The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed

by Fleming, Sarah Lyons

  “My mom gets them,” Marquez says. His lips turn down. “Got them. Anyway, we’ve gotta go. Bye.”

  The two walk toward the doors, reluctance apparent in their slow gait. They’re so young. So scared. Marquez said it was nice to know someone gives a shit. Giving a shit won’t do anything for them, but doing something might.

  Pop watches me with lively eyes. “And now you’ll let it lie, right?”

  “Rose—” Ethan begins, but I’m already heading for the stage.

  Barry lifts his chin as I approach, though his expression of good cheer fades when he takes me in. I stop in front of him, and his conversation partner makes himself scarce. “You’re sending half your people to die,” I say.

  Barry raises his hands, palms up. “I know. Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Then why?”

  “Boone got the call, and he said it was bad. You help your fellow soldiers when they need it. They’re stuck in the arena up there, and they’ll starve if no one moves those Lexers away.”

  I understand that. Honor. Doing the right thing. They’re what keep society from becoming a free-for-all. I release a breath. “Can you maybe do me a favor, then?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Nora and Juan—Marquez. Is there any way to keep them here?”

  “Why them?”

  “They’re so young, and I’m a mother who doesn’t want to see other mothers’ babies die. They have no one to fight for them, so I am.”

  Tears well at the thought that someone might do the same for Jesse or Holly one day, if I can’t. Though I blink them away quickly, Barry’s expression turns sympathetic. I didn’t summon forth tears to elicit his help, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Maybe they can come down sick tonight but suddenly get better?” I suggest. “Or maybe you need them for some Army reason I don’t know enough to make up. But I bet you could.”

  Barry’s mouth tics beneath his beard. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  I put my hands in a prayer position and clap them quietly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. It probably won’t work.”

  “Thank you for being willing to try.”

  “Well, I am your new best friend.”

  I laugh and lay a hand on his arm. It’s nice and solid, another selling point for Mitch. “That’s right. Now I owe you a best friend favor. Name it.”

  “I’ll keep you posted. I don’t know how you talked me into this. My mother always said redheads were witches.” Barry’s laugh lines deepen into chasms. “She was a redhead.”

  “She was right,” I say with a wink.

  “I’ll do my best, witch.”

  I grin as Barry walks to the side exit. When I spin around, the others watch me from the corner. Except for Ethan, who turns and heads for the door. It could be annoyance I recognize in his tight shoulders and brisk walk. Or anger. I can’t fathom why he’d be either of those things, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

  When I reach them, I ask, “Where’s Dad going?”

  “He had to check on patients,” Holly says, though she casts an anxious glance at the door.

  I nod as if it’s normal behavior, but Ethan has subtle ways of showing his displeasure, and disappearing unexpectedly is a favorite. It usually leaves me unsettled and preoccupied, with a pit in my stomach until I know for sure. And though my mind is already trying to dissect the past ten minutes, I shut it down. Either he is or he isn’t, and he’ll get over it or he won’t. I won’t let it ruin this moment the way it has so many others.

  “Barry promised to see what he could do about keeping Nora and Marquez here,” I inform them. “Cross your fingers.”

  “How’d you do that?” Tom asks.

  Pop smiles in the indulgent manner I’ve seen all my life. “Rose has ways we mere mortals can’t comprehend.”

  I lift my eyes to the ceiling, though I smile. “Sometimes you have to try.”

  51

  Rose

  Ethan is asleep when Willa and I leave for my breakfast shift. He came in late last night, and though I briefly awakened, I pretended to be asleep. Yes, it’s avoidance. Yes, I’m gutless. But relief at escaping a middle-of-the-night argument outweighs the apprehension of any argument to come. My eye twitches in traitorous contradiction to that thought, and I press it into submission as I approach my assigned food truck.

  Gabrielle is already inside, her long blond hair wound in a bun. “Oh, good, they put you on with me. We’re reconstituting and frying hash browns.” She shakes a small milk carton-type container so that its contents rattle. “To go with the pancakes from the sandwich cart.”

  “All we need are biscuits and gravy, and we’ll have all the carb groups covered,” I say. “I can feel my intestines slowing already.”

  “I keep thinking of the spinach, lettuce, and broccoli that’s going to seed in my garden,” Gabrielle says sadly. “We left the coop open, so the chickens might be okay.”

  We get started filling pots with water from the barrel out back, then set them over the flames to boil. I motion at Gabrielle’s legs, where Lucy is absent. “No little helper today?”

  “She’s with her daddy, but she might be here soon. Sorry.”

  “Why? I like having her around. I’d say I miss the days when the kids were young, but I don’t at all.”

  “Everyone else tells me to cherish every minute because I’ll miss it.”

  I picture Holly’s sweet little head of corkscrew curls, Jesse’s chubby cheeks, and my heart whimpers a little. “If I could have an hour with those babies again, I would in a second. But the day-to-day drudgery? The worry? Not having a full day—or even a minute—to myself? No way in hell.”

  “I want to be like you when I grow up.”

  “If you are, just don’t tell people. They’ll think you’re evil.”

  Gabrielle laughs. “I’ll have to remember that.” She pulls the cooking utensils from the shelf above the range while I open hash brown containers. After a minute, she says, “My mom watched the kids one weekend a month. Alan and I would escape in a friend’s RV sometimes, or we’d go camping in the summer. Alone time helped us remember why we got married in the first place.”

  “Where is she?” I ask quietly, watching her back.

  Gabrielle’s shoulders lift to her ears, then fall. “She lives on the coast. Is it lived now? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

  “She lives on the coast.”

  “She and my dad live on the coast. That’s where we were going at first, but the road was full of Lexers. We thought if we got through the first group, then hit another, we’d be stuck. Same thing on the other roads. So we turned around.”

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it out there, but I’m sure your mom would’ve told you to turn around. I would say the same to Holly and Jesse.”

  Gabrielle nods and continues facing the range. I try to think of something more to say, some comfort, but I’ve got nothing. One main road leads to the coast from here. There are alternate routes—Oregon has more National Forest roads than any other state—but they’re smaller roads, not to mention logging roads on which people get stuck and lost every year. Many are unmaintained, and because they travel through high elevations, they have unpredictable weather from the fall through late spring.

  Every now and then, Ethan will suggest we take an alternate route, and I remind him of the people who are stranded on those roads every year. Of the people who enter the woods and never come out. The Oregon wilderness is vast and impressive; I have a healthy fear of it. Some might argue my fear isn’t that healthy, but I’m alive instead of starving to death in the woods, so they can suck it.

  “It’s where we’ll go when this is over.” Gabrielle douses the griddle with oil. “How about you?”

  “I want to go to Oakland to look for my friend who lives there.”

  Lives. Crai
g lives in Oakland. If I can’t find him, I’ll have to accept his death the way Mitch has. For now, he’s alive, if only because I don’t want to imagine life without him. After Mom died, Craig checked in every day, made dinner with me and Pop, rented a movie and brought it by, and laid awake with me when I couldn’t sleep, distracting me with talk of everything and nothing. He became our family. Craig got the short end of the stick when it came to parents. In spite of that, or possibly because of it, he turned into one of the most loving people I’ve ever known.

  I shrug. “Aside from that, I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “It’s more of a general what will the world be like? than planning exactly where we’ll go. Seeing where there is to go, you know?” I think about adding that it might not be over, and to base your hopes on that prospect might be setting oneself up for disappointment, but I keep that optimistic thought to myself. “I’m lucky. I have most of my family with me.”

  “And Ethan was here,” Gabrielle says. “You must’ve been so worried.”

  I make a sound of agreement. The phew to end all phews. It sounds lame to my ears, but Gabrielle smiles. “Ethan looked bad when he came in. His knee took a while to heal, but he spent all his time nursing the people who needed it. Carver joked he was running on vim, vigor, and Vicodin.”

  It’s possible, though unlikely, she means Tylenol. “When did Rhonda come? Was he on his own for a long time?”

  “Only about a week before you did. He was fine by then.”

  “Good.” I can think of nothing more to say. My stomach stews. He said they counted the painkillers, that they were locked up, but if Ethan is the one counting, his math is known to be a little wonky.

  I scoop out boiling water with a glass pitcher, pour it into the hash brown containers one by one, then lean against the stainless-steel counter to wait for reconstitution. The food truck is a marvel of engineering, all shiny surfaces with a three-bay sink, griddle, range, fridge, and cabinets cleverly fit into every spare inch of space. It has water tanks and a generator, though they don’t run the latter since we’re plugged in. The stove runs on propane. If the power goes out, we can still cook.

  I don’t like that thought. Without power, the fairgrounds would be dark. Huge and dark. The water will stop eventually if it can’t be pumped to refill the reservoirs. If that happens, we’ll go back to the house, collect what remains of Always Ready, hit up anywhere else we can, and wait it out as long as necessary.

  A knock on the serving window makes me jump. I spin around to find Nora and Marquez at the glass and slide it open to a rush of cool air. Over to the right, by the ice rink, five Army trucks spit exhaust from their mufflers.

  My heart falls at the thought they’ve come to say goodbye until Marquez’s lips split in a grin. “Barry says to thank you for saving our asses.”

  Nora’s smile is as bright as the rising sun. “He also said you own us now, and if we ever say no to you, he’ll send us on a long trip himself.”

  “You’re staying?” I ask. They nod, both with a faintly awed expression, and I want to kiss Barry. He did it, and he called me a witch. “The person you really have to thank is Barry. I may have asked him, but he made it happen.”

  After more thanks, Nora and Marquez leave to help move the trucks out. I practically dance back to the potatoes, dumping out the excess water and readying them for the griddle, where Gabrielle and I begin to fry in earnest.

  Hours later, we’re sweaty and greasy, and I have a burn on my wrist. No sooner do we fill a chafing dish than we have another to load, and two more besides. The food packaging is thrown into a bin outside, which is carted off occasionally. I don’t yet know where it goes, but based on this breakfast alone, the trash heap must be staggering.

  “Five hundred people eat a fuck of a lot,” I say.

  Gabrielle wipes her forehead with her arm. “I thought feeding five kids was a pain in the ass.”

  At first, pretending I was a short-order cook was fun. After being given Spam to slice and fry along with the hash browns, I’ve decided short-order cooks need a raise and two months’ paid vacation. Splattering grease and a hot griddle merit hazard pay. Especially when you’re frying meat that looks and smells like a gelatinous rectangle of wet cat food.

  “Try it,” Gabrielle says, in response to my cat food announcement. “It’s not so bad.”

  “No freaking way,” I say with a shiver. “And if it’s not so bad, why don’t I see you eating it?”

  “I’m not hungry. Everyone has to try Spam at least once.”

  I shake my head and flip the pink rectangles on the griddle. Now they smell like warm cat food, which is a new height of disgusting.

  “Try it, try it, try it,” she chants. “I dare you.”

  I wipe grease off my cheek and turn to where Gabrielle leans against the counter grinning. “Are you six years old? How are you the mother of five children?”

  She cracks up. “They keep me young. Don’t you know the rule? You’re not allowed to say you don’t like something if you won’t try it.”

  “I can tell by the smell.”

  “It tastes better than it smells, scaredy-cat.”

  I stick out my tongue, though she’s right that I’m a huge baby about eating things that gross me out. However, with the future of grocery stores what it is, I may soon be forced to eat a lot of those things. And who knows? Maybe Spam is good. There must be a reason it’s sold in every supermarket.

  I chop a corner off a browned rectangle and take a sniff—it smells no better up close. Gabrielle watches as I tentatively put it in my mouth and chew. At first, it’s reminiscent of salty smoked ham, though it separates into flakes under my teeth like pork particleboard. Then comes the full flavor: gelatinous, warm cat food.

  I gag and spit my mouthful into an empty Spam can while Gabrielle screeches with laughter, pounding a hand on the counter so that her many bracelets clink. “What the fuck?” I yell. “It tastes exactly how it smells!”

  “It sort of does,” she says between giggles. “The jalapeño kind is better. You should try that one.”

  “Don’t even.” I eat a forkful of hash browns to rid my mouth of the taste, then point my fork at her. “I’ll never trust you again. You’ve proven yourself untrustworthy.”

  Gabrielle snorts, then jumps for the griddle when the Spam begins to smoke. Every processed meat on Earth could go up in flames for all I care, but I still grab my spatula and join her. God only knows what they’d give us to fry if the Spam were gone.

  Barry appears in the doorway at the back of the truck as our work is winding down. Fifty feet behind him, the hectic pace at the food tent is also slowing. “Hey, Rose. Did you see Nora and Marquez?”

  Gabrielle waves me from the griddle. “Go. I’ll finish cleanup.”

  “You should, as your punishment for feeding me Spam.” She giggles while I step onto the asphalt and give Barry a giant smile. “Yes, I did see them. And I’ve been thinking of how I want to kiss you, you big lug.”

  “I never say no to a kiss from a pretty lady.”

  I look over my shoulder for the pretty lady, then shrug. “How about a kiss from an old sweaty lady?” He laughs, tapping his cheek, and I lay a giant smooch on him. “Thank you. I don’t know what you did, but thank you.”

  “I planted a seed in Carver’s head. Boone didn’t like it, but Carver was in charge until he drove out the gate.”

  “I owe Carver, too. What do you want for your trouble? Extra Spam?”

  “Think I’ll pass on that.” He glances left and right, then moves a few inches closer. “I was wondering something, though. It’s, uh, Mitch. I was getting a few signals. I thought. But she mentioned not being interested… I’m not too good at this stuff, so I’m thinking I misread.”

  “Reading Mitch is like studying Spanish for five years and then being given a test in Chinese.” I pat Barry’s arm. “She can be hard to get to know in that way. The boyfriend she m
entioned did a number on her. It was a mess.”

  It was so much of a mess that I flew to San Francisco for a week to mop up Mitch’s tears along with her suddenly half-empty house. Craig and I hid her sharp things and meted out her Valium. We got her smiling again, then laughing, and, finally, back on her feet. But in the years since, Mitch has never let down her guard. She wants to, but she’s afraid to be hurt again.

  I understand that sentiment all too well. Judging by Barry’s somber nod, he does, too. “What you’re saying is that there’s not much hope.”

  “Before I can determine that, tell me one thing. Do you ever wear Adidas sandals, with socks or without?”

  Barry eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “Those black and white sandals? No, never.”

  “Then there’s hope,” I say with a wink. “What I’m saying is forewarned is forearmed. Be prepared for some pushback, but also know that she’s worth it. She’s been my best friend since we were fifteen, and now we’re, like, a hundred and ten.”

  “The two of you don’t look a day over eighty.”

  I shove his shoulder. “I like you, Wright. I hope you make it in.”

  52

  Tom

  With half the military gone, the remaining troops are stretched thin, especially with the sick. Going for a meal or a bathroom break means there’s a gate or barricade left half, if not completely, unguarded. I stack boxes of canned chili and macaroni and cheese while I listen to Boone bitch about this to a group of soldiers in the Auditorium. I move as far as I can from Sergeant Blowhard and begin inventorying food in the middle of the room.

  After two days in the Auditorium, I’ve seen how fast the food goes. A pallet provides between one to two meals for all the residents, depending on what it holds. Three meals a day. Two to three pallets a day. Twenty pallets’ worth of food seems an astounding amount until you realize it’s a week, give or take, for over five hundred people. By my count, there are twenty-five pallets, plus whatever’s left on the shelves.

  I’ve toyed with the idea of giving them Always Ready, and I will if I have to, but the MREs and dried food would be gone in no time. That same amount would feed the seven of us for a long while, and I’m unwilling to let that bit of security go.