Cost of Survival

by B.R. Paulson

  Chapter 9

  Charlie’s control slipped around Mom and I like an old-fashioned corset. Tightening slowly but firmly with inexorable pressure.

  He placed us in a bedroom along the back of the house. Claiming none of the others had bathrooms, he proceeded to tell us to use the outhouse along the southern fence line.

  Mom avoided my questioning glare.

  Standing beside the door, Mom fiddled with the zipper on her sweatshirt. Charlie stopped in front of her, their height difference extremely apparent as he bent his head to look down at her.

  Mom squared her jaw, lifting her chin with stubbornness I recognized all too well.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her cheek twitched. He murmured. “My room’s right next door. I’ll see you tonight.” Charlie glanced my way and dropped his hand. “Dinner is in shifts. I’ll talk to Murray about adding you to the second shift with me.” And then he was gone, leaving an oily residue in the air behind him.

  Silent as a breeze pushing through the woods, Mom closed the door. She swung her bag onto the bed and sighed.

  Knock. Knock.

  The sound echoed with the wooden floor acoustics.

  We froze. Now what?

  Mom crossed to the door and opened the panel partway.

  Charlie’s profile bobbed in and out of my field of view in the line of the slim opening. His low murmur burned my ears. “Megan, you need to give me your gun.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll keep it in my room. No one else will have access to it, okay?”

  Mom’s hand flew to the holster at the small of her back. Reflexively, she wrapped her fingers around the handle. “This is my only one. I can’t just give it to you.”

  But it wasn’t the only gun. Mom had a smaller weighted one sewn into the bottom of my pack. Not only was she lying, she was convincing. Since when did my mom lie?

  Charlie paused, the one eye I could see narrowed. “If you don’t give it to me, I’ll be forced to take it. That’s no way to start off together, is it?”

  Together? Who did he think he was? Mom’s husband? Creep.

  She shook her head, the movement small and graceful. With extreme care, she unsnapped the strap securing her gun and withdrew the piece at a finite pace. Slipping the butt of her gun into his hand, Mom stared at her offering as if her last tank of oxygen slipped away.

  With his empty hand, Charlie patted my mom’s head. Like a stupid dog! I ground my teeth. Mom closed the door as he turned and walked away.

  A sick twist of her lips could’ve passed as a frown or a self-defeating smile. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed my pack and turned it over. A red tab sewn into the lining poked from the seam. Tearing the tab back, Mom pulled the entire panel open and thrust her hand inside the pocket. While she retrieved the smaller gun, she studied the room and what was available.

  Inspecting it myself, I couldn’t help lifting my shoulders in defeat. The sparse contents offered little in the way of comfort or style. A double bed pushed against the plain white wall had a fitted sheet and a raggedy red and blue quilt. No pillows to rest heads on. The window didn’t have any fittings and the hardwood flooring lacked rugs or anything to even remotely add some character.

  After reclosing the panel with the pre-installed Velcro strips, Mom palmed the gun and turned toward the closet, if that’s what a medicine cabinet sized cupboard could be called. Pulling open the door, she angled herself around and walked backwards into the space.

  “You’re not going to fit in there.” I pulled my eyebrows together. What was she doing? Sometimes Mom had a mind of her own and I couldn’t follow her best-laid plans for anything. Dad used to say she had the mind of an engineer.

  Raising her arms, she stretched and then carefully lowered her hands, keeping her eyes on the corner above the closet door. She wiggled out of the tight space.

  With empty hands.

  “Wha—” My question was interrupted by another knock at the door.

  Charlie didn’t wait for an invite or an answer. He pushed right in with his too-toothy grin. Another man with reddish-brown hair and a gray speckled beard followed him. The new man didn’t smile, his mouth was completely covered by beard. I guess I could’ve missed the friendly gesture under all his facial hair, but his eyes had a hard tilt to them, suggesting he hadn’t smiled in a long time.

  “We need to do a search of your items for any other weapons. I’m sure you understand.” Charlie folded his arms and leaned against the wall separating his room from ours. “This is Sarge. He usually graces the west wall. But he didn’t have anything else going on. He’ll be checking your things. If you’ll come over here.” He spoke pleasantly enough, but the clip to each word confirmed he wouldn’t take anything less than complete cooperation.

  The room wasn’t large enough for us to move far, so the shuffling to adjust ourselves closer to him only increased the awkwardness of the moment. Mom positioned herself between Charlie and myself. She folded her hands and held them discreetly at her waist.

  I copied her. Mom had a calm assuredness about her I found more comforting than any amount of words would be.

  Charlie turned and faced us, ignoring his man’s rough handling of our things. “I didn’t get a chance to formally meet your daughter, Megan.” He left his comment hanging with a loud unspoken ‘introduce us, now’ in the air.

  Pasting on her fake-I’m-going-to-puke-on-you-when-I-get-the-chance smile, Mom nodded my direction. “This is Kelly. Kelly, this is Charlie Penderson.”

  He smiled at me, extending his hand. “Nice to officially meet you.” He waited for me to return the shake which I did with firmness. My dad hadn’t shirked on raising me. Charlie nodded. “Good grip. How old are you, Kelly?” His voice and the sincerity of his eyes betrayed his words – or maybe it was the other way around. I could see how he was so easy to trust, to follow.

  Mom put her arm around me and squeezed, breaking the connection Charlie had allowed to continue past the societal norm. “Kelly just turned twelve. Isn’t she tall?” She kissed my forehead and something in her eyes told me to keep my mouth shut and go along.

  I grinned like an idiot and blushed. “Mo-om. I’m not that tall.”

  Glancing between Mom and me, Charlie’s over-exuberance toward me faded. “Yes, you are tall, but you look like your mom. I never would’ve guessed twelve. Maybe fifteen?” He winked, turning toward Sarge who had flipped my backpack upside down and fingered the panel on the bottom.

  Charlie moved forward. “What’s this for, Megan?” He took the bag from Sarge’s fingers and turned to Mom. “Looks like you’re trying to hide something.” He studied her face and her movements, like she was going to tell him everything or he was going to make her.

  Mom crossed her arms over her stomach and shook her head. “Was there anything inside? I created the panel for Kelly to put any pictures or special items. We had to leave before we grabbed anything of meaning, you know? In mine there’s a Bible.” She pointed indifferently toward her as-yet-untouched pack.

  Turning toward hers, Charlie stared for a long while at the bag, while he groped mine. A pensive twist to his head didn’t reassure me about the encounter. He was too oily, too good at running people. I hadn’t even known him for an hour and I could already tell he took himself more seriously than other people did.

  This scared me.

  I reached for my mom’s hand. My movement caught Charlie’s attention and he turned his stare on me. I didn’t flinch. I hadn’t done anything. I hadn’t hidden anything in the pockets or in the room.

  Sarge moved forward, upending Mom’s bag and emptying her contents onto the bed as well. At least their inconsiderate nature hadn’t extended so far they dropped stuff on the floor. He ripped open the bottom panel and Mom’s Bible thunked when hitting the hardwood flooring. Okay, never mind. I gave Sarge credit too soon.

  Charlie knelt, retrieving the book and gazing at Mom while he rose. “You weren’t kidding. You never spoke of your religion at the co-
op.”

  “What I believe is nobody’s business.” How could Mom speak so calmly, even with a dash of attitude? The men in that room weren’t our friends. They weren’t there to help us. They wanted to do exactly what the government had done before my dad had left for the south. Taken a vote and created a buy-sell-trade mentality for gun owners and their neighbors.

  If a person owned a gun, they were expected to buy a license, giving their weapon a documented address. Refusal to do so would require them to sell their weapons. If neither of those steps were done, neighbors or anyone who knew about people with guns – licensed or not – could trade information for commodities. With gas and other resources so high, need was a powerful motivator.

  “Well, I disagree. We don’t allow organized religion here. So don’t start preaching or anything. I’ll hold onto your Bible in my room, so you don’t get any ideas.” He dropped my bag and reached forward to pat Mom’s stiff shoulder. “You don’t need it anyway. Can’t you see? God’s already forgotten you.” He jerked his fingers at Sarge and they tromped toward the door and disappeared without looking back.

  I turned back to Mom, angry they took her Bible but also slightly vindicated someone else agreed with me on the whole religion thing. There was nothing comforting about who agreed with me.

  She slumped onto the bed, her hands shaking as she reached for our things. Shirts and pants sifted through her fingers and she didn’t even grasp for them.

  “Mom, are you okay?” The guys hadn’t been overly threatening, more irritating and oily, but not scary. Tears in her eyes when she lifted her gaze to mine made my stomach wring in worry. What had I missed? Why wasn’t I crying? If Mom was worried or upset, something was bad enough to be concerned about.

  “You did a great job hiding the gun. I’m sure you can get your other one back.” I lamely lifted my hand, letting fall back to my side when my words failed.

  She barely shook her head and looked down into her lap. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her. A large tear dripped onto her pants.

  I moved to sit beside her, pushing a pile of things across the mattress. “I didn’t hear you.” My fingers fiddled with the lower zipper on my outer jacket. My family wasn’t big on hugging and for the first time in my life, I wondered why.

  She sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. “He took my Bible. That was… cruel.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I know. Try to think of it as just a book. He didn’t take anything else.” I tried not to sigh. She was upset over the book. He didn’t take our last gun, which I thought was a small victory. I nudged her shoulder. “We didn’t know he would take that or we could’ve hidden the Bible too. He didn’t even think to check the rest of the room.”

  She stared at me, disappointment shiny in another tear slipping through her defenses. The skin around her swollen and bruised eye tightened and flushed under her tears. “Kelly, you’re going to fit in here too fast, if you can believe all he took was a book.”

  Her comment stung. I recoiled, blinking rapidly at the sudden verbal attack. “Mom, I didn’t deserve that. In the whole scheme of things, it was just a book. What do you want me to say?” But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. But if I could downplay the book’s relevance, than maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious that I was glad that her book was all he’d taken. I could hide my fear a little longer.

  “I want you to keep your childish opinions to yourself. That book is a foundation of beliefs. Whether you have a religious attachment to it or not the connotation in that book is understood by everyone. He took my Bible as a power play. Charlie wants to control us – me. He proved he can take anything he wants. Do anything he wants.” She pushed off the mattress and stood, spinning to thrust loose items into her pack.

  “Childish? You might still see me as twelve, but I’m seventeen. I have a more developed idea of what’s going on than you might think.” I copied her actions. She wasn’t the only one in a difficult situation. I thrust random shirts and socks into the depths of my pack. “Why’d you say I’m twelve anyway?” Was I so innocent acting? So naïve?

  She threw the last of her things inside her bag and turned to me, her jaw tight. “Don’t you understand what’s going on here? He just claimed me as his own. If I didn’t go along with his stupid rule, he all but promised me we would both be raped. As long as you act like you’re twelve, we might be able to save you from being claimed by anyone else. Do you understand, now?”

  She looked me over, anger heating her normal professional cool. “You keep your chest wrapped and don’t tell anyone. This isn’t some game or a practice drill. This is reality now, Kelly. You don’t have the luxury of hiding behind me anymore in your disbelief.” She poked her finger into the air inches from my face. “You need to start paying attention.”

  I didn’t flinch as her words hailed around me. Twelve? Binding my breasts would keep them hidden but was I really so immature looking I would pass for five years younger? Holding my face blank wouldn’t have been possible, if I were twelve. The snarky comments didn’t pass my lips. Confrontation with my mother never went well. She had an ability to not get as worked up as I did and usually watched as I went from this-is-what’s-making-me-mad to complete and uncontrollable meltdown because of her serenity.

  While she packed fast, I took my time. The longer I worked on picking up, the less I would have to deal with her. I wonder if I could pack for a year.