by Megan Crewe
If it stays this way I’ ll be fine, I thought. If it gets worse . . .
“The clouds don’t look that dark,” Gav said, trudging on. “I think we’ll be okay for a little longer.”
The clouds were lighter than those the other day. Still, I started scanning the landscape as we walked. Maybe half a mile away, a group of houses clustered around a laneway off the main road. Beyond them, a farmhouse stood alone except for the barn squatting behind it. It was closer to the freeway and farther from us than the others, but something about it made me look again. I squinted against the wind. By the side of the house, a lumpy brown heap leaned against the yellow siding.
Firewood.
I glanced at the chimney, but there wasn’t even a trickle of smoke. Abandoned like the others, I guessed. But it must have a working fireplace.
The wind blasted a stinging wave of snow at me. I shook it off. The flakes in the air seemed denser now. When I looked at the house again, I couldn’t make out the woodpile anymore.
Justin kept striding along ahead of us. If the storm held off a little longer, we’d be fine.
I’d taken maybe a dozen more steps when the wind shifted, shrieking past my ears, pelting me with snow from all sides. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and froze on my skin. The houses had vanished from view. Even Justin hesitated, looking back at us. The chill cut down my throat and into my lungs. I lowered my head.
We could stand here and hope the storm died down as quickly as it had come, but every second we wasted, we were getting colder and more tired. The image of the yellow house lingered in my mind. It wasn’t that far. If we could find it when we couldn’t even see it.
I closed my eyes, picturing the house. Birds could migrate across hundreds of miles and always return to the same spot. Cats and dogs could cross vast distances of unknown territory to find their homes. Whatever innate sense of direction they had, maybe I had it too, somewhere deep in my brain.
My chest tightened as the wind buffeted me, but I made myself move. One step, and then another. Picking my way through the snow. I waved to the others, pulling the white sheet around in front of me so they could see my coat more easily. Numbness crept up my legs where they pressed against my jeans, but I ignored it. Just walk to the house. Don’t think, just walk.
It felt as though I’d been walking for hours when the toe of my boot snagged and I stumbled. A hand caught my arm, steadying me. I didn’t even look back to see who it was, I was too afraid of losing my sense of space. My teeth had clenched to keep from chattering. But the house was out there—a house with wood and a fireplace and walls to keep out the wind.
I pressed onward as fast as I could manage. I had to get there before I lost it.
The wind twisted, pummeling me from behind, and I staggered forward. My hands hit a solid surface. I stared down at them, at the surface beneath them, for a moment before I realized what I was seeing. A wall covered with pale yellow siding.
When we’d talked about book-burning in school, I’d cringed at the thought. But I felt no remorse as I pulled books off the shelves in the living room of the yellow house. We were cold. There was a cast iron stove behind us, and a couple of logs in the firewood holder, but nothing smaller. And paper made easy kindling.
I ripped several pages out of a dog-eared copy of Gone with the Wind and stuffed them into the stove. Gav lit the closest one. We closed the stove door. The flames flickered against the clouded glass.
“You think the logs will catch?” I asked.
“If they don’t, we can help ’em along with some of the camping stove kerosene,” Tobias said behind me. He shivered and shuffled closer.
Snow was whipping past the window in a wild fury. “At least no one’s going to see the smoke through that,” I said. But I didn’t think we could risk sending anyone out to find the woodpile either. I’d heard stories of people getting lost in a blizzard just a few feet from their houses.
The big snowfall when we’d stumbled on the colony had only lasted one night. Maybe we wouldn’t need more logs.
When the flames started to dim, we shoved in more pages. After a few rounds, the fire started seeping into the wood. It crackled, heat emanating through the room.
“I don’t see any vents or radiators,” Leo said. “I think they heated the whole house with the stove.”
“I bet we could cook on it too,” Gav said, tapping the flat top with the poker.
We stood around it, soaking up the warmth, a tingling spreading through my legs and face as the skin that had numbed came back to life. After a while I shrugged off my coat and lay it on the marigold-print sofa.
“It looks like we’re here at least until tomorrow,” I said. “Let’s check the place out.”
“Someone should keep an eye on the fire so it doesn’t die,” Tobias said, and Gav handed him the poker.
“Thanks for volunteering,” he said with a crooked grin.
“I’ll fill up the pots with snow to melt,” Justin said. “My water bottle’s empty.”
“Just don’t go off the porch,” Leo said, and Justin made a face. “I’m not stupid.”
There were no shoes or jackets by the front and back doors, but when Gav and I poked around the bedrooms upstairs, we found dressers full of clothes. The beds were neatly made. A family photo hung in the hallway: mother and father, older son and two younger daughters, all with dark brown hair and freckles. Gav caught me studying it.
“You figure they ran?” he said.
“They’d have taken more of their things,” I said. “Probably one or two of them got sick, and they all went to the hospital.”
“And never came back.”
“Yeah.” Because they’d been stranded, or because the virus had leapt from one to another until it had killed all of them.
We met Leo in the kitchen. “I found a bag of potatoes and a couple turnips in the basement,” he said, setting them on the counter. “Most of the potatoes are soft, but there might be a few we can use.”
“Potatoes and turnip for dinner,” Gav said, flexing his hands. “I can make an actual meal out of that. We’ve got some canned turkey, don’t we? Did they leave us any spices?”
“I only saw salt and pepper shakes in the cupboard,” Leo said.
Gav grimaced. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
The heat of the stove was drifting into the kitchen. “I should put more snow in the cold box,” I said. “Maybe I’ll keep it on the porch to make sure it stays cool enough.”
We’d left the sleds in the front hall and one end of the living room. Mine was just outside the kitchen. I lifted the sheet covering it, and froze with a hitch of breath.
“Something wrong?” Leo asked.
“The cold box,” I said. “It’s not here.”
“What?” Gav said, his head snapping around.
I stood up, my mind spinning. I couldn’t have lost it in the storm, could I? I would have felt the load lighten . . . or maybe not, with the wind blasting against me. But I’d wedged it in so tightly, and the rest of my cargo was there.
“Neither of you moved it?”
They shook their heads, and I marched into the living room. Tobias was adjusting one of the logs with the poker. The pots Justin had filled sat in a ring around the stove, the heaps of snow already disintegrating.
“Have you seen the cold box?” I asked.
Tobias’s brow knit. “It’s on your sled, isn’t it?”
“Not anymore.” I swallowed, my mouth dry. Maybe I’d moved it without thinking. We’d come into the house in such a rush. I jogged to the front door, braced myself for the onslaught of wind, and checked the porch. Only snow. I strode back into the kitchen. Gav and Leo joined me, opening and closing the cupboards. Nothing.
It had to be here. I hurried to the small sunroom off the kitchen and jerked to a stop in the doorway.
Justin was sitting on a lawn chair by the wide glass windows, the cold storage box at his feet, the lid on a nearby table. The inner c
ontainer was open too. He was holding one of the sample vials level with his eyes, squinting in the faint sunlight that penetrated the storm outside.
He started when he saw me. The vial slipped in his fingers, and for one heart-pounding second I thought it was going to fall and smash on the tiled floor. Then his hand closed around it more tightly and he lowered it to his lap.
“What are you doing?” I said, my pulse still racing. “You can’t just walk off with those.”
Justin’s lip curled petulantly. “I was only looking at them. Doesn’t look like much, does it? Not like something that’ll save peoples lives. You could almost think someone just peed in these.” He wiggled the vial so the amber liquid rippled against the glass.
“Put it back,” I said, stepping forward. I was so angry and panicked all at the same time that my voice shook. “You’re letting all the cold air out—you’re going to ruin them. No, you know what, let me.”
I held out my hand. He sighed and gave me the vial.
The other two samples were secure in their tray. I slid the third in beside them and closed the plastic container.
“They’ll be fine, Kaelyn,” Gav said behind me. “It hasn’t even started warming up back here.”
I snapped the lid into place and straightened up. He was right. The cold from outside was radiating through the windows and into my sweater. When I exhaled, the air in front of my face misted.
“That doesn’t make it all right,” I said. “If he’d left the box open too long, they could have frozen.”
“But I didn’t,” Justin said. “I was careful.”
“How can you be careful when you don’t know anything about them?” I said. “Just taking them out was careless!” I grabbed the handle of the cold box, glaring at him, and turned my gaze on Gav and Leo, who’d joined him in the doorway.
“From now on, nobody touches this box except me. Okay?”
“Kae,” Gav said.
“Okay?” I repeated.
He shrugged. “Of course.”
“Never would have in the first place,” Leo said.
I glanced back at Justin. “Fine,” he muttered.
It was enough. I hauled the cold box to the front hall and set it on the porch hidden behind the railing. Then I stomped upstairs, pushing open the doors until I found the one room I was sure no one would follow me into. Sinking onto the closed toilet seat, I dropped my head into my hands. Tears started to dribble through my fingers.
In the quiet, I could still hear yesterday’s gunshots ringing in my ears. The thud of the woman in the red hat falling. The roar of the wind outside reverberated into my bones.
It was too much.
I let out a long shuddering breath. The tears slowed, and I wiped at my eyes. Gradually, the wave of emotions rolled back, leaving a sort of calm in its place. I stood up and leaned over the sink, examining my reddened eyes in the mirror. Between them and my hat-flattened, wind-tangled hair, I looked like a mess. But I looked determined too.
I’d had a right to be angry at Justin, hadn’t I? There was a lot I didn’t know, I could admit to that, but I knew how to handle the vaccine better than anyone here. If there was one thing I should be able to call the shots on, it was that. And I had. He couldn’t have taken the samples out for more than a minute; I’d caught him before they were damaged. I didn’t think he’d do it again. They were safe now.
“That’s what’s important,” I said to my reflection. We still had so much farther to go. So much farther I had to keep that vaccine safe. I wasn’t going to let the reason we’d come all this way get screwed up, whatever I had to do.
Because if we lost that, we had nothing left to hope for.
eighteen
I woke the next morning to the wind spitting snow against the window. Only a dull light penetrated the storm still blustering outside. But the air against my face was faintly warm. Thanks to the stove, for once we hadn’t needed to spend the night all squished together.
I rolled over cautiously. Gav’s eyes were shut, his shaggy curls drifting over his forehead, one hand reached toward me. We’d taken the master bedroom last night without really talking about it, and I’d been so exhausted that I’d fallen asleep the moment my body hit the mattress. But now, even though we were both dressed and he was sleeping, my heart skipped a beat. I was lying in bed with my boyfriend. For the first time in weeks, we had a room to ourselves.
We’d never done more than make out on the island. Being constantly worried about the virus didn’t exactly make for the most romantic mood. And we’d only been dating, if you could call it that, for a couple of months. I wasn’t sure I wanted more yet, and Gav had seemed happy to follow my lead. But I’d thought about going further. I was thinking about it now, about what could happen if he woke up and pulled me closer.
After a few minutes Gav had shown no sign of stirring and I was no closer to falling back asleep. Anxious thoughts started creeping into my head. Had the fire gone out overnight? How were we going to get to the woodpile for more logs?
I crawled out of bed, pulled on my sweater, and headed downstairs. To my relief, the stove’s window was flickering merrily. Three fresh logs lay in the metal holder. Leo was sitting on the living room floor, one leg bent beside him and the other stretched out straight, his head tipped to his knee. He eased upright, swiveled to switch legs, and saw me.
“Hey,” he said.
“You got more wood.”
“I found some rope in the basement.” He pointed his thumb
toward a coil resting against the side of the log holder. “I tied one end around my waist and the other to the doorknob. That wind is wicked. I’m not sure how much it’s bringing snow down and how much it’s just whipping up what’s already on the ground.”
He leaned over his other leg. I slipped past him and sank onto the sofa, pulling my feet up beside me. Watching him stretch somehow felt totally normal and totally strange at the same time. But it heartened me.
“I haven’t seen you warming up in a while,” I said. Not since he’d gotten back to the island. Maybe our talk yesterday had made a difference—released him, in some small way, to return to the things he cared about.
“We had a pretty strict morning routine in New York,” Leo said, twisting his torso around pretzel-like and shooting me a small smile. “I realized I miss it. I guess I’m just a sucker for punishment.”
“Always were.” He’d been pretty strict with himself before anyone had talked about trying for a New York dance school. But back then there had been theaters and big city performances to dream about. Who was he going to dance for now?
“Tessa said you really liked the school,” I said.
“I loved it as soon as I walked in there for my audition. It was like a world where everyone slept and ate and breathed dance. I could mention techniques or choreographers, and everyone knew what I was talking about.” He bent one arm behind his head and pressed down on the elbow with his other hand. “Not to knock Mrs. Wilce’s teaching—she was pretty with it for someone who’d been out of the industry for a decade—but there’s so much I had no idea I didn’t know.”
And the virus had stolen that perfect world away from him after just a couple months. All those things he didn’t know, he might never get the chance to learn. An ache formed behind my collarbone.
“What did you do for the audition?” I asked.
“A contemporary piece,” he said, stretching his other arm. “Choreo-ed it myself, with some suggestions from Mrs. Wilce. I used a Perfect Mischief song—‘Orbits,’ you know that one?”
I knew it by heart. Leo had been obsessed with that song the last summer vacation we’d spent together on the island, when we were fourteen. Before we’d fought. He’d played it for me on his iPod, sharing his earphones with me, and even though that’d been a few days before my feelings had leapt from friendship to more, I’d listened to the song over and over when I got back to Toronto, remembering how close together we’d stood. I’d kept listening
after our fight, even though the melody could bring tears to my eyes.
“We’re on different orbits,” the chorus went, “but in the end we always meet again. We always meet again.”
And in the end, here we were, even if it was under pretty crappy circumstances. In spite of the awkwardness, the feelings spoken and unspoken, the way we’d both changed, I was happy for that. Looking at him, a rush of affection I didn’t have to feel guilty about swept through me. He was still my best friend. I wasn’t going to lose him again.
“It’s a good song,” I said. “I wish I could have been there to see it.”
Leo paused and glanced around the room. “I could show you, you know,” he said. “There’s enough space if I push the armchair over to the wall.”
“You don’t have the music.”
“I thought that too,” he said. “Missed it more than anything. But then I figured out I still have it, up here.” He tapped his head. “This is one excellent brain radio.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, let’s have it, then.”
He shoved the armchair to the side and tugged off his socks and sweater so he stood barefoot on the hardwood floor in his T-shirt and loose jeans. Then he crouched, his arms relaxed, his head bent forward. “Cue music,” he said, and hummed the opening notes of the song. In my mind I heard the guitar swell to join the piano. And then Leo moved.
He unfolded his body and leapt and spun, the way the vocals spiraled out from the drumbeat, falling back to earth and seeming to topple but then twisting himself back onto his feet. Even if I hadn’t known the song, I would have heard it, watching him. The rhythm played out in the patter of his skin against the floor and the jerks of his breath, the melody in the flow of his limbs. At the place where the chorus would have begun, he whirled around six, seven times before catching himself and then tumbling over, reaching up into the empty space above his head. His hand fell. I knew without him speaking that this was where it ended.
He stood up, panting but grinning. There was a glow in his face and a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen since years ago. Since, probably, the last time I’d seen him dance. I wished I could hold it there forever.
