Cost of Survival

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  A soft shake of her head stomped my fear into a tight cement rock in my gut. “I invested too much to give up on this now. We’ll be able to survive here. They have all the resources. I don’t need to trust anyone to use them.”

  What did I say? I prayed about leaving? She’d know I was lying. Fatigue pulled at me, aching in my muscles.

  A man approached from around the edge of the white gate. Dressed in a brown-and-white flannel shirt over dirty blue jeans, he offered a cautious friendly smile, eyes shifting along Mom’s frame. Taking in every detail, he held out a hand to her. “Megan, it’s been a while.”

  Mom’s shoulders stiffened. She returned the handshake but pushed back with her other hand on my waist. “Charlie. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  His smile widened enough to reveal large canine teeth my brother used to call vampire biters. Charlie’s had a peculiar dominance while the front four of his top teeth seemed smaller than most men’s. “Jeanine didn’t tell you I was here? Yeah, Larry didn’t... make it. Come in. I have the perfect place for you and your family.” He waved us inside the fence line, angling his head behind us and scanning the forest.

  I stepped back toward the path. Something about his narrowed eyes and snakelike tongue flicking over his lips freaked me out. He eyed my mom the way Mr. Nelson, the baseball coach, had stared at the cheerleaders of the high school. Like she was on his menu and he couldn’t wait to devour her.

  “Is this everyone? Two girls out on their own can’t be very safe. Come in where there’s protection and we can talk. Some things have changed since the last meeting.” His grin didn’t reach his eyes and he motioned with his hand, holding his arm aloft as he waited for us to walk across the invisible property line connected on either end by four by four cedar posts. “I think you’ll find them improvements.”

  Tension set minute hairs of my neck on end. We waited for what felt like another day when suddenly Mom jerked her head up and down and reached for my arm. “Okay, lead the way.”

  What the heck? Don’t trust anyone just turned into do whatever it takes to get into a group. I shook my head, ignoring of course the constant glances Charlie threw over his shoulder at my mom.

  As we walked over the closely trimmed grass, I studied my mom like a guy might. I had my experience with the boys at school. Most were perverts and didn’t hide their sick thoughts as they murmured comments when they passed or accidentally bumped into the girls during the day.

  Mom’s hair had a thick darkness which cradled individual silver strands past her shoulders. She’d taken her ponytail down earlier and soft curls draped above the straps on her backpack. She didn’t look like a woman who had kids and let herself go. Instead, Mom had a habit of treating everything in her life like it would help with her survival. Exercise and healthy eating were the best way to prepare for the end of the world. Mom always said losing weight wasn’t the best way to approach the hunger of desperate times.

  She fit her jeans well and had a curviness to her hips which marked her as a mom. I’d always been jealous of her curves. I still had boy hips and wouldn’t mind if I got hers genetically at some point.

  Smoke scented the breeze with a campfire flavor of cooking meat and charred wood. Off to our right, red bricks framed in a Volkswagen-sized pit where orange flames flickered but didn’t roar. Two women clipped clothing to a wire stretched between two straight posts, decidedly devoid of expression.

  We didn’t stop in any of the hunting-style tents set up like summer camp cabins. Which begged the question, where were the camp counselors? Like some terrible twist on a horror flick.

  Charlie strode forward with his arms swinging firmly at his sides, gaze straight ahead. He could’ve been checking out things in front of him, but his head didn’t move side to side. He didn’t strike me as a man who handled others being in charge.

  The sick turning in my gut increased and I bit my inner cheek. Mom wouldn’t let anything happen to us.

  A house commandeered the north side of the property still inside the fence line. Charlie didn’t hesitate at the steps up the porch. Nor did he pause to knock or ring a doorbell. He shoved the door open and stepped to the side to wave us in.

  I shot one last glance behind me toward the direction of the now-closing gate before he shut the door.

  “We’ll be more comfortable in the sitting room.” He tucked his hands in his pocket and winked at my mom. She jerked her head down and then glanced back at me.

  How did I know things were about to get ugly? A hint could be in the slow saunter he adopted as he established the home as his. Or the continuous once-overs he stole of my mom. Something creeped me out about him and I couldn’t swallow, my mouth dry from nerves.

  Gripping my backpack straps, I followed Mom across the foyer and into a sitting room decorated with dead animal heads mounted above a mantle with paisley printed couches and coffee tables spotted with water rings. I chewed on the inner skin of my cheek with more ferocity. Why were we here? Why hadn’t we left yet?

  Inside, I was screaming. But outside? I was going along with Mom. Stuck.

  Charlie motioned toward the couches. I didn’t want to sit. They looked like the type of furniture stereotypical pedophiles would have. Lifetime shows on Saturday afternoons had taught me to be weary of anyone with overly patterned sofas and unfeminine accents.

  We sat, but gingerly like the couches hid hunting traps beneath their cushions, ready to spring at our butt cheeks. I hadn’t walked as far as I had for my butt to get eaten off by a dang couch – in paisley for crying out loud. I didn’t bother hiding my glare as Charlie claimed his own seat beside the river rock fireplace.

  He steepled his hands and pressed his fingers to his mouth, drawing out the moment like a poorly written suspense novel. Speak already. He lowered his hands to rest on his lap and inclined his head. “Megan, you didn’t bring your husband. Is he coming later?”

  I squinted at my mom, anxious for her to lie. Say anything to keep Dad’s invisible protection wrapped around us.

  “My husband and my son are dead.” Her short answer surprised me. I’d never heard her speak so clipped. She smiled while speaking – maybe to take the edge off her tone?

  Charlie crossed his arms, his smile broadening. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.” Skimming the room with her eyes, she reached down and scratched at her ankle beneath the top of her boot. “So can we go to our tent? I believe I’m supposed to have the one on the far end.”

  Shrugging, Charlie leaned back, piercing her with his stare. “Well, rules have changed, Megan. You don’t have a man to protect you. Those are needed here. Without a protector, you can’t have a tent to yourself.” He spread his hands, palms out with fingers fanned. “The rule was not created for fun, but more for safety. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Protection? I don’t need a man to protect me, Charlie. You know this. We took the same classes. I have a carry concealed license. You’ve seen me shoot.” She clenched her jaw. Mom held herself together, but barely.

  Charlie stilled, like he sensed a blow up might be inevitable, if he didn’t take care with his next word selections. “I’m not questioning your skills. What the protection rule prevents is the men taking what they want, because someone is responsible for that woman or...” He pointed my way. “family.”

  “I think my gun will be able to protect us from any of the men. Why are those kind of men allowed in this camp, if they can’t be trusted to act civilized?” Mom’s eyebrow arched and I lifted mine. She only asked questions when she knew the answer.

  “Oh, about that. I’m going to need you to turn your weapons in. People can’t run around with guns in the camp. That can’t be safe for anyone, especially if an unfortunate accident occurs.” He offered a condescending smile – a match to my gym teacher’s grin when she told us we weren’t required to run but we had to make a time limit on the mile – exactly low enough to require us to run.

  Mom stared at Charli
e. She didn’t waver.

  He met her gaze, unflinching. “Listen, I don’t have anyone claimed myself. You and your daughter can stay in the house with me. You just be... available... and you’ll have protection in the camp.” He pointed at me. “Her too. It’s really that easy.”

  “And if I want to leave?” Mom lifted her chin, squaring her jaw. Finally, her logical side kicked in. Let’s go!

  “You should’ve gone before coming inside. Now that you’ve entered our walls, you’re community responsibility. We can’t afford for you to leave. So you can either stay with me, protected, or you can take your chances in a community tent.” Charlie’s smile didn’t change, but the skin around his eyes hardened. He pointed toward Mom’s bruised and scraped face. “Looks like you already experienced a taste of what’s out there as it is. Congratulations escaping, but do you think you’ll do so well next time?”

  I clenched my knees together, curling my toes. He wasn’t a man I wanted to be caught alone with. He took a positive and slanted it into doubt.

  Mom’s lips parted. Pure shock slackened her features. She didn’t speak. I’m sure she couldn’t. His proposition reeked and I’m not surprised she couldn’t figure out what to say.

  He continued. “I’ll need to know what other skills you have to benefit the group. Your value will adjust what your standing is with us, when you eat, when your lookout times are, and so on.” He thrummed his fingers on his upper thigh, glancing from me to Mom.

  “But... But everything was already decided. Our positions were established and now you’re changing them? I don’t understand.” Mom dug her fingers into the material above her knee.

  Charlie didn’t drop his grin. “I know it’s confusing, but when management changes other things do, too.”

  “I can still protect myself and my daughter.” Mom stiffened her lip. I had no doubt her stubbornness alone would keep us safe and fed and even thriving – with or without a group to support us.

  Fingers shaped into a gun, index pointed at me, Charlie cocked his jaw to the side. “What about her? Think you can protect her, twenty-four hours? When you’re sleeping? When she needs to use the restroom? Choose me and I’ll keep you on the same rotations, same shifts. Don’t... and, well.” He shrugged, picking at the cuticle on his thumb. His sudden disinterest alarmed me more than his threats.

  So what if he couldn’t promise Mom anything. She could. She brought us to the group. She had to be able to trust some of those people, right? If not, what were we doing there?

  Mom didn’t speak. I watched them and looked around wildly, his words, their meaning terrifying, but I couldn’t grasp why. Yes, his threat was clear. But would that horror be allowed in a community designed for safety? I was too tired, too confused. Too out of my element to understand exactly what was being thrown down and how it had happened to us.

  Charlie’s voice lowered. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Look, think of it this way. You control if it’s voluntary or not, if it’s more than just me. More importantly, your daughter will be protected by more than you alone. It’s like we’ll be working together to keep her safe.”

  Mom waited another drawn out thirty seconds before nodding her head.

  She ignored the caveat to the promise in his tone.

  The promise which said we’d be protected.

  For now.

  Chapter 9

  Charlie’s control slipped around Mom and I like an old-fashioned corset. Tightening slowly but firmly with inexorable pressure.

  He placed us in a bedroom along the back of the house. Claiming none of the others had bathrooms, he proceeded to tell us to use the outhouse along the southern fence line.

  Mom avoided my questioning glare.

  Standing beside the door, Mom fiddled with the zipper on her sweatshirt. Charlie stopped in front of her, their height difference extremely apparent as he bent his head to look down at her.

  Mom squared her jaw, lifting her chin with stubbornness I recognized all too well.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her cheek twitched. He murmured. “My room’s right next door. I’ll see you tonight.” Charlie glanced my way and dropped his hand. “Dinner is in shifts. I’ll talk to Murray about adding you to the second shift with me.” And then he was gone, leaving an oily residue in the air behind him.

  Silent as a breeze pushing through the woods, Mom closed the door. She swung her bag onto the bed and sighed.

  Knock. Knock.

  The sound echoed with the wooden floor acoustics.

  We froze. Now what?

  Mom crossed to the door and opened the panel partway.

  Charlie’s profile bobbed in and out of my field of view in the line of the slim opening. His low murmur burned my ears. “Megan, you need to give me your gun.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll keep it in my room. No one else will have access to it, okay?”

  Mom’s hand flew to the holster at the small of her back. Reflexively, she wrapped her fingers around the handle. “This is my only one. I can’t just give it to you.”

  But it wasn’t the only gun. Mom had a smaller weighted one sewn into the bottom of my pack. Not only was she lying, she was convincing. Since when did my mom lie?

  Charlie paused, the one eye I could see narrowed. “If you don’t give it to me, I’ll be forced to take it. That’s no way to start off together, is it?”

  Together? Who did he think he was? Mom’s husband? Creep.

  She shook her head, the movement small and graceful. With extreme care, she unsnapped the strap securing her gun and withdrew the piece at a finite pace. Slipping the butt of her gun into his hand, Mom stared at her offering as if her last tank of oxygen slipped away.

  With his empty hand, Charlie patted my mom’s head. Like a stupid dog! I ground my teeth. Mom closed the door as he turned and walked away.

  A sick twist of her lips could’ve passed as a frown or a self-defeating smile. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed my pack and turned it over. A red tab sewn into the lining poked from the seam. Tearing the tab back, Mom pulled the entire panel open and thrust her hand inside the pocket. While she retrieved the smaller gun, she studied the room and what was available.

  Inspecting it myself, I couldn’t help lifting my shoulders in defeat. The sparse contents offered little in the way of comfort or style. A double bed pushed against the plain white wall had a fitted sheet and a raggedy red and blue quilt. No pillows to rest heads on. The window didn’t have any fittings and the hardwood flooring lacked rugs or anything to even remotely add some character.

  After reclosing the panel with the pre-installed Velcro strips, Mom palmed the gun and turned toward the closet, if that’s what a medicine cabinet sized cupboard could be called. Pulling open the door, she angled herself around and walked backwards into the space.

  “You’re not going to fit in there.” I pulled my eyebrows together. What was she doing? Sometimes Mom had a mind of her own and I couldn’t follow her best-laid plans for anything. Dad used to say she had the mind of an engineer.

  Raising her arms, she stretched and then carefully lowered her hands, keeping her eyes on the corner above the closet door. She wiggled out of the tight space.

  With empty hands.

  “Wha—” My question was interrupted by another knock at the door.

  Charlie didn’t wait for an invite or an answer. He pushed right in with his too-toothy grin. Another man with reddish-brown hair and a gray speckled beard followed him. The new man didn’t smile, his mouth was completely covered by beard. I guess I could’ve missed the friendly gesture under all his facial hair, but his eyes had a hard tilt to them, suggesting he hadn’t smiled in a long time.

  “We need to do a search of your items for any other weapons. I’m sure you understand.” Charlie folded his arms and leaned against the wall separating his room from ours. “This is Sarge. He usually graces the west wall. But he didn’t have anything else going on. He’ll be checking your things. If you’ll come over here.�
�� He spoke pleasantly enough, but the clip to each word confirmed he wouldn’t take anything less than complete cooperation.

  The room wasn’t large enough for us to move far, so the shuffling to adjust ourselves closer to him only increased the awkwardness of the moment. Mom positioned herself between Charlie and myself. She folded her hands and held them discreetly at her waist.

  I copied her. Mom had a calm assuredness about her I found more comforting than any amount of words would be.

  Charlie turned and faced us, ignoring his man’s rough handling of our things. “I didn’t get a chance to formally meet your daughter, Megan.” He left his comment hanging with a loud unspoken ‘introduce us, now’ in the air.

  Pasting on her fake-I’m-going-to-puke-on-you-when-I-get-the-chance smile, Mom nodded my direction. “This is Kelly. Kelly, this is Charlie Penderson.”

  He smiled at me, extending his hand. “Nice to officially meet you.” He waited for me to return the shake which I did with firmness. My dad hadn’t shirked on raising me. Charlie nodded. “Good grip. How old are you, Kelly?” His voice and the sincerity of his eyes betrayed his words – or maybe it was the other way around. I could see how he was so easy to trust, to follow.

  Mom put her arm around me and squeezed, breaking the connection Charlie had allowed to continue past the societal norm. “Kelly just turned twelve. Isn’t she tall?” She kissed my forehead and something in her eyes told me to keep my mouth shut and go along.

  I grinned like an idiot and blushed. “Mo-om. I’m not that tall.”

  Glancing between Mom and me, Charlie’s over-exuberance toward me faded. “Yes, you are tall, but you look like your mom. I never would’ve guessed twelve. Maybe fifteen?” He winked, turning toward Sarge who had flipped my backpack upside down and fingered the panel on the bottom.

  Charlie moved forward. “What’s this for, Megan?” He took the bag from Sarge’s fingers and turned to Mom. “Looks like you’re trying to hide something.” He studied her face and her movements, like she was going to tell him everything or he was going to make her.