Exchange Rate

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  A man stepped from the door, his eyes focused and clear. His familiar features and auburn hair stirred my memory, but where had I seen him? From that distance, a bloody line down the side of his face tried blending into the line of his hair from where Bodey must have hit him with that trowel.

  “Shane, what should we do?” Another man with empty arms threw his hands wide. “Charlie knew where the next camp was.”

  Shane. Shane. The last Shane I’d seen had been in the woods with Mom when they’d tried kidnapping her and I’d had to shoot his friend.

  “We’ll find Charlie’s killers. And we’ll deal with them.” Spitting onto the lawn, Shane hit the deck railing and spun, particles of dirt dropping from his jacket in the sunlight. The other men followed him inside, the clumps of their boots like a small stampede.

  A distinct feeling of personal hatred reached me on the slight breeze. I’d pissed off Charlie, but Shane had just become my enemy on a whole new level. His and Charlie’s connection wasn’t clear, but it was there.

  Turning my head, I blinked back tears, my vision of John hazy and blurred. I quietly whispered, “Why wouldn’t he stop coming after us, John? What logical reason...” I couldn’t finish. None of it made sense. And while I didn’t care about death – at least as long as it didn’t affect me personally, I didn’t want to be the one killing. Something seemed so wrong in the act. Why hadn’t Charlie just given up after the first few times he’d missed us?

  “Some men – and women, too – just can’t let things go. Like an obsession.” John’s explanation seemed so simple but made perfect sense. He wrapped his arms around our shoulders and murmured, “Looks like we’re moving on at just the right time.”

  I nodded, glancing at Bodey’s scrapes and bruises. He didn’t look at me.

  Where had our happiness of the morning gone?

  Chapter 3

  We didn’t have to walk far outside of the neighborhood to get to John’s holding place. Stuck between two closely growing trees, our packs stacked up and covered by branches and leaves.

  The simple untouched beauty of the area hid everything well. I walked by the hiding place. John stopped us with a snap of his fingers.

  Hauling out our bags, John helped us pull them on and snapped our extra bags to parallel poles he dragged behind him. Bodey grabbed the bottom ends of the poles to avoid leaving a trail.

  I caught Bodey’s eye as I fell into step beside him. He limped but not enough to impede his speed. I spoke low, not wanting to involve John or give away our location to anyone who might be nearby. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” He watched John’s feet, avoiding my gaze.

  “Are you mad at me?” I chewed on my bottom lip. What had I done wrong now? He’d just told me he loved me and now he was mad.

  His lips appeared even softer with the border of stubble. He glanced at his dad and then peeked at me. He spoke hurriedly and hushed. “I had him. You protected me like... a little boy. I could do it.”

  I recoiled, hurt by his response. “Are you serious? You’re upset because I hurt him? You were doing fine, but I couldn’t stand there and not help. Not after what he’d done to Mom. You can’t get hurt and he was going to kill you, if he had the chance.”

  Bodey tapped the poles with his fingers. “Just a second, Dad.”

  John stopped and waited as Bodey lowered the poles and then pulled me aside. John averted his gaze, picking his fingernail like it was the most interesting thing to happen to him in years.

  Grasping my upper arms, Bodey met my gaze square on. “You don’t understand. I have nothing to give you. And with that stupid utensil you took away my chance to protect you. I don’t even have that now.”

  I blinked back angry tears, scrunching up my lips and nose. “Were you serious? Back there? You would marry me and be with me, if you could? Do you know what that means? It means we would be partners. We would protect each other. Why...” I swallowed. How could he treat me like that? I didn’t do anything wrong.

  He glanced in his dad’s direction, but my words shouldn’t have reached him. I spoke hushed and fast.

  Bodey’s grip loosened, but he still held on. “You don’t understand. I want so much for you. I want you to be happy and comfortable... fed. I’d give you everything, if I could. You would never want for anything. But I have nothing.” He softly shook his head, lifting his hand to inspect the scrapes and rubbed skin along the knuckles. “All I have is my strength. I can protect you, defend you, but you have to let me.” He cradled my neck, his fingers branding me with his touch.

  I stuck out my lower lip. “Don’t be mad at me then. I want to do the same for you. And I’m not as strong as you, but what I can do, I will.” I lifted my chin. “So don’t begrudge me that.”

  He inclined his head. “Point taken. Oh, I do wish I could marry you now, Kel.” He touched his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. His nearness comforted me and his touch reassured me that we were fine.

  John cleared his throat. “You guys okay?”

  Bodey and I pulled apart. I blushed. John knew we cared about each other, but I think he blocked out just how much. Bodey intertwined his fingers with mine and lifted his chest. “Yeah, we’re fine, but Dad, I love Kelly.”

  Looking between his son and me, John didn’t say a word. He waited for more. How could there not be more?

  Not missing a beat, Bodey continued, his tone strong but still held at a private level for safety. “I want to marry her.”

  The silence after Bodey announced something we hadn’t completely discussed could have knocked over a stone wall. I shifted on my toes, certain I would have to start running – but from what, I wasn’t sure. The air tightened around us as I waited for John’s reply.

  John jostled his backpack higher on his waist. Solemn, he considered us longer. “Do you mind if you give me time to think about this? I didn’t realize your affections had reached this level.”

  “Of course not. We seem to have all the time in the world.” Grinning, Bodey released my hand after a quick squeeze and reached for the poles. He waited for his dad to return to the head of them and retrieve his end as well.

  A fine perspiration covered the back of my neck. John wanted to think about what? What was there to think over? He didn’t like me? Maybe thought I wasn’t good enough for Bodey – which, I couldn’t agree with him more. Bodey’s sweetness and goodness would be enough to make him a man worth loving, but add in his hard-working ethics and his honesty and he became the perfect kind of man before and after the end of society. He trusted people and didn’t expect bad things to happen.

  Me? I couldn’t be more different. I wasn’t necessarily nice and I tried to get out of work which made me hurt. If lying would get me out of trouble, I wouldn’t hesitate to fabricate a story no one would believe. I was so worthless as a girl, men wanted to trade me for textiles.

  Why would Bodey want to be with me?

  Maybe because he didn’t have any other choice.

  ~~~

  We walked all day and probably didn’t cover more than five miles. Up and down mountainsides and through small creeks and large rivers, those miles grew and grew. We really just wanted to get a comfortable distance from the northern Spirit Lake neighborhood and the men after us. As ironic as it was we’d been running from this crazy man and his gang for months and had never gone outside of a couple counties. John’s wife was so close. Or so far. Or not even there. Or. Or. Or. Or. The possibility that she was out there searching for him kept him going.

  Maybe his obsession and Charlie’s ran on parallel paths. Hopefully, John’s didn’t slam into a tree like Charlie’s had.

  Dusk bit into our daylight and John stomped his feet, an indication he was nearly ready to stop for the day. I sighed, grateful I didn’t have to keep going. Between uncertainty about how he felt about me and Bodey and fatigue, I don’t know if I could’ve kept going much longer. Every footstep hurt.

  The litany of doubt continued to cloud my mind. Wasn�
��t I good enough? Why wasn’t I? I had expected him to immediately say he couldn’t agree more, or he loved us both and wanted us happy. Something. Anything. But he’d asked for time to think about his son and me.

  He’d broken my heart and my excitement over Bodey’s revelation dimmed under the weight that John didn’t feel about me the same way I’d grown to feel about him. He’d become like my dad which was saying something since I’d loved my own father so much. John had filled that hole in my heart and I was a little disappointed he didn’t feel the same way.

  Shrugging off the pressure of having unreciprocated feelings, I assessed what needed to be done in the camp. I didn’t cook every night. Bodey was in charge of looking for food. After John would set up the fire pit and start the flames, I would help Bodey cook whatever he found – plants of some kind, bugs, animals – if we were lucky – or even bark we boiled in water and drank like broth. We weren’t above anything, if we could pretend it were edible and tasty.

  I dug in my pockets and handed the packets of oatmeal to Bodey who fingered them in surprise. “Oh, this is great. Good find.” We fell into a task-oriented silence.

  “I have a surprise tonight.” John broke the hushed hurriedness around our concentrated work. Was he going to surprise us with a yes? Or a no? His answer was the only thing I wanted.

  Bent over, I didn’t look his way, stacking fallen twigs and broken chunks of wood in my arms.

  “When I was packing this morning, I found a packet of jerky in the bottom of my bag. We must have forgotten the meat was in there when we moved a few weeks ago. I emptied out all our bags to check for excess moisture and repacked them. The jerky was a nice surprise.” He chuckled, scraping rocks on each other as he set up the fire circle.

  Jerky. We hadn’t had meat in a while. My stomach growled on cue and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to eat. For the first time in I couldn’t remember how long, I didn’t want to eat. Nausea blocked my hunger pangs. While I was grateful for the relief from pain in my food-starved stomach, the nausea didn’t feel much better.

  “Oh wow, that sounds great. Kelly just handed me some oatmeal she’d found. Should be a gourmet meal tonight.” Bodey called back from just outside the circle.

  We usually tried being quiet when we made camps in the middle of the woods. The first couple of months we didn’t because there were more people out and about and we needed to set up good trading networks. But as medication became scarce, people ran out of their insulins and other necessities, and the few survivors there were dropped to a small percentage of what they’d been.

  Nine out of ten people died. At least that’s the statistic John threw out at us about eight months ago. He’d been keeping notes of how many bodies we came across versus how many survivors there were. I’m not sure of his mathematical equations, but the numbers made sense considering even minor infections could kill you without access to antibiotics.

  We danced around the topic of Bodey and me. Our future and what John’s thoughts were. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want his opinion to matter so much. But it did and I as long as I didn’t speak, I could hide how much.

  My hands shook and I dropped the wood to the side of the half-finished pit. Pulling out our blankets, I yawned. So much anxiety piled on top of the normal everyday stress made me more tired than normal. One thing I didn’t have problems with, sleeping. I could sleep anywhere and usually did.

  Slight crackling signaled the growth of the fire and I turned from my task. With the sinking of the sun, the September evening chill bit irritatingly through my jeans and at my hands. The warmth’s draw was stronger than my pride. I crouched beside Bodey and we held out our hands to the strengthening flames.

  All three of us watched the oranges and yellows flicker and dance in the growing dark. That was the moment when our situation slammed into reality every night. I wanted a shower, but I wouldn’t get to be extremely clean again until we found water and a safe place to dry completely again. I hadn’t swum since July and I hadn’t gone into the water for fun. The seaweed had been a trial meal. We wanted to see if the underwater version had any taste or made us feel fuller than the on-land plants. Anything was worth trying.

  No showers. No solid meals. No clean clothes or walls. A chair at a table was so far off I had stopped looking at them at the houses. I never had time to sit and enjoy just being because our days focused on finding our next sleeping place and food and resources. And escaping Charlie.

  Always what was next, what was next?

  I hadn’t had a period in almost fifteen months. Well, I’d spotted once or twice, but I remember my mom mentioning there would be a lack of a period when there was severe diet restrictions or stress on the body. We didn’t eat enough for our hormones to be regulated. With my weight loss, I had left the chest bindings behind. No hips, no breasts, nothing to define me as a woman of nineteen. Like I’d gotten stuck at twelve like Mom wanted.

  Bodey didn’t seem to mind. I told him once I’d have more curves, if I could get more food in me. He’d grinned and commented he’d have more muscles with more protein. I believed him. We both were shadows of our former selves.

  Bodey shifted back to rest on his rear, moving his leg so his knee bumped mine. We always touched, even little bits casually.

  I couldn’t wait anymore. Screw it. “Did you think about what Bodey said earlier?” I didn’t even have the grace to blush. Enough was enough. I loved John, but if he didn’t respect me or his son, there was nothing I could do to change it at this point. At least bitterness made me feel that way. I could believe anything with an empty stomach and hopes dangling by a blade of grass all day long.

  Cracking open the bag of jerky, John handed us each a strip. I bit into the chunk of dry meat, uncaring that the toughness was almost unbearable. I would chew and work on a small piece in my mouth for a couple hours. We could make the bag last a few days, knowing how sparse protein was in our lives then. In our reusable mugs, Bodey spooned oatmeal and passed the steaming dishes out.

  The first bite was unbearably sweet and I craved more before I’d even swallowed. I couldn’t figure out which I needed more – John’s answer or food.

  John paused before scooping a bite into his mouth. He motioned at us with his spoon. “I figured something like this was coming. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t expect it, I just didn’t expect it so soon.” He chewed, watching the fire while he thought more. “You’re both so young, nineteen soon and twenty even sooner. I can’t imagine getting married so young.”

  But I didn’t feel young. I felt older than... I stared into the glowing coals. I couldn’t remember reckless or impulsive. Both could kill me now. Did loving Bodey fall into either of those categories? I glanced at him.

  I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t care about Bodey in some way. I’d had a crush on him since freshman year. Discovering him alive sixteen months ago had been more invigorating than anything else I’d done, like my hope had exploded after swimming in such intense despair. I’d lost Mom and found Bodey and John.

  “I don’t feel young.” Bodey murmured, jerking another bite of his share of the meat. He and I always seemed connected, like we felt what the other felt and understood. I was crazy and he was practical but when we got together we became half of the other.

  Hot oatmeal and jerky settled in my stomach, replacing the aching emptiness. Now, all I had to do was make it through the turmoil, waiting for John’s answer.

  He sighed, carefully dropping his empty mug to the ground. “There isn’t any way to perform a legal ceremony. I doubt any judges or preachers are around to marry you two.”

  Bodey brought his gaze up, pinpointing his dad with his stare. “Dad, you could do it. You have all kinds of military and legal background.”

  John lifted his hands, firelight flickering on the angles, casting shadows. “Now wait a minute, I was cop, not a lawyer. I don’t know the first thing about marrying people.”

  The conversation jumped between them
like frogs. I didn’t dare move my head but my gaze passed from one to the other in quick succession as they spoke. Did they have any idea how ridiculous the argument sounded? Without a government, who would say it was right or wrong? We really just needed the marriage to be acknowledged in our little group.

  “You don’t need to be a lawyer. Just say some words. As long as you acknowledge it and we do, too, shouldn’t that be enough? How did they do it back in the old days?” Bodey reached for my hand and gripped my fingers tight.

  “In the old days? How old? Because as long as I’ve been alive, people have needed judges or preachers to marry them.” He grinned, enjoying Bodey’s attempts to convince him to perform our wedding ceremony.

  The knots in my stomach loosened as I realized he played with Bodey and me.

  “Old. Like nineteen-hundreds or the seventies.” Bodey’s earnestness warmed me. He wanted to marry me. Almost as badly as I wanted to marry him.

  John’s laugh burst from him like a long awaited storm in a drought. My nerves relaxed. He hunched his shoulders as his back shook. “The seventies weren’t that long ago, son. But I see why you would think they were.” He nodded his head, his eyes shining. “I can do it. You both come up with your own vows and make the plans and we’ll do it when you’re ready, okay?” He glanced at me, as I tried taking in what had just happened.

  When I’m ready? Ready for what? For Charlie’s gang to catch up to us, rape me, torture me, and then trade me for a ball of yarn? The end of the world had turned into one big game of hurry-up-and-wait. We’d survived the bombings, the looting, the raiders, the multitudes of deaths, and even the dwindling supplies to do nothing but move from site to site searching for sustenance. Our lives didn’t have any purpose.

  I needed purpose, value, and worth. Maybe being married would give that to me.

  Would we be able to survive survival? How long would we have to struggle for food and a steady place to call our own? I wouldn’t last another winter like the last one.

  My fingers warmed in Bodey’s grasp. If I could make plans with Bodey for a special day, maybe I could call him my own. And no one would be able to change it.