by Tara Brown
I pulled open a bag of chips and gave Stan the first bite, a nacho chip. Rozzy cracked open a Snickers and bit in, moaning. “I needed this,” she said with a relaxing exhale.
“Me too.”
“Me three,” I said.
Stan’s inclusion was assumed.
The four of us ate, rewarding our sadness and injuries with junk and silence.
It might have been a normal moment, if not for the guns on the dash and the lack of music playing.
Stan and I shared some cookies, peanut butter, one for him, one for me. I accidentally ate two, earning a bark. It made me laugh. I handed him two, giggling at the little fatty. He was just like Owen sometimes.
“Hey, girls,” Aaron called, walking out to us alone. He had blood everywhere and a white bottle in his hands.
“You okay?” Celeste asked, sitting up straighter.
“Yeah, just helped with some stitches. The girl with the big cut.” He opened the bottle and poured the liquid on his hands, washing them and wiping them on his pants. “I have something to ask you. I don't want Tasha to know. Just between us.”
“Okay.” Celeste scowled, already apprehensive.
“She thinks we should all go at the same time,” his voice cracked and I was lost, but Rozzy hissed her breath in, gasping inwardly. “Right, that's my thinking. We’re gone in two days. The thirties.” He bit his lip and processed that, or paused to hold back his tears. “I need you to promise you’ll take care of him. Joey. I’m not gonna let her do it.” That was the end of the hold. “He’s my boy. He’s fought cancer for the last three years. And he finally got a clean bill of health two months ago. He deserves these last weeks. Every single minute of them.” He wiped a tear and shook his head. “When it comes time, I don't want him to die by his mom’s hand. Promise—”
“Of course,” Celeste cut him off, “we’ll keep him safe.”
“Thank you.” He sighed, visibly defeated. “Thank you.” He kind of bowed awkwardly and turned, going back inside.
“What kind of person would kill their own kid?” Rozzy asked softly.
Stan whined.
“A crazy one. We need to keep an eye on her.” Celeste’s tone also hovered on the border of dangerous.
“She’s probably fanatical,” I said blankly, recalling the gross stories from the beginning, of the mass suicides and killing kids.
“Yup.” Celeste nodded. “But they all seem to forget, God doesn't let murderers into heaven.”
I wondered if that worried her.
It worried me.
29
The mountain
Celeste
The Cheyenne Mountain Complex sign telling us to turn around and go back, that it was a military-personnel-only zone, didn't scare me but Zoey gulped a couple of times.
The gates were open as we drove past the wire fencing and abandoned guard post. At the top of the hill, a lone man stood just outside the mouth of the huge tunnel, with military fatigues and a large gun. He pointed it at the car, making my skin tingle as he walked around to the driver’s side, greeting a pale Zoey with the muzzle.
“Who all is in there?” the man—just barely a man—asked roughly.
“Just us, four girls and a dog. The truck behind us is filled with people we rescued from some weird truckers,” Zoey said the most random thing. “I think they were like kidnappers. They had them tied in a barn. They killed two of our friends.”
He turned from a hardened soldier and offered a softened stare. “I’m sorry.” His sorry was curt but it was kind, lifting my panic, marginally. He focused his gaze on her bandaged hands, speaking slightly softer, “We’re accepting everyone at Peterson Air Force Base, so long as they’re not sick. All sick people have to go to the hospital at the base of this hill. You can’t miss the signage.”
“None of us are sick. Just some wounds but they were treated by a nurse,” I said, pointing a thumb back at the truck where Milo sat behind the wheel, leaning forward and appearing worried.
“Then proceed back down the hill and follow the signs to Peterson Air Force Base.”
“We passed it on the way into town,” I said with a sigh. “We thought we were supposed to come here.”
“Nope. No one is coming in here, unless the power and supplies run out at Peterson. Turn around here, go back down, and follow the signs.” He was back to being a bit gruff.
“Fine.” Zoey sounded slightly defeated; she had really wanted to see inside the bunker. I changed my mind the moment we saw it. The mouth of the mountain was terrifying. My skin prickled and my senses came to life as Zoey slowly drove close to it to turn around.
On our way back down the hill, Milo was receiving the same spiel from the guy with the gun.
“That sucks,” Rozzy groaned, shifting and visibly uncomfortable.
“Yeah, I’m good with an air force base instead of a bunker. A mile underground doesn't appeal to me,” I confessed.
“I wanted to see it but a base might be better to sleep in.” Zoey pulled over. “I don't know where I’m going. I’ll wait for Milo.” He had Bonnie in his truck, a girl who had been here a few times.
Milo came, waving at us as he drove by. Zoey followed him back through town, driving us past things I recognized from the trip in. When we finally got to the turn to Peterson, I was done. I wanted out of the car. I wanted to run and gulp fresh air and eat a meal like we’d had at Milo’s aunt’s house.
The guard stop at Peterson was heavily armed and feisty looking. It gave me a bad feeling until we pulled up and a woman in an important-looking military outfit smiled wide, her eyes bright and comforting. “Hi there. Welcome!”
“Thanks.” Zoey smiled softly.
“So you’re here to enjoy some guarded safety for the last couple of weeks?” she asked, chipper even though we were discussing the inevitable.
“Yeah,” Zoey said.
“This is crazy. I thought the government would be done by now,” I said skeptically.
“Well, most of us have families and want a safe spot for them to ride it out until the end. We know what it’s like out there. And the bases are designed to run without the rest of the country functioning. We have everything. Power, food, doctors, medicine. Might as well live comfortably for the last few weeks. Have some purpose. Better than resorting to the purge-style violence out there.” She wrinkled her nose but she had a point. I was desperately ready for some martial law and rules again.
Rozzy nodded as she struggled to get out. “I can see that.”
“You should know, we have rules. No violence. No weapons. If the dog bites, he’s out. Meals are two times a day, to ration food. Everyone sleeps in assigned houses. As your number comes up, you will go with the group and pass with them. If you are caught violating any of these terms, you are sent off base. If you commit a crime against another person, punishment is severe and swiftly dealt.” She lifted a dark eyebrow.
“We understand,” Zoey said. “We don't want to hurt anyone.”
“Okay. When you get to the parking lot down there, you will be searched and your weapons will be taken. Any and all food and rations will be seized and shared. Welcome to Peterson.” She waved and the gates were lifted. Zoey drove forward, her fingers trembling against the steering wheel.
We drove, following the signs until we reached the obvious parking spot for cars to be checked. The five huge guys with guns did sort of stand out. We parked and we sat in silence, staring.
Inside, this space teemed with life.
People were carrying boxes and bags, a mix of military and casually dressed people worked together to unpack cars.
“Did a doctor do that for you?” a man asked Rozzy as she struggled to get out of the car while he pointed a gun at her. It was amusing to watch a man hold a gun on a girl with crutches.
Stan, Zoey, and I also climbed out and left the doors open so they could check the car.
“No. A nurse and no X-ray. So if you have a doctor she could see, it might be better
for her comfort.” I didn't say for her last week. It was implied in everything we did.
“We do have doctors. And they are treating patients no matter the schedule,” the man said, also avoiding the death comment. “Askiel, get a wheelchair for her. Get her to the doc and make sure they X-ray this. And check the wounds on her wrists.”
Another man hurried away.
“Do you have supplies in the car?” one of the big guys asked.
“We have junk food,” I offered weakly. “And dog food for Stan.” He sniffed at his name.
“All right, well pets are your responsibility. So I’ll let you take the food for him on your own. How many are in your group?” another man asked, writing things down.
“We are a large group, twenty of us I think. We rescued some from—something.” Zoey’s cheeks flushed.
“Rescued?” His eyes lifted from the page and pen, searching Zoey’s face, his eyes eventually resting on her hands.
“Yeah.” She glanced down.
“Okay. Uhm. Well, we have two Eagles your group can have.” He turned around and glanced at another military man. “The Eagles that came up this week. We can fit ten a house, huh?”
“Yeah, easily. There’s four bedrooms with bunks. And the sofa in the den pulls out,” one of the military guys said, sounding bored. I imagined this was not how he planned to spend his last week.
“Okay. As soon as they’re done searching the car, we’ll take you over. And for the dog, there’s a dog park. You have to pick up shit; I don't want to hear that it’s the apocalypse. Pick it up. Bags are provided at the dog park.” The guy with the paper copped an attitude.
We both glanced down at Stan, who gave us a look like maybe he wasn't really a dog park kind of guy. The brownish muzzle that hadn’t completely washed clean did most of the talking.
“Is that blood?” one of the guys asked.
“Yeah, but he had to. He doesn't bite normally,” Zoey said loudly.
“He was saving me,” Rozzy admitted. “And I needed his help.” Her confession was painful for every single one of us but the wrists were a pretty clear indication of how our week had gone.
The guy with the paper and pen winced. Zoey and I lowered our stares and relived it.
The truck pulled up next to us. I’d wondered where they went. They had come in first but somehow didn't end up here with us. Milo stepped out, sighing heavily. “If I never ride in a vehicle again, it will be too soon.” He stretched as Stan hurried over to sniff and nudge him. “Hi, boy.” He rubbed his face and patted his head.
“Where’s everyone else?” His truck was missing every single one of its occupants.
“Tasha is at the infirmary getting acquainted. She’s agreed to help with the injured. Joey and Aaron are meeting us here. Joey needed a minute.” Milo made a face. “And the walking dead are all in the hospital being treated properly with X-rays for the broken bones.”
“Which is where she’s going.” The guy with the paper remarked, nodding at Rozzy as the wheelchair and its escort showed up.
“I’ll go with her,” I volunteered.
“No, she’ll be fine,” Milo reassured me. “Honestly, there are more women on this base than men.” He didn't sound excited about that fact, but he smiled at the other men in the awkward conversation. “We’ve had a rough week with strange men.”
“We heard,” the big guy sneered. “We don't tolerate that sort of behavior here.” He emphasized “behavior.”
“Are all the bases like this?” Milo asked, scanning the area. “Still functioning?”
“No. Being part of NORAD, we were kept up and running until this week. We’ve lost most communication with the other bases. But we have so many young families here that we decided safety in numbers. And teenagers are good for the little kids,” the guy with the paper said. The hollow sound in his voice suggested he had a family and he was possibly in his thirties. His morality was slapping him in the face. “The officer in charge of the base thinks if we manage to get enough teenagers and older young kids under ten here, the babies might stand a chance.”
“What about the old people who lived?” I asked.
“What?” His eyes darted to mine. “That's a lie, a rumor made up to create hope.”
“No.” I shook my head. “We met one. Helen. In Lincoln, Kansas. She was in her sixties. Said the day all the others died, she had a bunch of dogs, cats, and pigs, and some little kids just start showing up at her door. We saw her, she was old and she said she saw others like her. A few.”
“Lincoln, Kansas?” the big guy asked, his eyes flashing something. Anger or concern. Whatever it was, it made me take a step back.
“Yeah. It’s like a day’s drive from here,” Rozzy said as the guy named Askiel helped her get comfortable.
“You all saw her?” the guy with the paper asked us, searching our faces.
“Yes. Her son owned the car dealership there. He was the mayor. He’s dead. She gave us this truck.” Milo pointed at the red truck.
“And another one.” Rozzy’s eyes flashed with rage.
“Get the major,” the big guy muttered to the other guy. “Lincoln, Kansas?”
“Yeah,” we all said in unison.
She was a survivor. There weren’t supposed to be any. This was going to be a big deal to them.
“Get them to their house and settled. The major will want to see them,” the big guy said before he stalked off.
“Okay, I’m going with this guy. See you after.” Rozzy waved as Askiel followed the big guy, wheeling her away.
“Okay,” Milo said but Zoey and I just watched, uncomfortably quiet.
This wasn't that world anymore.
So why was this base so great?
Zoey whispered, “Lotus-eaters.” As we turned and followed the guy with the paper to the house.
I wasn't sure what she meant, but I knew it was bad.
She sensed it too.
30
Lotus-eaters
Zoey
The house was nice, the nicest house I’d ever been in. It was new and clean and smelled like pine floor cleaner. The furniture was the opposite of the house: it was cheap and worn but it was a house with electricity and a couch and doors.
When we picked rooms, Celeste chose one with a set of bunk beds for her and Roz. Of course, they would room together. My obvious roommates were gone. My stomach hurt as I glanced about the hall, until Milo stepped next to me and sighed. “Roomies?”
My head nodded before I even contemplated sharing a room with someone I had only known a week.
“You can sleep with Stan. He’s a cuddler,” he lamented and walked to the small wooden bunk beds.
“That’s not a word,” I whispered. “Cuddler.”
“Really?” He turned in a circle, sort of assessing the situation, before climbing onto the top bunk. He barely fit. “Seems like it should be a word.”
“Maybe we can write it in the dictionary before we die and then it is a word,” I offered and walked to the bottom bunk. I’d never slept in a bunk bed before. I never had a sibling until yesterday. And now I would die never meeting him.
The moment I lay down, Stan climbed on and snuggled in. Milo started to laugh and so did I, buried in the white fluff of the dog who had to be twice my size. Stan lifted his head and turned, giving me something akin to stink eye. It made me laugh harder, but I rubbed his fur so he wouldn't think we were laughing at him.
The laughter died down and after a second I was certain Milo sobbed. I stared at the bottom of his bed, wishing I knew what to say. But Owen was the one who knew that.
“You know, I don't know what is shittier, that I’m going to die in a week with Celeste and Roz and leave you here all alone. Or that the guys went ahead of us in such a tragic way.”
His words, the exact words you didn't say to someone like me, brought the fuzz with them. It wasn't as strong as before, weakened by the tragic week, but it still pulled me into the abyss. I was going to die alone. And
no one would be alive to notice.
I would be the last person in our group to care that people died.
It was an instant decision. A split-second one. No thought given, none needed actually. I ran my fingers through Stan’s fur and nodded. “I’m coming with you guys.”
“What?” He peeked his head down on us.
“The week you go. I’m coming too.” I’d never once thought about ending my life. For all the times my fingers dug in and my skin ripped, I’d never thought about dying. I wasn't morbid, just weirdly detached from a lot of things.
“Zo.” He furrowed his brow upside down.
“It’s fine. It’s better actually.”
“What if you’re one of the survivors? The people who remain?” His voice cracked on the word “people.”
“What am I surviving for?”
His thought process was strange. Who would want to survive this and be alone forever? “I don't know. But I hope I’m one of the survivors. I don't want to die.” He reached down and rubbed Stan’s face. “Who will take care of Stan if you go a week early?”
Stan nuzzled into the affection and me, and I realized there was someone who would miss me. Stan would notice if I left early. His eyes bore deeply into mine, as if begging me not to leave him alone.
“Okay. I’ll stay with him.” I curled around the dog, feeling the warmth and safety of him.
“Okay. Thanks,” he said with a sigh, clearly relieved I wasn't going to leave Stan behind. Not yet.
“What do you guys think?” Celeste asked as she entered the room. “I think it’s weird they’re giving us houses and food and safety.”
“Something’s off for sure, I don't know what though.” I contemplated for a second before continuing, “They’re going to die quite soon and their kids will be left behind. Maybe they’re making preparations. Ensuring a safety in numbers. Letting us come here so when they die, we can take care of their families.”
“Then we should have kept the Helen part of the story to ourselves,” Celeste added.
