Marcus and I continue playing the game and drinking our beer. We have a laugh talking about our childhoods, favorite music and movies, most embarrassing moments, even some serious memories, like how my brother, Drake, died from a land mine explosion and the funeral was an empty casket because he was blown to bits. And how Marcus’s father passed in a car accident when he was young, leaving his mother to raise him alone. We keep playing until we feel we really know each other. Then he hit’s me with another ‘melancholy.’ Maybe it’s the beer or almost losing our lives, but I get the feeling he really trusts me.
“What was the moment in your life that changed you forever?” I ask.
Marcus is silent for a moment. His eyes darken and I can see he is searching deep within, contemplating whether to tell me or chug his beer. Then he looks out at the dark horizon and his shoulders stiffen.
“The moment I found out I can’t have children.”
Marcus gazes at me with those penetrating blue eyes, which are glazed over with moisture. It looks like he’s fighting back tears.
“Is that why your wife left you?” I ask.
He nods, “She wanted to have a big family. At least five kids, she said. When I couldn’t give that to her I was useless.”
“I’m so sorry, Marcus,” I say, as I take his empty bottle and hand him a fresh one. He takes it and, looking away into the distance, chugs it despite his confession.
“It’s that moment when you realize that life can throw you a curve ball at any time, you know? But it’s given me a chance to rewrite my future. I may never have kids. But there’s a lot more I can do with my life. Your turn.”
After his confession I feel compelled to share something deeper with him. “Melancholy,” I say.
“What is your biggest regret?” There he goes again. Digging into me with those piercing eyes. Its almost like he can see into my soul. And I into his.
I go back to that day. The day I found Lex in the crib, wrapped in blankets that shouldn’t have been in there; the blankets that I placed there the night before because I thought they were cute and would keep him warm. His cold lifeless body dangling in my arms as my screams echoed throughout the bunker. My parents rushing in and trying to calm me while they attempted to revive him. But it was too late. And I went almost catatonic for a month. No. I can’t share that. My mind searches for an alternate answer but I can’t come up with anything on the spot. My mind keeps returning to that dreadful morning. I drink instead. I drink a lot. But I can’t stifle a single tear from falling.
“I’m sorry Pollen,” says Marcus. “I didn’t mean… let’s stop playing, okay?” I nod and chug the rest of my beer.
“I’m tired,” I say, “I need to get some sleep”
“There’s a few beds upstairs,” he says. “Why don’t you go on up and take your pick.”
“Do you think it’s safe? To sleep here tonight? What if someone comes?” I ask.
“I don’t think there’s anyone left to come. But I’ll stay up as late as I can and stand watch,” he says.
“Will you come with me? I don’t want to be alone in this place,” I say.
“Of course,” he replies.
I stand up too fast and manage to catch myself on the porch railing. My vision goes dark for a few seconds while the blood catches up with my head. We both walk upstairs, leaving the empty beer bottles all over the porch. I’ll clean those up tomorrow--I can’t be bothered with that now. As I walk up the stairs, my head is spinning. How much did I drink? I can’t even remember. Marcus leads me to the master bedroom, the only room with a bed big enough for both of us.
My dizziness overwhelms me and I collapse. Lucky for me, Marcus is right there to catch me. He grips me tightly around the waist, holding me close, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his. For a moment, the room disappears. The whole world disappears. Time stands still. And all I can see are Marcus’s bright, piercing eyes that seemed to have tractor beams drawing me in. I don’t know if he made the first move or I, but before I know it, my lips are pressed magnetically against his. The warmth of his mouth feels soft and comforting. My tongue searches timidly for his and soon they are dancing a waltz in our mouths.
Marcus picks me up without releasing my lips and I hold my arms tightly around his neck to keep him as close to me as possible. He gently lays me in the bed, drawing his lips away and gazing at me. He brushes the hair off my face and caresses my cheek. His touch sends lightening bolts down my spine and across my limbs. I haven’t felt like this since I first fell in love with Glenn.
“Get some sleep, okay?” he says.
I turn over and close my eyes. In that last fleeting moment before I drift off into a deep slumber, I feel Marcus lie down behind me and wrap his arms around me, placing me in his protective cocoon. For the first time since I woke up in the woods I feel safe and secure…and whole.
Chapter 8
My dreams tonight are so clear and vivid, yet incomprehensible. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the enormous stress I’ve just been through. How do I sleep through such outlandish dreams without realizing they are not real?
I’m in a cage. In fact, it’s a birdcage, hanging in an oak tree. Glenn stands outside staring at me. I scream at him to let me out, but he does nothing. His expression turns to anger and then he appears in the cage next to me. He kisses me intensely, just as Marcus had. But when I open my eyes, it’s not Glenn at all, it’s Marcus. Glenn, still outside the cage, lifts up a shotgun and shoots. The cage plummets to the ground, and Marcus and I crawl out from the wreckage. Then I hear a scream. It’s Evie. I look back and Glenn is holding her, keeping her from running to me. Marcus pulls me back and I cannot reach her. The scenery changes and now I see a primitive tribe of people, like cavemen. They are dancing around a figure in the center. A beautiful copper-haired woman with child. Her eyes are familiar to me. Marcus stands next to her, lovingly wrapping his arms around her. They gape in horror as a snake slithers up their bodies, coiling its sinewy body around them.
My eyes flutter slightly before opening to the sun’s golden rays streaming through the blinds on the eastern window. Normally this would be a welcome sight, but my head is throbbing and with every move I make my skull feels like it is being crushed in a vise. Marcus still has his arms wrapped tightly around me.
Oh no—the kiss! What have I done? I know it was the alcohol, but Glenn would never forgive me if he found out. He almost broke it off with me while I was pregnant because I hugged an old friend who just happened to be male. He’s definitely not into sharing his girlfriend. As warm and comforting as Marcus’s arms are, I slip out from under them and sit up on the edge of the bed for a minute before taking a few steps to the window.
A long gravel driveway winds down a shallow slope to a two-lane road in the distance. We’ll have to be moving on today. I wonder if it will be safe for us out there, out on the road. For a moment I think about breaking the padlock to the bunker. But even if we could get into the Web, and figure out how to get home, the door would be locked there too. And if we got caught, that would be even worse. No, we have no choice but to take the road.
I amble into the master bathroom and close the door behind me. There’s a skylight in the ceiling, allowing fresh sunlight to filter into the room, so I leave the lights off to avoid any extraneous head-pounding.
I stare pathetically at the image reflecting in the mirror. I look like hell. My skin is dry and gray with dried blood crusted down the side. This is the first time I’ve really seen myself since I woke up in the woods. The scar across my face is deep and pink, but it is healing, apart from the top edge on my forehead where Victor pummeled me with his shotgun and left a large violet bruise to complement the scar.
I lift my hair to study the tattoo on my temple. It is identical to the one I found on the dead man’s--Clover’s--face and on Marcus’s face. I trace the intricate lines, noting that it would actually be a cute tattoo if it were somewhere less noticeable, like m
y shoulder or ankle. Between the scar and the tattoo, I am almost unrecognizable.
I find a clean washcloth on a shelf next to the sink and hold it under the faucet, allowing it to soak up some warm water. I rub a bar of soap over it and proceed in washing my face and my body. I could take a shower, but the feelings of fear and vulnerability from yesterday are still lingering and I don’t want to put myself in a position to be naked and defenseless. I lean my head under the faucet and clean my hair. Then I towel-dry my hair and leave the bathroom, returning to the window to gaze out at the road ahead.
“How are you feeling?” Marcus startles me and I turn apprehensively.
“Like I fell from a plane without a parachute. You?” I ask.
“Not a plane so much, maybe just a tall building.” We share a quick chuckle as he gets up. I wait for him to finish stretching and grab the guns before heading downstairs. I didn’t notice it last night, either because I was too drunk or too tired, but the wall along the stairs is covered with more photographs of the family that previously lived here. I feel saddened by this, but I can’t quite explain why. There’s this haunting intuition that they are all dead and gone.
Marcus cooked an excellent breakfast of oatmeal with raisins and honey, while I cleaned up our mess on the patio. If that family is alive and does come back, I sure don’t want to leave the house a pigsty.
Marcus and I discuss our plans for moving on today and agree that we will follow the road, but try to stay out of sight, just in case. There is a vehicle in the driveway, but after our experience with the exploding car neither of us wants to take a chance.
Before we leave I find some extra thread to sew up the heart-shaped patch on my pants and add the rest to the first aid kit. Marcus washes himself up and fills some backpacks he found with food, water bottles and some extra supplies we might need if we are forced back into the woods.
As we are walking down the driveway, I feel compelled to ask, “So, what did you do with the bodies?”
“I dragged them out back. Covered them with a tarp,” he says. “Oh,” I say. The walk down the driveway lasts much longer than I imagined. Or maybe the uncomfortable silence between us just makes it feel that way. Each step feels like baby steps down a long never-ending corridor.
Finally, Marcus breaks the silence, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” I ask, as if I didn’t know. I know now is probably not the best time to play stupid, but he caught me by surprise and the shame of what I did weighs heavily on my conscience, especially when I think of Glenn.
“Last night, in the bedroom,” he says.
“Oh yeah. That.” I rub my earlobe nervously, trying to come up with a response. “I really don’t know what to say. You know I have a boyfriend. And, well, I was really drunk…”
“Yeah, I was too,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry if I took advantage of you. I just thought maybe… never mind. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“Yes, let’s forget about it,” I say. But who can ever forget a passionate kiss like that? Not me. Glenn never kissed me like that. His kisses were always wet and sloppy. Too forced and contrived. Not tender and sultry like it was with Marcus. But I have to stop comparing them. There is nothing between Marcus and me. Glenn is probably going crazy wondering where I am. Soon I’ll be home and things will be back to normal.
At the end of the driveway, we decide to turn right. There’s no indication of where we are or what direction home is, so we just follow our instincts. Marcus reminds me that we need to stay close to the woods flanking each side and away from the road, just in case there are any more homicidal rednecks out there. He doesn’t say anything else. It’s sad, really. We had grown so close last night and that one kiss, that one weak moment of temptation, destroyed everything. He’s so distant now. He’d probably ditch me and take off on his own if I gave him the opportunity.
We walk for several hours in near silence and not a single car passes by. The eerie emptiness of the region continues when we stumble across a deserted fuel station. Marcus checks the doors, but they are locked. I check out an old pay phone on the other side of the parking lot, but no surprise it’s out of order. People haven’t used pay phones in years. Most haven’t even used coins in years either. This thing belongs in a museum.
About a mile past the fuel station, Marcus and I are relieved to find a small, one-stoplight town. I see the name of the town on several storefronts: Parkton Laundry, Parkton Antiques, Bank of Parkton. Instantly, I know where we are and I am flooded with joyous optimism. This town is about thirty miles from my home in Endmore. However, the emptiness of the roads is an ominous indication that we have just stumbled upon a ghost town.
Marcus and I split up to see if anybody is in town or if we can find a phone that’s in service. He takes the left side of the road and I take the right. We go from building to building pulling handles and turning doorknobs, but they are all locked. There’s not a vehicle in sight. This truly is a ghost town.
After I try to open the last door, a real estate office, a newspaper box grabs my attention. The Parkton Chronicle. I don’t have any coins to open it so I squat and read the headline:
EPIDEMIC: DEATH TOLL REACHES MILLIONS; STILL NO CURE FOR MYSTERIOUS VIRUS
Just then, I get a thought, a memory perhaps. I’m digging in our backyard. Evie comes out and asks me why I’m digging and I tell her to go back inside. Another flash of a solemn news anchor reporting measures to take to avoid illness: wash your hands frequently, use a towel to twist doorknobs, wear facial masks in public places. And overly paid doctors insisting that the latest vaccine will prevent any illness. Long, winding lines of people waiting for their vaccine, only to get sick anyway.
“Marcus,” I shout, “Come here! You need to see this.” I see his reflection coming toward me in the glass of the newspaper box.
“What is it?” he asks. I say nothing. I don’t even look at him. I just point to the newspaper. He crouches down next to me to get a better look. His eyes glaze over and he covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god…” he says. And then nothing.
Marcus stands up keeping his eyes transfixed on the headline. “Do you know what this means, Pollen?” he asks. To be honest, I’m more confused than ever. A simple ‘no’ won’t suffice, but no words come out of my mouth. I simply shake my head. “My memories. Caring for my sick mother. All of it. It really happened. My mother is gone. And by the looks of it, most of society is gone as well.” He turns and scans the entire town, reminding me how empty it is.
The dreadful thought just hit me. Who else is dead? Where is Glenn? Evie? Everyone else I know? The image of me digging a hole in the backyard pops back into my head. What was I digging? A grave? For whom?
Before Marcus has time to react I’m running down the street. I have to get home now. I’ll run the whole thirty miles if I have to.
“Pollen, wait!” I hear Marcus calling after me. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I have to keep going. The running creates a kind of euphoria within me. I suppose I’m finally releasing of all the tension from the past few days. It’s invigorating and it keeps me going. But I can’t go on forever. My body is just not equipped nor fueled enough to handle such endurance.
After about three miles of running I finally stop. I gasp for breath, each one not quite supplying enough oxygen. I surrender to my fatigue and collapse on a narrow hillside by the road. Looking back, I can barely see Marcus is trailing me. He looks like a tiny dollhouse figure from where I’m sitting. He must hate me right now. How could I just take off and leave him like that? Especially with his wounded leg. If he’d done that to me, I’d never speak to him again.
By the time he reaches me my breathing has stabilized. I can’t bring myself to look at him in the eyes. I feel guilty enough without his gorgeous eyes permeating me. I hang my head in shame even though it could easily be misconstrued as indifference.
“Got some energy to burn, huh?” Marcus says comically between his huf
fing breaths. My heart relaxes a bit as I realize he is not angry with me after all. He offers his hands to me and I reluctantly take them. Pulling me to my feet, he says, “If we’re going to rest, we’d better do it off-road.” He leads me to the edge of the forest and we both take off our backpacks and sit on the ground.
“Hungry?” he asks, opening his bag. I shake my head, “No.” But he ignores my comment and puts some dried fruit in my hand. “Eat,” he says. “You need the energy.” I pick at the fruit: raisins, apricots and apples. I try to eat, but my lack of appetite puts up a resistance.
“Can I ask what happened?” asks Marcus. Marcus has been so open with me. I owe it to him to do the same.
“My family. My parents, Evie, Glenn. That newspaper said millions were dead. I had a memory, I think. I was digging in my backyard.”
“A grave,” Marcus states with certainty. “I had a similar memory. I dug a grave for my mother.”
“I have to see for myself,” I say, “and I don’t want to wait any longer. I need to get home.” I can’t fight it anymore. Tears are streaming from my eyes and I choke every time I try to suppress them. Marcus scoots next to me and drapes his arm around me. My head instinctively falls against his shoulder, allowing him to cradle me. I sit there for a few minutes wrapped in his arms, embracing the comfort he offers me.
Once I regain my composure and force myself to eat the remaining dried fruits, I stand up, determined to move on. “Let’s go,” I say. Marcus stands and says, “Ready when you are.”
We continue walking along the woods in the same direction making small talk, trying to stay off the subject of death. About five miles down the road we encounter an obstacle. A large stream obstructs our path and the only way to avoid it is to return to the road and cross the bridge. We pause a moment to listen for vehicles before we climb the hill to the road. After confirming the silence we make our move. It’s not a long bridge; in fact it’s quite short for a moving vehicle, but our apprehension makes it feel like we are crossing an ocean.
Fall of Venus Page 7
