As We Know It

by Carrie Butler

  I get the honor of twisting and braiding, and every so often, he ties a section off for good measure. I don’t know if that strengthens it or not, but he seems confident in the decision, so I am, too.

  “All right,” Red finally announces, “let’s harness you.”

  “Me?” I take a step back. “What about you?”

  “I’m Rapunzel. I lower my braid, and you go down first. Once you’re at a safe spot on the platform, you can untie yourself and I’ll pull it back up.”

  “Isn’t that why we anchored it so well?” I ask, pointing to our mess of tape looped and tied around the railing.

  “Only one person can go at a time anyway, so why wouldn’t I hold it as a backup plan?”

  “Who’s going to hold it when you’re coming down?”

  “You just said we anchored it well!” Red throws his hands in the air. “Relax.”

  I grumble a multilingual string before throwing a cross over my chest and strapping our makeshift rope under my arms. The rain has slowed to a mist, but everything is still slick and impossible to work with. “Easier said than done.”

  He plants a smooch on my forehead in that protective, brotherly way of his. “Just be careful and take your time.”

  “Okay.” I sneak one last hug in before climbing over the—

  Why did I look down again?

  Turns out, climbing over the railing this way brings you face first with the water. Now my confused lungs think they’re drowning again, and it’s led to a choking gasp for air that is not at all what I need right now on this ledge. I turn around. “Red…”

  “I’m here.” He tosses the loop over and holds my arms from the other side. “And you should probably know, my real name isn’t Red. It’s Ben—Ben Jackson.”

  “N-Nice to meet you, Ben,” I force out between breaths. “Elena Cordova.”

  “The pleasure’s mine, Ms. Cordova. Now scoot that cute little ass of yours down the rope so you can go find your man.”

  My lips twitch, but I can’t reply.

  “I’ll see you on the other side.” He lets go, and the metaphorical spotlight is on me now.

  Deep breath.

  Here I go.

  I bring the makeshift rope close to my chest and struggle to ease off the ledge with what little upper body strength I can muster. My arms shake, sending ripples to my chest as my feet dangle over nothing. I swing out with my legs in an attempt to ensnare the tape but freeze when it dawns on me that too much movement will bring this thing down—Red and all.

  Instead, I let my body hang limp, straight down the length of it, and hook one shoe. My thighs graze the rope, but they’re not going to do much in the way of propelling me down. I’ve got to rely on my old friend adrenaline for this one… which shouldn’t be a problem, given that I could crap myself at any moment.

  In my mind, I thought I’d climb the support braces and then shimmy down the pillars, using the tape as a backup against falling. Yeah, too bad I didn’t anticipate the fact that my weight would leave me suspended at least two feet from the nearest spot to latch on. Maybe Red will have a better go of it. Assuming I don’t die.

  My heart fights gravity as I ease down, inch by inch, trying to rip its pounding mass up through my throat. I pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere the rushing current doesn’t overpower the thoughts in my head, invading my senses with the stench of destruction. I would imagine I’m at the beach, but… well, look at what happened last time.

  No, I’m back in Indiana.

  Ox Bow Park, to be specific—which is funny, because I’m pretty sure they have a park by the same name here in Oregon, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m in the park with my parents, and we’re having a picnic. There are tapas, of course, but we also have a bucket of chicken. A treat. A costly frivolity that stands out in my memory.

  I get to play on the playground, and we even fly kites. It’s a big deal, because I don’t usually get to play outside, given the sorry state of our neighborhood. But then it’s over. The spell is broken. My parents split two months later, and we never had a day like that again.

  I glance to my side, and the first platform is already within leg’s reach. Yes! I lean and toe-tap until the treads on Naveen’s sneakers take hold and I find my footing. With a stretch that burns every part of my body, I’m able to stand.

  When did I get so out of breath?

  “You got this!” Red shouts down, but I don’t dare look up, either.

  My arms feel like wet, floppy noodles, but I can’t afford to linger here. The sooner I get down, the sooner Red gets his crack at it. Then anyone else who needs a way down the bridge can use it, too. But it all hinges on me making it down safely first. I hug the rope like it’s my new best friend.

  When my feet take to the air a second time, I concentrate on Vincent. What will I say when I finally catch up to him, knowing what I know now? My scenario assumes he made it to the BEECN okay and had a big happy reunion with his family. Now that he’s lighter by a burden, his smile comes a little easier. The tension he carries in his shoulders is a little more lax. Maybe I won’t have to say anything at all. I’ll run into his arms and we’ll have one of those movie moments where the music swells and everything resolves.

  My hand slips.

  I shriek, tighten my grip, and clamp my legs around the rope like a pro wrestling choke out. As far as I can tell, I only slid a few feet, but it easily just took ten years off my life. The panic, the burst of adrenaline, the ridiculously slick tape burning friction lines into my bandages…

  “You okay?” Red again.

  “I think so,” I yell back, my muscles still too petrified to move. They’re cramping up now, dehydrated and overworked. Aching knots have formed, only to numb in bursts of static. My grasp is loosening. I’ve got to move. Now.

  “Here we go,” I tell myself, hissing breaths through my teeth. “All the way down. No stops.”

  My arms are shaking violently now, jerking the rope side to side. Each fistful of braided tape I use to lower myself is an achievement I can’t afford to take for granted. I’m doing this. I’m saving myself for once.

  The next platform is in view now, but I’m not in any shape to claim it. Coping sobs are catching in my throat, unaccompanied by tears. I stretch my feet out just enough to tap the cracked concrete wall, half-assedly rapelling to get down before my arms give out. Faster and faster, I race hand over hand down the line, more falling than climbing.

  Before I can stop myself, I slip to the end of the rope with a sharp, jarring tug under my arms that rips into my shoulders. I scream. I wanted to keep calm for Red, but I can’t help it. The pain is so intense on my right side, and I’m dangling here, suspended several stories above the ground, swinging between the road and the bank that has eroded into the river.

  “You okay?” Red shouts down. “Can you swing to that platform?”

  I try to move my arms, but they’re locked, bound up by my weight and the tape rope that broke my fall. “No…”

  “Hold on!” a woman shouts from below. “We’ll get you down.”

  Are there spectators? I try to turn around, but it hurts too damn much to move. The tears are back. It feels like I’ve cried my way through this whole mess. I honestly don’t know how I have any left.

  “Can you get out of that?” a man joins her, yelling up from the road. “We’ve got a quilt here. We can catch you.”

  “I can’t move my arms,” I grit out. When they don’t respond, I try it louder. “I can’t move my arms!”

  “That right side looks dislocated,” someone speculates, like I can’t hear them twenty-something feet below me. “Think the impact will jar it too much?”

  “What’s the alternative?” the first woman asks.

  Red’s voice cuts through. “Don’t worry. I’ll cut you down!”

  “What?” My chin snaps back and suddenly I’m looking up, up, and up at the bridge’s underside. Red’s a distant figure, waving around a shard that catches in the
faint daylight. Glass? He’s going to saw our tape rope with glass? “No!”

  How will he get down if he severs the connection from up there?

  He leans over the railing and sets to work, pumping his arm back and forth in the misty rain. Below me, I can hear scampering to get ready. No! It’s all unfolding, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop any of it.

  Can’t they see Red needs help more than I do?

  A tremor reverberates down the rope from his sawing, shuddering beneath my arms. They’re numbing over with an ache that radiates from the inside out, but I don’t dare hiss another pain-filled breath. He’s sacrificing his opportunity for my rescue. I’ve got to make him believe I’m fine. “R-Red…”

  Choppy waves slosh haphazardly up the riverbank, and dirt skitters down the hillside. My rope jerks even more violently, and someone screams, “Get away from the bridge!”

  “We have to catch her first!”

  Aftershock.

  Damn it!

  I look up to find Red still hacking at the tacky rope like a madman. His tall frame is bent clear over the railing, unable to brace against the tremors. Has he lost his mind? “Hold onto something!”

  His lifts his head. We’re fifty feet apart, but I can feel his shadowed eyes on mine, imagine the false serenity in his smile. In the space of a breath, he tumbles.

  Screams sound from the rescue team below, but none are as loud or horrified as my own. I can tell they’re scrambling with that quilt, but the ground is too unsteady underfoot. The angles are all wrong.

  Red plummets to the earth like a fallen angel.

  I struggle and fight and scream until my lungs are raw. The last fiber of tape snaps, and the wind rips into me. Before my mind can scramble for a grasp at survival, I hit their patchwork cradle like a ton of bricks, bouncing and coming to rest with my heart pounding in my ears.

  The shaking has stopped.

  The rain hasn’t.

  And I smell blood.

  “Red?” I call, listening intently behind us. “Red!”

  “I’m right here,” he whispers in my ear.

  “A-Are you okay? Did you fall, or did you jump?” I try to twist around, now that my arms aren’t bound, but I can’t see him.

  He chuckles. “C’mon. You actually think I’d jump before getting you cut down?”

  “So, it was the aftershock?”

  “Turn her,” the woman’s voice from before orders. “Don’t let her see him.”

  “Why can’t I see you?” I ask, holding my right arm against my ribs. “How bad is it?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, another man clears his throat. “Should we try to reduce that and take her back to the condo, or do we need to get her to a BEECN?”

  “Reduce it so you can transport her, but we’ll need to head to a BEECN to report her friend.”

  “Okay, let’s set her down.”

  They’re talking as if I’m not even here.

  Someone cradles the back of my neck, folding me into a sitting position as they lower the quilt to the ground. The woman, an aging beauty with stern features and a volunteer vest, kneels beside me. “Sweetie, do you know what’s happening?”

  “Where’s Red?” I look around, but the others are standing around too close.

  “I need you to focus on you for a few minutes, okay?” She takes careful hold of the inside of my elbow and guides my hand back away from my body at an angle. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “E-Elena Cordov—ow!” My muscles reignite in spasms, and she pauses until the possession subsides.

  “You’re doing great, Elena,” she tells me, resuming her slow stretch. “We’re just going to—”

  My shoulder lurches up, and I scream in pain.

  “Shit! Damn… fu… dge…” I squeeze my eyes shut as a cold sweat breaks out across my hairline. “What the hell?”

  “Okay, that was your humerus sliding back into place. That’s good, Elena.”

  Good if it’s not your damn arm. I could throw up right now. Man…

  I blink my eyes open and let a new flood of tears fall. “What about Red?”

  “Your friend?” Her face swims back into view, lined with concern. “Do you know his real name or maybe where he was from?”

  Was?

  Shit, no. Damn it, brain! No! I try to get up, but she holds me down. “Just breathe for me. It’s all going to be all right.”

  He can’t be dead. He didn’t tell me. He promised. I force my weight onto my good hand.

  “Elena!” she barks. “I understand you’re upset, but believe me when I tell you that is an image that will never leave your mind once you see it. You’re better off remembering him as you last saw him.”

  I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

  She beckons someone with a wave of her hand. “Jim, give her a swig of that.”

  “Sure.” The man from before kneels on my other side, tipping a silver flask to my lips. “Here you go, sweetheart.”

  I don’t fight it. When the alcohol glugs out, I chug the stinging liquid until I choke. Red is dead.

  It’s just me and the memories now.

  CHAPTER 23

  The finish line is underwhelming.

  My rescuers carried me all the way to the BEECN—and I do mean the BEECN. The nearest one was Sellwood Middle School, the place Vincent and I set out for when we left Seaside almost a week ago. How’s that for fate?

  I asked for him. Vincent, that is. The volunteers said they’d see what they could do, but never came back with an update.

  I get it. They’re busy. People are lying broken and dying all around us, starving and teetering on the edge of madness. Just look at me. They barely batted an eyelash upon getting the report that I was “completely disoriented” at the scene. Apparently, the disaster—or apocalypse or whatever it is now—has prevented them from comparing notes with other affected areas. They don’t know this wasn’t my first conversation with the dead. They’ve got a crazy in their midst, and they don’t even know it.

  Heh.

  They did attend to my physical injuries, though. Remnants of Red’s and my rope got repurposed as a sling for my arm, and they redressed some of my other cuts and scrapes. Good thing I stuck those bandages in my shoes. The tape, too. Hell, maybe I’ll get to use this damn flashlight in my bra. Assuming it’s still there. I don’t want to move and find out.

  The other survivors are giving me a wide berth. So I wailed until I couldn’t breathe and started dry heaving. You want to tell me that’s not common anymore? Besides, I’ve got it all together now. Red was ready to go, and he went. God called his number. He was probably dead before he ever hit the ground. Lucky Red.

  Or Ben, I should say. That’s the name I gave the guy who let me keep his flask. It’s been empty for a while now, but I get why Vincent drowns his memories. I felt too much, and now I feel nothing. Nothing. I’ll just lay here and wait my turn. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m next.

  That girl’s dead. The old lady who owned Gizmo… she’s dead. Mama Jay’s dead. All the people back on Fernwood? Yeah, they’re dead. Red’s dead. Vincent’s probably dead. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t die somewhere in the middle of our journey, and my injured brain kept him going.

  I don’t want to be here anymore. I rock myself back and forth, hugging my bad arm against my chest. I don’t want to be anywhere. I’m tired. I’m just ready to stop. Someone let me stop!

  “Excuse me,” yet another woman interrupts my musings. She’s too pretty for me to deal with right now. Thin, big eyes, perfectly brushed blonde ponytail. Who worries about their hair at a time like this, anyway?

  I hiccup. “Yeah?”

  She crouches down in the grass beside me. “I heard you were looking for Mal…”

  The sound of his name is sobering, a beacon in the alcoholic fog that’s settled in over my senses. What am I doing? I was out of my mind, tearing down unfamiliar streets and climbing bridges just to get to him. Now I’m slu
mped over on the grass, giving up, a few minutes from jumping off that bridge myself.

  “I’m Missie Vincent,” she goes on, taking my good hand, “Mal’s sister-in-law.”

  Of course. We would have to meet with me in this pathetic, sniveling condition. I try to sit up and pat my hair down. “Nice to meet you. I’m Elena—”

  “Cordova.” She nods. “He mentioned you, though I must have misunderstood him. I thought you were staying on the other end of town until he could make it back to you.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t keen on the idea of him braving it alone.” I gesture back toward the river, casting Red a weary, heavenward glance. The rain clouds have moved on, but the sky is fading into evening. Soon, it’ll be dark enough for strangers to sit around fires, commiserating without having to maintain the polite guise of eye contact. “Not my best decision.”

  Missie’s eyes water, and she shakes her head. “No, you put yourself in danger to go after someone you love. There’s a difference. I wish I could’ve been that brave.”

  Love? Where is he, anyway? Why is she alone?

  She holds her hand out for a moment to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired and frustrated and… angry with myself for not being able to go after Dom.”

  “He wasn’t at home during the quake?” I hope my words aren’t slurring as slow as my mind is processing them.

  “He worked late and got stuck in traffic at the end of the bridge. We were on the phone, and he was trying to fight his radio to get this ridiculous song turned down, and then…” She balls up her fists on her lap. “And then it happened. I could hear screaming, and then the phone cut out. I-I don’t know what happened after that.”

  Oh, shit.

  I reach over and pat her hand, because I have no idea how to comfort her. I can’t even comfort myself.

  “I wanted to go look for him, to see if he…” She draws a deep breath. “But Paige, our daughter, I didn’t want to leave her alone here, and I certainly wasn’t going to let her see any of it.”

  “Where’s Paige now?”