Palimpsest (Book 1): Feral

by P. J. Post

  Shit.

  I’m debating whether or not to sneak out when she sees me and starts over. I wave and walk toward her. We both stop when we get close.

  She’s not wearing her usual goggles tonight. It’s hard to meet her eyes.

  She reaches up and takes my cigarette out of my mouth, drops it and then grinds it out on the concrete floor. “Hi,” she says softly.

  “Hi.” And all the hurt evaporates, not just my adolescent jealousy, but like — everything.

  I can’t imagine a world without her in it. She’s my…fuck, my reason to live.

  That’s probably fucked up.

  Her coat isn’t denim, it’s velvet or something like it. It looks really expensive. She has a matching scarf wrapped around her head as well as her face.

  “I missed you earlier, at dinner,” she says.

  “I missed you, too. How’s Emily?” I ask clumsily.

  “She’s sleeping. It’s good to be warm for a change.”

  “Yeah, it is. She’s doing okay?”

  “Yeah…yeah, she is.”

  I’m tongue-tied, I can’t think of anything to say — I’m back in school — again.

  A loser.

  It’s only been a day, but she already looks healthier. She’s clean again. Her face is rosy, her eyes bright and alert. I was right to find her a home like this, even if it was by accident.

  “Nice coat. That’s two in one day,” I say.

  She laughs gently, like a brook or a light breeze skipping through the trees. “Cam got them for me. He’s a really nice guy. He said you two talked earlier.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, no, yeah…so we found a decent place, decent people?” I ask.

  “I think we got lucky. Emily really likes it here.”

  “And you?”

  “What’s not to like? I think we should stay, do what we can to help.”

  “Then I guess my job here is done.”

  She pauses and looks at me with that odd expression of hers. “What?”

  “I was…”

  “So that’s it?” she asks, her tone faltering.

  “I…”

  “How about — a last dance then?” she asks stiffly.

  “I’d like that.” Last dance? I don’t know what I expected, but just like that? She said I’d snap my fingers and she’d be gone, but I never believed it — I didn’t expect her to push me away?

  What the fuck is wrong with me. It’s like I’m not in charge of my own goddamned mouth. I don’t want my job with her to ever be done.

  While I’m trying to get my shit together, the music slows.

  I step closer and stare at her like a moron, unsure of what to do.

  “You look uncomfortable. What’s wrong?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

  I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t say that — and no other words come.

  “Have you ever danced before?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No, I’ve never been to a dance, so excuse the shit out of me.”

  “Relax, tough guy, it’s okay, really. Come closer.” Her voice is soothing.

  “Closer?”

  “Are you afraid?” she asks.

  I’m fucking terrified of losing you, does that count? “No.”

  “You sound a little bit skeered,” she teases as she takes my hands in hers.

  I remember being with her out in front of the head shop, touching her shoulder, staring into her eyes — her cheek against my hand. The chipped blue nail polish is gone. Her hands are softer now, and warm.

  I feel so stupid. I don’t know how to be with her. I’m afraid I’ll upset her, scare her.

  She pulls me closer and gently places my hands on her hips and then slides her hands over my shoulders and around my neck. I can feel the strength in her arms, the coiled and waiting muscles.

  She slowly begins to sway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I can feel her body against mine as the fabrics of our coats slide back and forth against one another. I join her, cautiously, as we begin to move as one.

  And then she looks up at me. Her eyes sparkle in the firelight, her face awash in yellows and oranges — her skin coming alive like a golden spring break tan.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” I say.

  She quickly looks down and I feel tension in her arms.

  “I’m sorry, was that wrong to say?” I ask, flustered.

  She shakes her head and when she looks up her eyes are glistening.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I start.

  “No, it was nice, thank you. If anyone was going to…I wanted it to be you…”

  “You’re special, I…

  “What?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

  I’m so embarrassed. I know she can feel me trembling. I can’t stop it.

  My nerves have a mind of their own. No matter how many times I wished for it, I never thought we’d be this close.

  She lays her face against my chest, holding me tight. She smells pure. I want to tell her how I feel, but it’s wrong somehow. It’s like I’m unclean, and suddenly I know what it is — shame.

  Cam’s right, she‘ll never accept me — not fully.

  Never love me, not if she knew…

  But she does know…some of it anyway and she’s still here, still dancing with me. That has to mean something.

  I can feel her breathing as we gently sway with the melody of the guitars and I close my eyes, laying my cheek against her forehead. Her hands on my neck, her face on my chest, and the faint smell of honey pulls me away — beyond any mere daydream or teenage fantasy to a universe where we can dance like this forever — I never want this moment to end.

  She said if I wasn’t careful that I might not recognize my redemption when it came. Is Feral my salvation? I slide my hands around her waist, holding her tighter and she holds me closer in response; the music binds us together.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, trying to control my voice.

  “You won’t, you can’t hurt me. Why would you even think that?”

  “Cam said some stuff today…”

  “Look, Cam’s a swell guy and all, but don’t let him get into your head. He’s got his own demons, you don’t need any more.”

  “You saying I already have enough demons, is that it?” I ask, unsure of what she means.

  “Yes, no, I mean…yeah, you do.” She hugs me fiercely as we dance and then softly she says, “I’ll help you if you let me, help you kill some of them.”

  “What if they hurt you?”

  “I’m a tough chick. I got ninja pom-poms.” She looks up and her eyes are smiling.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “What?”

  “Like a present. I was going to wait, but I suck at secrets.”

  “Since when?” She laughs.

  I feel the anger flash across my face before I can stop it and then it’s gone.

  She steps back and looks at me. “I’m sorry, I was funning with you…”

  I reach into my backpack and pull out a small bundle, wrapped in newsprint and tied with a yellow ribbon.

  She accepts it, holding it almost reverently and looks at me, questioningly.

  “Open it,” I say and smile.

  “I forgot about presents,” she whispers.

  She slowly pulls the ribbon, releasing the knot and unfolds the newsprint.

  Inside is a stack of postcards from the head shop.

  I pull out a small box of unopened pens and hand it to her. “See, this way you don’t have to wait, I mean…to start writing. I thought you could use a different postcard for each story, maybe, I don’t know if they’ll fit, I mean, I don’t know if this works…”

  She presses her fingers against my lips and hugs me. I can feel her sobbing.

  She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. “You did good.”

>   I smile and suddenly I want to kiss her. I want…

  “What?” she asks, wiping at her eyes.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “I saw it, you had a thought, what was it?” she asks again.

  “Would it, may I…I’d very much like to kiss you,” I get out.

  She stops and pushes away, one hand going to her scarf.

  Shit.

  I went too far.

  “I’m sorry…” I start.

  But just like a moment ago, she lays her fingers across my lips again and then slides her hand into mine before leading me toward the women’s side of the warehouse.

  She slides the postcards and pens into her oversized coat pocket and holds my hands, staring at me for a long time. I’m too afraid to say anything. I don’t want to spoil the moment. I just want to be close to her. She lays my hand against her scarf covered cheek, like yesterday.

  “I think we need more practice with our last dance; I mean, we want to get it right, right? How about we try again?” she asks, her voice is light and breathy.

  “Excellent suggestion. I know it’s short notice and all, but…how does tomorrow night work for you?”

  “It’s a date. See you in the morning, my good knight,” she says. Her eyes are wet.

  “Good night, my fair princess.”

  She turns and slips through the curtains.

  I can still smell honey.

  I can make her happy.

  I’m her goddamned good motherfucking knight!

  I’m not leaving — my job is definitely not done.

  I want to whoop and holler with excitement.

  It sure as hell took its sweet time getting here, but the hard part is over — the waiting.

  Now is the fun part, the spin the bottle part, where we dance and date and hold hands and talk about how life is meaningless without each other, and how we’ll never leave each other and shit like that.

  I shove my hands into my pockets for a cigarette when people start shouting with excitement about something going on outside.

  Feral is back through the curtain in a flash and we race outside together.

  We follow the crowd through the courtyard, past the front of the warehouses and toward the airfield. It has an open view of the eastern horizon.

  It’s already glowing far to the south and then a flash lights up further north. It looks like the bombings on that first night, but different. The explosions aren’t reaching us. There’s no sound.

  Whatever is going on is well beyond the horizon, hundreds of miles away, but it’s still intensely bright.

  We shield our eyes as more blooms flash across the eastern sky.

  They’re nukes. They have to be.

  The explosions reach probably as far north as New York and who knows how far south?

  Whose nukes are they?

  Feral slides an arm around my waist and lies against me. “Oh my God,” she whispers.

  I hold her.

  “Is it...nuclear bombs?” she asks.

  “I think so.”

  Our fears echo throughout the crowd.

  I think it’s way too far away for us to worry about radiation, but what does it mean for the war?

  Everyone looks up, expecting ICBMs to start falling out of the sky, but nothing happens — just bright stars, like diamonds thrown across the sky.

  Another light blossoms across the southern sky, drawing my attention to a silhouette standing on the roof of a nearby building.

  It’s not one of our sentries.

  The hose of a gas mask is clear.

  “Oh my God! Did you see?” Feral shouts at me, pointing toward the roof. But it’s empty now, like the shadow was nothing more than a hallucination.

  But it wasn’t. “Yeah,” I say softly.

  It’s the Cart People.

  §§§§§

  Paco comes by the next morning with a lot less attitude and a long leather cowboy coat meant for riding horses. It looks like the one Feral had on yesterday afternoon, in exchange for my current loaner. I miss my letter jacket, it was warmer, but Paco says the Lone Ranger get-up is Cam’s idea and necessary. I hope he’s not expecting me to get on a horse.

  Fuck horses.

  But whatever, I’m slowly learning to pick my battles.

  We told Cam about the guy on the roof and that, along with the nuke show, was enough for Hauser to get us moving west again.

  And when the word comes down, shit happens fast — organized chaos. Everyone has a task, even the kids; toting, and folding and loading and leading the horses. The only thing I know about horses and wagons is what I saw on television or at the movies, so I try to follow Paco’s direction and help out as best I can. I have no idea where Feral and Emily are, but can only assume they are doing their part.

  We’ve decided to call wherever these people go — home, and Cam was right about them. People will die for home — whatever that means.

  Everyone is filled with purpose.

  There’s no bitching or complaining.

  Every wagon is a self-contained supply depot, packed for easy access; food, supplies, clothes and especially weapons and ammunition. People are assigned to each wagon; push it if it gets stuck, fix it should it break down, tend the horses or defend it.

  Many of the wagons have names painted on them, like boats.

  It’s personal.

  The last thing to go is the fire barrels.

  I assumed they found them here, but I was wrong. They douse the fires and roll them up onto a low, metal-framed trailer hitched up to a couple of horses. The back of the trailer has two gates that allow the barrels to be loaded one row at a time.

  The warehouse looks like we were never here, except for the fact that it’s clean — nothing is left behind, even our trash and the horseshit has been carted off as fire tinder.

  I walk back to where the women’s area was and look around, imagining what my friends have been through, the cleansing, the delousing and the change in clothes. I remember Feral and the ordeal with her scarf when we arrived, but she’s been given new ones, so that’s compassion, right? It was all a misunderstanding. These are good people.

  And Feral never brought it up last night.

  I walk over to one of the less shattered windows and look out, wondering why Feral needs the scarf in the first place. What is she hiding? In time, we’ll sort it out.

  I smile as I decide to head back out when a fresh carving in the window frame catches my eye:

  I’ll never forget you — please don’t be bad,

  Stay with me and I’ll kill your demons.

  I’ll always make your life less shitty!

  Love, S

  Less shitty?

  Is that her? It must be.

  S? What’s her name?

  Love, S?

  Does it…can she…love me?

  My chest inflates and I laugh. She’s forgiven me. She wants to be with me. No, that isn’t it — she wants to forgive me. She wants to love me.

  I’m not sure about the being bad part because I am, mostly, but I still have a shot.

  The day just got warmer.

  “You coming or what?” Cam shouts across the warehouse from the back of a huge, black muscled horse. It looks like one of those horses that pull the Budweiser wagon.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say and start walking over. I feel stronger, taller, more something — a better me.

  He meets me halfway as his horse snorts in the cold. He’s wearing a brown corduroy jacket today. I remember seeing a jacket like that once at the mall. “Can you ride?” he asks.

  “A horse? Fuck no.”

  “You need to learn.” He reaches one hand down and pulls his foot from the stirrup. “Let’s go.”

  I step up into the stirrup, take his hand, and let him help me up as I swing one leg over the saddle and take a seat behind him.

  “Hang on, it’s a bumpy ride,” he says, laughing.

  §§§§§

  The smell of nature fill
s the air; evergreens, weeds or whatever it is that makes the woods smell like this. The smell of civilization is noticeably absent, well except for the cigarette in my teeth.

  It’s weird but good.

  I can just see the wagons down at the bottom of a long fallow field in the shadow of a rust and golden forest. They’re moving briskly along a mostly cleared highway. Feral and Emily are down there somewhere.

  I jerk the bolt back on my new .308, slide a cartridge in and drive it home as I return to watching the surrounding hills for movement.

  “Why?” I ask, nodding at the rifle.

  “We’ll find out how good a shot you are, but it don’t matter if you’re the Mayberry County Target Champ if you panic when the time comes. I got a feeling you’re not the panicking type.”

  I sit up and grind out my smoke. “So you’ve said. Maybe I just haven’t been tested yet.”

  “Hauser’s not convinced, but I am — you’re one of us, all of you are. We need you.”

  “I wish you didn’t,” I say.

  “Yeah, if toads had wings…we got company.”

  Two dark, black-maned horses are racing up the hillside.

  As they get nearer, I recognize Paco and the other rider is Feral, dressed like the Ninja she was yesterday afternoon.

  They both rein their horses in as we get to our feet.

  Feral raises her goggles. “Someone’s up ahead. We need to go.”

  “Go?”

  Feral pauses for a moment, like she’s searching for the right words. “They need us.”

  I glance at Cam, thinking about last night’s conversation and then leap up behind Feral, as Cam climbs back onto his horse.

  A fireball blossoms in slow motion over the front wagon before the explosion reaches us.

  Shit.

  We hear gunfire and see more smoke and fire as other wagons are torched. I hold on to Feral as she spurs our mount down the hill, trying to keep up with Paco and Cam. They’re both expert riders, but it seems like Feral is too.

  Surprise.

  Again.

  She races through the tall weeds that line the crumbling shoulder of the road. The line of wagons are strung out for close to a quarter-mile; it’s a long line, probably too long to defend. But I’m trying not to worry about Emily, because I can’t search for her, not now — I have to fight — I have to keep the boogeyman away.