Cost of Survival

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  The sound of a car door slamming rebounded off the front of the shop. I tensed, every muscle in my body tightening.

  Why couldn’t I catch a break? Was this some kind of game where people followed me and threw curve balls my way to make sure I never got rest? I had lost everyone. If this was some kind of dream where I’d fallen into a black hole and everything disappeared around me, I would sincerely like to wake up now.

  But waking up would be too easy. Bad, worse, worst. The order of how things went.

  A sick feeling in my stomach warned me I hadn’t reached worst yet.

  I had nowhere to hide Mom, not even enough time to, if I could. I didn’t want to leave her though either. She was still warm and if I ignored the fact that she wasn’t moving, I could believe she was asleep.

  Maybe the noise had been a trick of my imagination and I hadn’t heard anything.

  Muffled yelling came from the direction of the back door of the shop. A man’s voice thundered through the walls. “I can’t believe this!”

  A bang and I jumped. Lifting Mom the best I could from my lap, I searched all around for a place to hide. Standing on legs which didn’t want to do anything because they’d long past lost feeling, I kicked and stamped my feet as soft as possible and stepped toward the carpet rolls, ducking behind them seconds before the door opened to the room.

  Carpet scratched my cheeks. I leaned against the soft insulation and jerked back. Dad had once said insulation was made from spun glass. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was the stupid person who watched the axe swing down to decapitate me. Surprises weren’t my thing.

  “Crap! Dad, there’s an injured woman in here!” He rushed to Mom’s side.

  Dead, she’s dead. Not injured. Not anymore.

  Icy truth froze my sadness. Between the rolls of carpet, I could barely make out his hands checking her neck for a pulse. He hung his head, blond hair coming into view.

  A new voice arrived at the door. “She’s hurt?”

  The boy moved his head out of my line of sight. I stared at Mom, unable to look away.

  His hands left the small window of my view. “No. I mean, yes she’s hurt, but she’s not... she’s dead.”

  Fingers snapped.

  The boy disappeared. My mom used to snap her fingers to get Braden’s and my attention. I didn’t even look up. If I stared long enough, her chest would suddenly start moving and she would stand up, laughing like everything was a dang joke.

  The carpet rolls started falling away. I hadn’t touched them enough to move them. I darted to the side, but a man blocked the way with a roll leaning in his arms. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I needed to escape.

  I squeaked and turned the other way, running smack into the solid chest of the boy. Shaking, I couldn’t stop. I crossed my arms and backed up, staring at the ground. I didn’t want to be caught. I wasn’t ready for anything else bad to happen.

  Just give me a minute. I couldn’t breathe. Mom, I needed my mom. Mom, help.

  And I wanted – no, needed time to mourn my mom.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I lost my control. Sobbing racked my body and I slid to the ground, arms tight, fingers gripping my elbows. I was full into ugly cry mode, baring my teeth and everything. I didn’t give a crap.

  “Kelly? Oh, my word, Dad. It’s Kelly Williams from school.” The boy knelt beside me, pulling me into his arms. I flinched, but couldn’t pull away, too much energy went into my crying, my loss. Survival mode had redirected and I blocked stuff out.

  “Kelly, shh, Kelly, you’re okay. Look at me. Come on, look at me.” He shifted me away from him for a moment so I could look into his face.

  Bodey Christianson came into focus when I opened my eyes.

  I couldn’t control the relief mixing with increased shock and I slumped forward onto his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. Someone I know! Someone familiar. And he wasn’t dead.

  Something wasn’t worse. Finally.

  I don’t remember what time I fell asleep on him, but it must have been soon after falling into his arms.

  ~~~

  Softness and the scent of vanilla surrounded me like a cloud. I didn’t want to open my eyes because all the comfort would go away. It had to. Everything else in my world had gone away.

  I stretched and pushed against smooth, cool sheets. Don’t wake up, Kelly, don’t. When was the last time I slept so well? Slept hard enough I could talk myself back from opening my eyes.

  Yawning, I rolled over, reveling in the comfort of the bed.

  Bed? Yes, I was definitely in a bed. Did Mom know —

  I jerked upright, eyes snapping open. My gaze focused on the cream colored wall across the room from me. The bedroom wasn’t overly female or male. Neutral colors of cream and tan with an accent of blue in the curtains confused me. Even the comforter and sheet set didn’t lean in a gender-specific direction.

  Where was I and how had I gotten there? I remembered Bodey and crying like a freak all over him.

  And Mom. How could her death have momentarily slipped my mind? Not when she died in my arms, reminding me to pray, not trust anyone, and survive.

  Shame flooded me. I wasn’t going to stay alive, if I couldn’t pinpoint where I was or the circumstances which had brought me to the room. I had trusted Bodey enough to pass out in his arms. If Mom was still alive, what would I say? I know the boy? Kind of. Had always wanted to know him more, so I hoped he would ask me to stay with them. Something.

  Because I’d never been more alone.

  Why did they leave me by myself? Did they trust me? Why would they? Bodey didn’t know me well and his dad didn’t know me at all. I’m sure he didn’t remember me from my one-time visit to drop off information for his son. Why would he?

  I rubbed my fingers over the stitching of the quilt, ignoring the ache in my shoulders as I slouched over my straight legs. How long had I slept? Thick curtains blacked out the majority of the light, letting only enough through a slit between the two panels to see clearly without being over-bright.

  Careful not to ruin the bedding or anything with my rough jeans, I slid from the sheets. I searched the floor for my jacket and shoes, grateful that whoever had brought me hadn’t undressed me. Folded carefully and placed on the chair, my jacket seemed unassuming and almost normal. Like nothing had happened. Like my mom had picked the item from the floor and softly reproached me to take care of my things.

  For one second, I let myself believe she’d been in my room, shaking her head as she’d folded the sleeves of my coat together.

  Lifting my hands to rebraid my hair, I flinched at the sight of bloodstains on my fingers and palms – wow, even up my wrists to my elbows. Mom’s blood. Jeanine hadn’t allowed me to touch her, brushing me off with comments like she was fine and didn’t need help. Mom had, though. She worried about me going too far from her because she wanted to keep her eye on me, even when she could barely move.

  All-consuming silence soothed my fears. How could anything be wrong, when no one screamed or cried or things weren’t blowing up? Unless, I was all alone again. Suddenly, I had to know. Was I alone? Had they left me?

  I remade the bed and claimed my jacket, pulling the sleeves on to keep my hands free. I had to prepare for the reality. Bodey and his dad might be gone. Mom was. Jeanine was. Dad and Braden were. Denying the things which could happen, had happened, was only setting myself up for more disappointment, harsher loss.

  Opening the door slowly, I looked out the door to the right and the left. Would I find an office harboring a fatally shot man at a desk? Would I discover Bodey and his father dead somewhere while their killers looted the place?

  A soft woof pulled my attention down the hall. One of the Labs I had greeted at my first visit approached me, tail wagging almost as fast as his tongue moved in and out of his mouth. I bent my knees and crouched to his level, scratching his neck and behind his ears. I swallowed back more tears. Between Bodey and his dad and the dog, I could almos
t say I knew what it was like to see someone back from the dead.

  The dog’s entire body wagged back and forth as he turned to skip alongside me. I tiptoed down the hall toward what I hoped was the front of the house. Where had everyone gone?

  Soft clinking of glass on glass reassured me someone was still in the house. I wasn’t alone. Not completely. Even if they didn’t want me to stay or be around them for long, at least I had someone for a few minutes.

  Pushing through a swinging door, I entered the kitchen decorated with warm wood tones. A double oven manned the wall beside the door. Bodey stood at the counter with a sandwich in one hand and a dog treat in the other. He stopped mid-smile when his gaze met mine. He nodded carefully my way like I wouldn’t understand the moment or the need to feel happiness when something so terrible had recently happened.

  His dad rinsed out a cup at the sink. He turned at the sudden silence in the room. Similar in coloring to Bodey, his features softened at my arrival. He lifted his eyebrow, setting the mug down on the counter. “Hello, Kelly. Bodey has told me a lot about you.”

  I glanced sharply at Bodey. Even with everything going on the fact he had known enough about me to say things to his dad warmed me. Like I hadn’t been the only one noticing the other.

  Bodey’s cheeks flushed. He bit into the sandwich, shrugging.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Her wound looked like she was shot.” Mr. Christianson crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how nervous I was. With his relaxed pose, I allowed myself to shed some discomfort.

  “Thank you.” I think. How did one answer condolences? I hadn’t seen Mom since I crashed on Bodey. I’d broken into their shop and as it turned out, for nothing. I couldn’t save my mom, no matter where I took her. I ruined their window in vain.

  I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed, but aware something needed to be said. “I’m sorry for breaking your window to get into your shop. It was... I thought... Maybe getting out...” I shrugged. “We were chased. Mom had set us up with a co-op before...” I waved my hand in the air like everything was happening and right there for me to encompass all of it with my hand movements. “This stuff. When we got up there after the bombs in Post Falls and the actual leader isn’t even alive and Mom had to...” Even though what she’d done was nothing to be ashamed of, I couldn’t share that, not that. Some things belonged to people and didn’t need to be spread among others. Mom’s privacy, especially in death, suddenly seemed more important than simple details which wouldn’t help anyone in the long run.

  His dad kicked at the ground, but watched me. “So you were with a group. Did something happen to them?”

  “No, Mr. Christianson. The group turned out to be, well, not what Mom had planned on. Things were getting out of hand and one of the other women who was, let’s say, used incorrectly, said the main guy planned on trading me and some of the other women for supplies.” I avoided Bodey’s eyes. Shame flooded me. I hadn’t even done anything. Embarrassment flushed my skin because someone else had treated me like property and I hadn’t consented.

  Bodey couldn’t think less of me. Why did I still care so much what he thought? Because I liked him. Tons.

  Mr. Christianson shoved away from the counter. Holding out his hand, he smiled warmly at me. “No, call me John. I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. The Mr. Christianson thing is going to get old fast.”

  I stared at him, doubt squinting my eyes. “You don’t want me to leave?”

  He glanced at his son, a soft chuckle breaking my tense question’s pause. “Where would you go? What kind of a man would I be sending a child out into this?” He pointed his finger at the window. “No one is making it. We’ve been back into town to help and there’s nothing. No one.” A shadow passed over his eyes and he stared at his feet.

  Bodey looked away from both of us, his features tight. I would recognize loss anywhere, I lived loss like a fashion trend. The sting didn’t lessen. Instead the pain increased like a burning brand while the nerves continued to heat, damaging more and more.

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t need to expand. Their loss was none of my business. If they hadn’t seen me with my mom’s body, I probably wouldn’t have told them – or anyone – about my loss.

  We stood together in discordant silence as we took in the somberness of the moment.

  John broke into our thoughts. “I know this isn’t something you want to think about, but we need to do something with... your mom. Can we bury her? Or do you want to do something else?”

  What else would we do? Like we had the option for cremation, unless of course, John meant some kind of a Viking funeral pyre.

  Bodey polished off his sandwich. “What else would we do, Dad? We don’t have a lot of options out here.” His tone was respectful and curious. I’d never heard anyone speak like that to their parent. In school, everyone had a tone which dripped with condescension toward their mothers or fathers.

  I had brought the disrespectful attitude home more than once and Mom hadn’t freaked out or even reacted much. But I regretted them, all of them, including so many other moments I took her for granted. Why hadn’t anyone warned me? How had I not learned about life’s fragility when my dad died? I only grew more surly and rude.

  I scratched at the back of my hand like my shame had localized below my wrist.

  “Well, I guess what I’m asking without being too blunt, is do you want to be there when I bury the body or would you rather talk about her here and let me do what needs to be done? Either one is fine. Your mom was a slight woman, so moving her will be easy. I don’t want to step on your feet with what you’d prefer.” John moved his hands when he spoke, something I remember Bodey doing when he grew impassioned about a topic in track.

  “I want to help, please.” I couldn’t allow someone else to take care of her. No, I had to be there. I had to see her body one last time, accept that she wasn’t in it anymore.

  “Okay, let me go get things ready. Bodey, can you find Kelly something to eat? Dress warm, the sun’s going down. We’ll do the service about sunset.” He smiled and softly touched my shoulder when he passed. Something about the lines around his mouth reminded me of my dad. “Oh, and bring anything you might want to leave with her – some kind of a token or something.”

  Oh, the intense longings for Dad hit at the worst times. Right then, was definitely the worst.

  I shifted my feet, holding one elbow in my hand. When I wanted to talk to Bodey, I didn’t want him to talk to me because his dad told him to. Dang, I couldn’t return his smile because everything seemed forced from his side.

  “How about a sandwich? I can make a mean roast beef and since we don’t have very much fuel for the generator left, we need to use the meat.” He grinned, a dimple in his cheek disarming me enough to bring out my own hesitant smile.

  He moved around the kitchen, putting together a sandwich with items from the fridge and a bread box on the counter beside the window. Bodey set a plate at a spot on the island counter and motioned me forward. Chips and a pickle slice rounded out the meal and I sat, staring at the abundance.

  “Is everything okay? I mean besides... I mean is the sandwich okay? Do you eat roast beef?” He wrung his hands, the twisting enhancing the muscles in his forearms. He glanced from me to the sandwich and back.

  I nodded, resting my lower arms against the table. I didn’t want to eat the sandwich because I was so hungry and so nervous I would never see another one like it. “I love roast beef, thank you.”

  But I couldn’t eat. Emotion welled in my chest and I tried breathing deep to keep any more embarrassing displays down.

  His voice low, Bodey leaned on the counter across from me and ducked his head to capture my gaze. “I really am sorry about your mom, Kelly.”

  Tears moistened my eyes and I nodded. “Thanks.”

  He twiddled with a fork left on the counter. “We can’t find m
y mom or my sister. We keep going back but...” Speaking matter-of-factly, Bodey shrugged. “We keep hoping, you know? But the not-knowing is tough.”

  I could only imagine. At least I knew where my family was. Dead had to be better than traded around in Charlie’s personal slavery trade. Impulsively, I reached across the counter and grasped Bodey’s hand in mine. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed. “I thought you were dead. That... hurt.” Sharing too much didn’t seem possible with the world burning around us, in the face of our personal losses.

  As vulnerable as it made me, I needed to take time to tell someone, anyone, how important they were. Since it was Bodey, who I crushed on for years, the moment was even more poignant.

  His blond hair fell into his eyes and he shook his head to move the strands out of the way. He returned the pressure of my fingers. “I’ve never been so happy to see someone. I’m sorry. That sounds bad, but I’m glad it was you.”

  He rounded the counter and wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing his cheek to the top of my head.

  Like a brother.

  Crap.

  Chapter 18

  My fingers tightened around the leather binding of Mom’s Bible. Between the book and guns I packed into the fanny pack which detached from my backpack, I could’ve been channeling her spirit. Hoped I was.

  The cool afternoon air hinted of an upcoming storm, an occasional chill on the breeze. We were far enough north that the canopy overhead splintered the light with needles and cones.

  John smiled encouragingly at me as I approached the edge of the clearing on the far side of the drive. His plan to place Mom by the Aspen copse outside of view of the house seemed illogical until the picturesque scenery of white trunks and green coin-sized leaves fluttering in the slight wind came into view.

  Long green stalks of grass reached for the lowest branches of the trees, seed fluff bending and waving in the air.

  Dark brown dirt spotted with gray river rock had been piled neatly beside a long, three-foot deep hole. John had lined the hole with a camouflage canvas material, almost like a tarp.