Savage

by Jade C. Jamison

  I couldn’t bring myself to sign it, but writing that note alleviated the guilt. I then realized I needed to clean up after ourselves. I went to the bedroom, smoothing out the covers. Kevin was fully dressed by the time I returned to the bathroom, and I placed the washcloth and towels on the rack on the wall so that they could dry. As I left the room, shutting off the light, I saw Kevin turning the heat down on the hallway dial. He looked at me. “Ready?” He held our weapons of choice, waiting for me to take mine.

  I zipped up my coat and took the shovel. “Yeah.” Once outside, I pulled up the hood and slid the gloves on, because even covered, I knew my fingers and toes would be aching by the time we got back. I looked at the sky and noticed the first few flakes falling from the sky. Kevin took my hand and we began walking back to our temporary home.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  “Remember” – Disturbed

  THE TREK DOWN the road and back up the mountain was arduous. The main problem was that the hot shower followed by a massive release of endorphins had made me far too relaxed for a grueling hike.

  At least I only had my shovel to carry…and Kevin was beside me to lean on.

  I felt that about him and it filled me with a peace I had never known. I had always been the one to rely on, the one to whom people—especially my family—turned, trusted, needed…and now I felt like maybe I had someone.

  No…that was just the afterglow. I knew I was experiencing some funky emotional high—and low—and I needed to watch myself. It was fucking with my judgment and I needed to nip it in the bud immediately before I made some calls I’d regret.

  That wasn’t going to stop me from relishing how strong his hand felt wrapped around mine. It didn’t matter that our hands were covered in gloves; I could feel the strength of him through that connection, and it assured me that everything would be okay, no matter what lay ahead.

  As we began the walk up my aunt’s road, though, we had to separate. The snowflakes were falling faster now and the terrain was bumpier and steeper and we needed to be apart. Kevin broke the silence, pulling me out of an abyss. “We can’t tell Larry and Vera about this.”

  I felt my heart thud as I asked, “What? About the house or…?” I just couldn’t bring myself to label our act. It had wound up being more than something simple like lovemaking or even fucking. I couldn’t describe it, but I didn’t want to take away its power or what had made it feel so profound to me by giving it a name.

  “Yeah. You know Larry won’t listen to what you have to say about someone maybe still living there.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah…and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be willing to fight someone over it.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded as we continued our hike. I could tell that I’d been making that walk once or twice a day for weeks. Unlike the first couple of days of trudging up it, I didn’t get out of breath or feel my calf muscles burning, screaming at me to stop for a few seconds.

  But I wasn’t thinking about that.

  Kevin continued. “Just…what I know of Larry, I don’t think he’d accept that very easily.” I cocked my head but didn’t say anything. “He wouldn’t listen to you like I do.”

  I knew that to be true. “Yeah, I’m cool with that.” After a few more steps, I said, “I need to leave my hair up in the ponytail, under a hat. They’ll be able to tell my hair’s clean.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Do you think they’ll be able to smell it?”

  He shrugged. “We’re wearing the same old dirty clothes. I don’t think so.”

  I was struggling and paranoid. “Maybe if they can smell it, we can say we used some lotion at the Branson place.”

  Kevin laughed. “Yeah, ‘cause I look like a guy who’s gonna head over to the neighbors’ house just to put some shit on my hands.” I chuckled too, knowing it had been a stupid solution. “They’re not gonna know. Stop worrying.” I nodded. “We don’t say anything about the place, and we definitely don’t let on that we found a working shower. But—” Kevin paused and stopped walking, and it got my attention. I turned to look at him, even though I felt like we needed to hurry. “You and me? If we’re still here in a week or so for some stupid fucking reason, we rethink the idea of staying at your aunt’s.” I looked down at the snowy ground, considering his words, and then I nodded once more. “But for now, it’s our little secret.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t mind holding that one close to my heart.

  * * *

  It didn’t take the storm long to rage in and it was a full-blown blizzard about an hour after we’d settled in, eating a hot soup I’d put on the fire earlier in the day. The four of us hadn’t done much talking in general. Overall, I think our spirits were low and we were tired. Fighting the weather was exhausting.

  Kevin and I hadn’t said anything to each other, but it was loud and clear to me that, in addition to not telling the Dingels about what we’d found or that we’d washed away weeks, maybe months, or grime, we weren’t going to say anything about how our relationship (if that was what we’d call it) had moved up a level.

  I was okay with not saying anything, because what we’d done had felt almost like it had happened under duress, like we’d both felt pressured by our situation. Here we were in the middle of nowhere with no escape, no comforts, living day to day, and we had as companions each other and another couple who seemed crazier by the day. It made me wonder if I would have sought comfort in any other man’s arms who’d been in Kevin’s place. It seemed possible.

  But not likely.

  Because most of what was fueling my feelings now was our past together. I probably wouldn’t have thought of him in that way had I not harbored heavy emotions from years gone by. It was that, coupled with unceasing days together in what felt like wartime, that had pushed me into his arms.

  Be that as it may, I was a willing victim, and I’d do it again.

  Unlike almost thirty years earlier, though, I was emotionally equipped to handle rejection now. I had no further expectations of life. I’d been fucked over by the bitch more times than I could count, and nothing anymore could surprise me.

  Of course, some of that numbness had started to dissipate. Maybe I only thought I was less vulnerable now.

  I was pulled from my thoughts when Larry said, “I gotta tell you guys—I’m getting some serious cabin fever.”

  Kevin was sitting on the couch where he slept, and I was sitting on the end of it where I usually did. I was not sitting closer than I usually did. Back to business as usual. “Meaning?”

  Larry shook his head. “I don’t know what that means. Just getting stir crazy.”

  Vera, who rarely spoke nowadays, said, “We get out every day.”

  “It’s not that.”

  I could tell Kevin wanted to press for more details but chose not to. Larry was beginning to feel a bit like the ground during an earthquake. Was he going to knock us down or instead rend himself in two and swallow us up? He felt like a loose cannon and we were all potential victims. Juxtaposed with my burgeoning feelings for Kevin, Larry was a wild card—and becoming a scary one at that.

  “Then what is it?” I was surprised that Vera was continuing to speak. That in itself was unusual.

  Larry puckered his lips in thought but then said, “I don’t know. I just—I need to…” We all grew quiet again and the silence was as stiff and uncomfortable as an overstarched shirt, making me think maybe I might want to go to bed early. After a while, though, he started talking as though he hadn’t even said anything weird earlier. “What do you think things are like back home?”

  I didn’t want to think about it. If the power had been out here for what I knew had to be well over a month (but I was afraid that time had slipped by even more than that—I had no clue how long we’d been there), then how bad was it in larger areas? Or had the world maybe just forgotten about this little neck of the woods? That was possible…but I imagined the worst.

  That was why I ha
d to find my kids.

  Kevin took the words out of my mouth. “Well, considering what we know…I’d imagine it’s not pretty. There was a lot of looting and vandalism when we were leaving town and things were out of control. Didn’t look like law enforcement had a good handle on what was going on. Then the power going out here makes me think things got so out of hand that basic stuff went to shit—don’t you think?”

  “It seems that way. But how could that happen, you know? Don’t we, as a country, have our shit together better than that?”

  I remembered something someone had said to me at work over the past year and his words flew out of my mouth. “Consolidating the power plants to just a few key points—doesn’t anyone see how that’s a problem? And then letting the computers run the damn things…maybe this was inevitable.”

  Vera said, “What do you mean?”

  “Over the past few years, the power companies have been taking power plants out of various smaller areas and moving control to a central location that covers lots of territory. When they did it in Winchester a couple of years ago, they said it would be efficient, but the people who were against it said it was a dangerous move, because it took away any control we had.”

  “Exactly,” Larry spouted. “Don’t you remember me rantin’ about that, woman?”

  Vera glared. “You rant about everything.”

  I was glad to see Vera reemerging, but I didn’t know that I wanted to hear the two of them arguing…especially when much of our conversation was mere speculation anyway. So I just grabbed onto the first thought that came into my head and asked it. “So, when we get back, what is the first thing you guys want to do?”

  Larry didn’t hesitate. “Shower,”—that made me feel guilty right off the bat—“eat a hot meal—oh, and no offense to you ladies—but I want something like what we haven’t had in quite some time.”

  “None taken.”

  “And then…I think I want to play a videogame. Haven’t done that in a long while.”

  Vera was still glaring. She acted like she wanted to hit Larry. “Call Benny, you dumb ass. Call Benny and Jennifer and see how they’ve been holding out since all this shit happened.”

  “Well, yeah, of course. We’d call them first and then do all the other stuff.” He looked at Kevin and said, “Our son and his family.”

  Kevin nodded. “I think that’s the first thing any of us want to do.”

  He had that right. My kids had, for the most part, been present in a constant undercurrent of thought since we’d been here if not the uppermost thing on my mind. I added, “Yeah,” and left it at that. I didn’t trust myself to say much more. My emotions felt strange and raw, and I was starting to feel even worse that we hadn’t fessed up to the Dingels about the place I was beginning to think of as an oasis. But, feelings aside, I wouldn’t have traded those moments for anything. It was a significant moment in my life, one I’d never forget. For a brief second, I imagined myself in a nursing home half a century from now, my brain clothed in the rags of Alzheimer’s, the only thing I could remember a brief hour with the man who was sitting next to me now—a boy I’d crushed on, been infatuated by, fallen for in the hugest way who had later become a man I’d felt mixed emotions over but who ultimately had become my rock out here, my salvation, a true partner—and a deep love, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not.

  Vera said, “That is the very first thing I want to do—call them, see if my grandbabies are okay.” She rested her head against the back of the chair. “Then, though…I think I want to bake a white cake and spread it thick with buttercream frosting.” She sighed. “I really miss baking—and eating it all.” As thin as she was, I never would have guessed her to have a large sweet tooth.

  Kevin smiled. “I think we’re all missing our favorite foods.”

  I had to a degree, but food wasn’t turning out to be my biggest concern. I really was focused mostly on my kids. I didn’t want to say it, though, because there were creature comforts I was missing. “Aside from music, which I’m starting to miss terribly, there’s something else. The heater vent. I miss the heater vent.” My companions all focused on me. “I mean…the fire’s nice, but it’s still cold everywhere else, and no matter how close you get to the fire, some part of your body is still suffering. And then other parts are getting too hot. There’s no perfect way to warm yourself by the fire. But I used to stand over the furnace vent on really cold mornings—I’d be wearing my robe, and I’d stand over it, letting the heat rise underneath it and warm my body while I waited for the pot of coffee to finish brewing.” I grew quieter as I let my mind take me back to a thousand days of the same thing—I’d get up before anyone else in the house and turn up the heat, after having turned it down at bedtime to save money on electricity. The house would be ridiculously cold, but I’d turn up the dial and get the coffee started. By then, the furnace vent would be on and I’d go stand over it until the coffee was done. By the time the coffee was ready, I’d grab a cup and head to the bathroom for a shower before waking up the kids for school. Even though it reminded me of hard times, it was one of those things that also brought half a smile to my face, because it was a lifetime of moments signifying how I’d try to take pleasure in the littlest things…because there was no pleasure to be found in the onslaught of real everyday life.

  “Oh, that sounds nice,” Vera said. After a few moments, she added, “I’ll tell you what—I’ll never complain about the cold again. Back home is nothing like here.”

  Yes, the cold here at a higher altitude was definitely worse. Her words irritated me, but I kept my mouth shut. From what I remembered about back at home, Vera didn’t have it bad at all. She hardly had to do anything when it came to the cold—if she was going anywhere for the day, Larry would start her car, turn on the heater inside, brush off the snow, and scrape off the ice long before she hopped in the car and got ready to leave. He also shoveled all their sidewalks when it was needed. Me? My husband wasn’t able to do any of that, and we didn’t have a garage to protect our vehicle from the elements—so it all fell on me. Vera had no idea how lucky she had it having a man who took care of her, protecting her from the elements—and I doubted she appreciated it.

  Sometimes I wondered if I’d been put on this earth to learn something. I had no idea what my thoughts were about the meaning of life or the universe or anything having to do with a higher power, because what I’d been taught in my youth brought me no comfort as an adult. If there was a god, then he was punishing me—for what, I didn’t know. So I would sometimes wonder if—whether guided by a higher power or having chosen our own destiny—I was instead meant to learn something or if I’d needed to grow, and maybe that was why I had it rough. I wasn’t much for feeling sorry for myself, partly because I just didn’t have time to wallow, but just believing that some ethereal people were meant to play Job—to be a pawn in a game between the forces of good and evil—wasn’t enough to make me think it was okay. I wanted there to be a reason, to be meaning, and oftentimes I had to believe that I had trials to face in order to make me strong.

  When I took a good, hard look at the differences between Vera and me, that belief made more sense. She was struggling here. Sure, we all were feeling the rigors of living at high altitude with limited resources and no connection to the outside world, having to forage for water and heating supplies and trying to find a way out. Not one of us had escaped having to feel the difficulties or having to pull our weight—but Vera was visibly suffering. Sure, the last few days had seen her faring better—she was communicating again and even her coloring looked healthier—but I could see it in her eyes. They had a wild glint in them, like something inside her had snapped. She acted better, but I wondered what she would be like once we returned home.

  I reminded myself that maybe part of it was that she had a mental illness. Maybe that too played a part in her struggles here.

  I blinked a few times, realizing that the conversation had continued without me. Larry and Kevin
were discussing beer, and I gathered that was one of the things they missed and wanted to enjoy again, once life returned to normal.

  What would normal be? I had the feeling that, if we got back to normal, it might not be like the old normal we once knew. If the outside world was having issues just like we were…it might take some time to return to the lives we knew—and if we decided that we wanted to improve on those lives we’d once known, it might take even longer.

  I sighed and sat up, stretching my back. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Not to put too fine a point on it, it had been a hell of a day. It had been a day I’d never forget, but I needed some sleep. I needed to recover and rest up for whatever the next day brought. So I waited for a break in their conversation—one I had nothing to add to, because I wasn’t a huge fan of beer—and then I said, “Guys, I gotta hit the hay. I’m tired.”

  They all offered varying replies of good night, as did I, and then I tightened my coat around my torso, grabbed the flashlight on the end table, and headed back to the bedroom.

  After the afternoon—in a warm, cozy home filled with light, in spite of the graying skies, infused with the memories of passion and something to share with someone else—this room felt darker and colder than it had before. I considered opening the door and heading back to the living room, returning to sleeping next to my companions, but something inside me reacted like a mama bear might protect her cubs. This was probably the only way I could connect with my past and what we’d had before. We had no electricity, no running water, no easy heat, no simple modes of transportation, no microwaves—nothing that we’d considered necessities before we’d wound up here. Sleeping in a bed, whether cold or not, was about the only thing I could do that was like my life before now, and I was not about to give it up. It was one of the few things I did here that made me feel like I was still human.