Radio Silence

by Alyssa Cole

  And just as Blue Hat began shifting off me to charge forward, just as I felt air flooding my lungs and a strange floating sensation of freedom in my arms and chest, I heard the cock of a gun and the blast of a shot. Blue Hat flew off me and landed in the snow at my feet. He flailed a bit, trying to bring his hands to the hole in his chest, but then his arms dropped to his sides and he was still. The other man struggled to sit up and made an ungainly move for his pocket, but he fumbled and another blast laid him out too.

  My ears rang in the silence that followed the gunshots and I swallowed against the panicked whimpers that tried to escape my mouth. I scrambled away from the body of my would-be kidnapper. His legs tangled with mine as I fled, as if he was trying to keep me down with him.

  The man who’d saved us from unknown horrors was lanky and broad-shouldered, dressed all in black, and his face was covered by a ski mask that made him look a hundred times more frightening than Blue Hat and his friend. But then he dropped his rifle and pulled off the balaclava, and there was a face so similar to John’s that I gasped. He was older than John’s twenty-four years, and his features were more rugged, but he had those same gently sloping eyes, the same furrow that formed between the brows when John was upset. His black hair was shorter than John’s, but long enough to hang shaggy over his ears, wavy instead of pin-straight.

  He ran over to John’s prone form and dropped to his knees. “Shit, this can’t be happening. I can’t lose you too. Fuck,” the man who had to be John’s brother muttered.

  What was his name? Gabriel? My mind was reeling, but then it came back to me. Yes, there was Gabriel, who was two years out from med school and always too busy to visit. And there was a sister, Maggie, who was a junior in high school.

  That meant we were close to our destination. John had told me we were, but I hadn’t believed him after asking “Are we there yet?” for the hundredth time. I’d led us straight into trouble instead.

  Gabriel grabbed John’s wrist and checked his pulse, and then trotted over to me. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you too?” His eyes were wide, pupils darting back and forth as if he was running some kind of medical scan in his mind.

  Up close, he wasn’t as similar to John as I’d thought. His build was athletic and not simply thin. His clean-shaven face was all angles: high cheekbones and a square jaw. He possessed a kind of lean hungriness that stood in stark contrast to John’s boyish good looks.

  The biggest difference was their eyes. John’s were nearly the same dark brown as mine, but Gabriel’s were so light they seemed golden, his irises rimmed with black.

  “I got hit a couple of times, but I’m fine, thanks to you,” I said, although pain radiated throughout my body when he helped me to my feet. He swept his hands over my cheeks and then prodded my jaw. The pressure of his cold fingertips felt good against my battered face. I knew it was completely inappropriate, given the circumstances, but still—I couldn’t help that his touch sent little frissons of pleasure through me. Maybe lack of human contact besides John for weeks had done something to me. Without thinking, I pressed my face into his hand, seeking the innate comfort of his touch.

  His eyes lingered on mine for a long moment, and something flashed in the honey-colored depths, but the concerned grimace never left his lips. “You seem to be okay. Can you grab one of those guys’ scarves or something and bring it over here?” he asked, abruptly breaking contact with me to return to John. It was more of a command than a request; he seemed comfortable giving orders, and I was happy to follow them at this point.

  I ran over to Blue Hat and tried not to look into his glassy eyes as I picked up his scarf, which had come off during our struggle, with trembling hands. The pool of blood forming around him was much larger than the one around John, and only then did I notice that the front of my coat was a Pollock in miniature, red droplets splattered over the taupe material. I realized that Gabriel had been wiping blood off my face when he first touched me, blood that wasn’t my own. My head swam and my legs nearly gave out, but I stumbled away from the body and handed off the scarf. I sank to my knees beside Gabriel while he used snow to clean the blood away from John’s head and pinpoint the wound’s location.

  “Can I help?” I asked. He pulled out a pocketknife and sliced off a section of the scarf.

  “Apply pressure here.” He placed the balled fabric over the wound to stanch the bleeding, and I laid my trembling hands over it, afraid that I would hurt John. Gabriel covered my hands with one of his own and pressed down hard, letting me feel the right amount of pressure, before turning his full attention to his brother.

  “John, can you hear me?” he asked. He got no response. I felt another flash of dizziness at the thought that John might not be all right, but I made sure to hold the fabric firmly. It was the only thing I could do to help him now.

  John, please be okay.

  “I can’t believe I found you. How did you guys get here?” he asked. He pulled at John’s eyelids and examined each pupil, and then wrapped John’s head with the remainder of the scarf to secure the makeshift bandage in place.

  “We walked from Rochester,” I said through chattering teeth. Now that a few moments had passed, fatigue crept up on me; a more frightening sensation loomed when I thought of the bodies that littered the ground around us, so I tried to ignore them. “The roads are clear up here since it’s the middle of nowhere, but they’re packed with abandoned cars near the more populated areas. Without traffic lights, the accidents piled up fast and thick.”

  “I meant what are you guys doing, here, in this part of the woods?” he asked. “If you were walking from Rochester, you should have been coming from the other direction.”

  “Shouldn’t we get moving?” I didn’t want to answer his question, and something in my voice gave me away.

  Gabriel pulled his gloves back on, regarding me with a new look in his eyes, one that I didn’t like at all. “John knows how to read maps. He can navigate using the stars and he knows these woods. How did you end up off course?” His complete calm was somehow more terrifying than if he had grabbed my collar and demanded answers.

  “I—I—” I was shaking too hard to answer the question, too overcome with guilt to speak the words. I could have lied, but I’d disappointed my mother enough for one lifetime. I finally spit it out. “It was my fault,” I said, meeting his gaze. “John kept telling me we were almost there, for hours. I snapped. I got angry and said I wanted to lead for a while. I took the map and the compass from him and led us the wrong way.”

  I sat there trembling with my chin pointed up in the air while he stared at me as if I was the biggest idiot he’d ever laid eyes on. Normally, I couldn’t care less if someone liked me or thought I was stupid, especially someone I’d known for all of five minutes, but having Gabriel look at me like that hurt. I knew I’d been wrong, but I really wished he didn’t have to know it too.

  “So you’re telling me that instead of listening to my brother, who was an Eagle Scout, who played orienteering games with my father in these very woods and who was leading you to his family’s house, you decided you would take over and lead the way. Why did this seem like a good idea to you?”

  All of the adrenaline that had fueled my failed escape attempt drained out of me, and when I spoke my voice was thin and ragged. “I didn’t want this to happen. I was just so tired of walking and walking and not knowing what was going on.”

  With a sound of disgust, he stood and moved away from me. He picked up John’s pack and swung it onto his back, and then handed me mine, which was heavier than I remembered. “I don’t have time for this. Can you carry the gun without accidentally shooting me or my brother?” he asked as he put the safety on the rifle and handed it to me. He added, as though it was an afterthought, “Or yourself?”

  I shrugged on my pack before scrambling to my feet and grabbing the gun. It, too, was heavier than it appeared. “Might not want to be a jerk to the girl with the firearm,” I muttered.

  H
e scooped up John and started heading back into the woods. When he paused and turned back, I expected him to berate me some more. Instead, his gaze passed me to observe the bodies of the two men he’d shot. He stared for a long time, his expression softening as the anger left him and was replaced with a heartrending sadness.

  I didn’t need to look back; the image would be etched into my mind forever. I gripped the gun, realizing that Gabriel had done what I couldn’t and that he’d be the one to have to live with it. The thought was an additional burden, sapping strength from me with its immensity.

  “Come on,” he said, and then took off into the trees at a brisk pace.

  I couldn’t stop shivering—my face throbbed, my body ached and Gabriel blamed me for John’s condition—but at least after days spent camping in the woods and hiding from every human we saw, we were about to reach our destination. I hoped John would be well enough to enjoy our success.

  “Is he going to be all right?” I asked in a voice that sounded tiny and distant. Now that we had started walking, my head felt like a tethered balloon and I just wanted to sit down. I also wanted a hug, and my mom, in no particular order. What I got was a hard look from Gabriel.

  He turned away from me and continued at his fast clip, despite being weighed down by his brother. His movements were lithe, reminding me of the way a big cat moves through the jungle. I stumbled behind him, clumsily knocking into every tree in my path as I tried to keep up. Perhaps letting me hold the gun hadn’t been the best decision.

  “I hope so,” Gabriel said. “It’s not good that he’s still unconscious, but the wound doesn’t seem life-threatening.”

  There was something about the timbre of his voice that projected an appealing sense of surety. If he’d told me everything was going to be fine, that our ordeal was over and I didn’t have to worry, I would’ve believed him without hesitation. But his next words were delivered with a cold directness that denied any offer of comfort.

  “But you never know with head injuries. If he isn’t okay, I’m placing the blame on you.”

  There was at least one thing we could agree on, then.

  I followed him in silence. Each step seemed to sap more energy from me than normal, but I pushed myself forward with the thought that the cabin had to be close. Besides, despite his initial concern over me, I didn’t think Gabriel would be very sympathetic if I told him I wasn’t feeling so hot.

  I glanced up and hoped we would arrive soon. The auroras were already starting to show against the darkening skies. Before the blackout, I’d always wanted to see the beautiful phenomenon, planning imaginary trips to Alaska and Iceland I couldn’t afford. Now my wish had come true like something from a djinni tale. The aurora had blazed every night since the blackout, its vivid undulations a reminder that we were in truly deep shit.

  After what seemed like miles of walking through the heavily wooded area, the trees started to thin and we stepped out into a small clearing. In the middle of the clearing was the love child of a cabin and a McMansion. The large house was shingled in dark wood and accented with green trim over the windows and doors. A thin line of smoke spiraled from the chimney, signaling that warmth and comfort awaited us. I knew we’d arrived at our destination, but it still seemed like a mirage amid the pines. Then I noticed the windows all along the first floor had been boarded up and I realized the house was all too real.

  The door opened, and a girl stepped onto the porch. She was tall and straight-backed like Gabriel, her round face nearly hidden by long, side-swept bangs. Her hand flew to her mouth at the sight of John in Gabriel’s arms, and she ran from the porch toward us, her hair floating behind her like a dark curtain.

  She was the last thing I saw before dropping the gun and face-planting into the snow.

  Chapter Two

  “Arden.”

  I heard my name and wanted to respond, but I was pulling myself out of the deepest sublevel of sleep, the kind you woke up from feeling drugged and disoriented, stumbling if you stood too quickly.

  “Wake up, Arden.”

  Why was John bothering me? He was well aware I didn’t like to be disturbed before my alarm went off. Wait. Why hadn’t my alarm sounded?

  A hazy memory floated to the surface of my semi-lucid mind: John and I lounging in the living room of our apartment. We clutched mugs of eggnog and watched the saber rattling on the nightly news, where they recapped the now-routine Russian threats against the West. The lightbulbs flared out with a pop! and the image on our sleek TV flattened to a thin white line, leaving us in total darkness. The glow of two signalless cell phones illuminated our confused faces. We cranked the hand-operated emergency radio John had insisted we buy, but it only produced an eerie white noise more chilling than a panicked announcement of impending attack would’ve been.

  “Arden.”

  Reality clicked into place just as something icy and wet landed on my face. I bolted upright, spluttering and trying to paw the cold slush out of my nose and mouth.

  It was only when I dragged a blanket across my face that I realized I was in a bed and not on the cold, hard ground. It wasn’t my own, but a twin-size bed with sky-blue sheets and a thick comforter to match. The sheets smelled like detergent, which was akin to a miracle after going days without fresh clothing.

  Across the room, under a giant poster of Wayne Gretzky that could only be described as vintage, John sat propped up in a twin bed that mirrored mine. His head was wrapped with a large white bandage, but other than that, he looked clean and in good health. In fact, he was humming happily as he reached into a bucket next to his bed and began packing another snowball.

  “Oh. Hey there, Arden. Nice to see you’re finally up after a bazillion hours of sleep,” he said. “I was starting to think you were the one with the head injury.”

  He dropped the snowball into a sandwich bag that rested in his lap, sealed the bag and held the compress against his head, smiling at me as if he hadn’t been unconscious and bleeding the last time I’d seen him.

  A burst of elation cartwheeled through me. John, who may have been the only person left I could call family, was alive and, by all appearances, well. I burst into tears of relief, jumping out of my bed and closing the short distance between us. I ignored the soreness in my shins and how one side of my face throbbed as I bounced across the room. I put the brakes on before tackling him and instead pivoted and sat on the side of the bed, grabbing his free hand and squeezing it.

  “Wow. The only time I’ve ever seen you cry is at the end of Marley & Me,” he said. “You really do love me, huh?”

  “I’m sorry—” I bit my quivering lower lip and swallowed against the sudden obstruction in my throat, unable to continue.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. “When you threw your hissy fit, you couldn’t have known you’d lead us straight toward some crazed mountain men.”

  The pain in my chest receded a little, just a little, knowing that John didn’t blame me even if I blamed myself. Then a deep, knife-sharp voice interrupted our moment, cutting through my happiness and shredding my temporary relief.

  “You’re lucky those men were armed with a slingshot instead of a gun.” Gabriel’s words sounded against the guilt that sat heavy in my heart, and the emotion resonated through me.

  I turned to see him leaning against the door frame. His arms were folded casually across his chest, as if we were having a pleasant chat, but the glare he shot me undercut his demeanor. I wondered if he realized he was looking at me as though I’d hit John in the head myself, or if he disliked me so much that he couldn’t rein in his facial expressions. I remembered his soft touch in the forest and wondered who that person had been, because this guy seemed hell-bent on making me suffer.

  “Yes, quite lucky. But I’m going to be okay,” John said. He punctuated his words with jazz hands. His tone treaded a thin line between saccharine and shut-the-fuck-up, an ability I’d always admired. “Considering that no one even knows what the hell is going on in the world, we
may have bigger problems to worry about. So we should really all try to get along.”

  Gabriel shifted position, squaring his shoulders and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. Without my permission, my gaze skittered over the muscled torso delineated under his tight-fitting black henley shirt. I was torn between wishing he wasn’t right and wishing he wasn’t so freaking smug about it. Since three wishes were standard, I also wished he wasn’t so damned attractive while glowering at me.

  Et tu, libido?

  “As long as certain people know their place and don’t make stupid decisions that could get others hurt, then we should all get along just fine,” he said, still looking at me. His rosy lips were pressed into a thin line, but the hint of a smirk played at the corners.

  I wiped my tears away and returned his glare. Sure, I felt like a shitty friend for leading John astray, but letting Gabriel dictate my behavior wasn’t part of my groveling-for-forgiveness plan. “If we’re going to discuss people knowing their places, let’s get one thing straight,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and measured. Even if he was being a jerk, he had saved my life, so I wouldn’t give him full-blast attitude. “I appreciate the hospitality, but I have enough stress to deal with, like the apocalypse or Red Dawn: Part Two or whatever the hell is going on. I don’t need to add ‘control freak asshole’ to the list.”

  Gabriel narrowed his hooded eyes at me, and then shifted his gaze to John, who had settled back against his pillows and was observing the exchange as if watching a tennis match.

  “I’m sure you can see why I’m smitten by her,” John said to Gabriel, and nudged me with his knee. “He’s just a little uptight. He’ll grow on you, I promise.”

  “Like mold?” I asked with a sniff.

  John chuckled. “No,” he said and paused to think. “More like that mouse that used to invade our kitchen every night. Remember how much you hated that thing?”

  “He ate my peanut butter cups,” I said. “The penalty for that is death.”