun. Don’t keep it wrapped around the trigger—they call that ‘bad trigger discipline.’”
She nodded, doing as I’d asked.
“Now,” I said. “Always have a sense of how much ammo you have. Better than that, actually—always know exactly. You can do this by taking the clip out and checking it.”
I went through the process, showing her how to remove the clip and count the bullets.
“Four,” she said. “We’ve got four.”
“Wrong,” I said. “Five. Never forget about the one in the chamber.”
She nodded. “Bet we can get more ammo in Sandy Vista. Plenty of those guys stock up.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Now, this is a Glock 17, one of the best, most reliable pistols you’re going to ever shoot. It
takes nine-millimeter ammo, which is one of the most common kinds. Get a gun like this and you don’t ever want to lose it.”
“Got it.”
Over Amy’s shoulder I spotted a small accumulation of trash in the creek—a few cans and bottles that must’ve floated down from Dead Air. I hurried over and grabbed a few of them. Items in hand, I set them in a row on a large rock about fifty paces from where Amy stood, then came back over to her side.
“Now,” I said. “I’m not as good of a shot as Ramirez was, but I think I can teach you a thing or two.”
There was a brief heaviness in the air at the mention of Ramirez, but it passed.
“First, raise the gun.”
She did.
“Good,” I said. “Hold it straight—none of that dumbass ‘to the side’ shit. Next, stand with your feet shoulder-width apart.”
“Do I put one foot in front of the other?” she asked.
“You can,” I said. “It’ll give you a small profile if someone’s shooting back. But for plain-and-simple accuracy, you want to stand with your feet apart, pointing dead ahead. Try it.”
She did, still holding the gun out.
“Now. Feel for a little notch on the side. That’s the safety. Flick it.”
She did.
“Now you’re ready to shoot. Point at one of those bottles. Do the soda one on the far left.”
“Okay,” she said.
I could tell she was nervous, which was good. Better she get her first-time anxiety out of the way now and not when it was life or death.
“Important thing is your breath,” I said. “Whenever you pull the trigger you want to empty out your lungs so your breathing doesn’t fuck with the shot. Do it.”
I listened as she exhaled softly through her nose, her shoulders slumping as she did.
“Okay,” I said. “Now squeeze the trigger.”
With one last hesitant glance in my direction, Amy turning her attention back to the bottles. I watched as her finger pulled the trigger back…back.
Pop.
The sound of the gun shattered the still silence of the night air. And the bottle stayed just where it was.
