“Lead the way, McCoy.”
The past two days catch up with me. I don’t toss or turn. No nightmares grip my mind and rip me out of the dream world and into the real one. I sleep, deep and undisturbed. It’s mid-afternoon when I finally wake. A cool breeze sweeps through the open window, carrying with it the sound of birdsong, a score of tiny, brown and white-winged birds flitting between branches of the cottonwood outside. Her head lays atop my chest, ear pressed against my heart which misses a beat when she looks up at me with those eyes of hers. No wonder I slept so well.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, voice scratchy from sleep.
“No,” she says, nuzzling closer. “I’ve been awake for a while. I just didn’t want to move.”
Nor do I want her too. Everything about this moment is right: the warmth of her body wrapped around my own; the feel of her hair, smooth and dark as a midnight sky, flowing through my fingers; the sweetness of her lips as the dance across mine. This is what I fight for: these quiet, tender moments of peace with the girl I love. I could stay lost inside this moment forever.
“We should head downstairs,” she says, though she makes no move to leave.
She’s right. The real world waits on the other side of the bedroom door. There are plans to be made, problems to be solved. Worry and stress and fear loom ahead of us like a cruel and violent storm, its sharp winds howling in promise. We have weathered such storms from the beginning, and will continue to do so until these fleeting moments of peace can bend and stretch into hours, into days, until the winds calm and the clouds recede and we leave it all behind. But for now, I will hold onto this moment for as long as I can.
“Yeah, we probably should,” I agree, planting kisses across her collarbone. “But we’re not going to.”
When we finally make our way downstairs, it’s to find everyone in open debate about our options. Arguments are all over the place. Some over food and water, some over safety and security. The one common thread is the need to leave the area. Fear over Animal retaliation runs high. The problem remains: where to move on to?
“There are rumors about Mancos,” says Ted, my Uncle Will’s cousin. “I’ve heard they’re unified, that they’ve secured their borders...maybe they would be willing to take us in.”
Richard scoffs at the idea. “Heard the same rumor,” he says. “Probably, most of the folks still around here have too. Even if it’s true, gotta imagine we wouldn’t be the first to think of joining them. They’ve probably been flooded with people trying to distance themselves from town. How will they be able to accommodate them? They’re bound to be stretched thin already.”
“We keep going round in circles,” says Jerry. His arm has been patched up nice and neat. I suspect his sister’s hand in that. After two years studying to become a nurse, I’m sure Jerry won’t be the last person she treats.
“I don’t see why this is so complicated,” he continues. We have tents and we have gear. Let’s get the hell out of here and hole up in the hills util we can think of a better alternative.” Whatever patience he may have held at the beginning of this discussion has long since faded. The gunshot to his arm may have only been a grazing shot, but it still looms omnipresent in his mind. Another inch and it might have ruined his shoulder, blown apart his bicep. Another six, and it might have claimed his life. A second bout with the Animals is the last thing he wants.
“The hills are crawling with people, Jerry,” Vince says. “You’ve seen it yourself.” They’ve explained it to me too. Tracks, fires, voices. The collapse has turned the surrounding woods and hills into a beacon for many. Patchwork camps are not uncommon, dozens of people surviving together the best they can in the wilderness. It’s made hunting and gathering not only difficult but also dangerous. With so many hungry eyes dispersed among the trees, getting a kill too far from home is a risky proposition: hauling a dead deer could easily make you as big a target as a live one.
“I’ll take my chances with unorganized hunters any day over those bastards,” he snaps back. His fear is unmistakable, and it spreads throughout the room.
“Maybe he has a point,” says Kelly, Vince’s fiance. She squeezes Vince’s arm. “There’s nothing to stop them from coming back...I don’t want to be waiting for them if they decide to.”
Vince squeezes her knee in reassurance. “We won’t be,” he says. “But there has to be a better option.”
Lauren and I skirt the edges of the room and take a seat beside my parents. “How long has this been going on?” I ask.
“Too long,” my father says. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if we actually accomplished something. But getting people to agree is like pulling teeth.”
“I’ve already told you, I’ve got some friends up on the mesa,” my Uncle Mitch says now. “They’ll take us on, I know they will.” His words come out slurred. Slow. I catch my mother’s eye and arch an eyebrow in question. The small shake of her head is my answer. I look back at my uncle in frustration as he continues on in his slow voice, eyes wide and bloodshot as he tries to convince my family. Almost a year of sobriety down the drain.
If anyone else notices, they don’t let on. Perhaps they don’t want to add any more stress to everything we’re already dealing with. I guess I can understand that. But if he continues using, something will have to be done. I haven’t forgotten the man the booze and drugs bring out of him. That’s the last thing my family needs. But his suggestion has me thinking.
“How are you holding up?” I ask Felix.
He stands alone beside the dining room window, staring out into the street with unfocused eyes. “I’m alright,” he says, turning to face me. “But I should probably be asking you the same question. Vince and Richard were a little vague when they described what happened. I’m guessing there were some details they didn’t want to worry the family with?”
The night flashes past. Bullets and falling bodies. Blood. Chaos. Men burning to death from fire thrown by my own hand. “You could say that,” I say. “I can fill you in.”
He shakes his head. “You’re already going to relive it a thousand times,” he says. “I’m not going to make you add another on my account.”
I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts and push last night from my mind. “Where do we go from here, Chavo?” I ask him. Straight to the point, cut the bullshit. It’s how our friendship has always worked.
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Obvious isn’t it?” he asks. “We move your family out to my uncle’s place. The gang never finds us. We find my family. And we all live happily ever after: a regular fucking fairy tale ending.”
I’m thrown by the harsh sarcasm of his words. He looks away, and I know immediately he wished he could take it back. I don’t know how to respond. I’ve been so caught up in my own pain, I forget how much others are hurting too.
“Felix...” I struggle to find words.
“I’m sorry,” he says, ashamed. “You know I didn’t mean that. I guess I’m not coping as well as I thought.”
I lay a hand on his shoulder. “You never have to apologize to me, Chavo,” I say. “We’re all struggling to cope right now. You’re doing a pretty damn good job in my opinion.”
He attempts a smile. “Thanks,” he says. “But there’s some truth in what I said. Nobody’s on the farm right now. I was actually going to mention it earlier but figured I’d wait on you. And judging by some of the suggestions I’ve heard so far, the farm is definitely our best move.”
I grin. “Great minds. I was thinking the exact same thing. Besides, we’re going to need to be out that way to start looking for your family. We’ve got to start working on that fairy tale ending of yours.”
“It did sound pretty good, right?” he asks, with a genuine smile of his own. It sounded perfect, like the dream I hold in my heart when I look to the future. Is it really no more than that? A dream? A fairy tale I’ve painted in my mind? I push the thought away before it can take root. Fairytale or not, it is what keeps me moving forward: an oasis
in the distance. If I’m to have a chance at all in reaching it, I can’t allow myself to believe it a mirage. I have to have faith. I have to believe I will one day drink from its waters.
“We’ll make it a reality, Chavo. Together.”
We enter the main living room and suggest the idea. My family doesn’t need much convincing. As Felix said, his farm is definitely our best move right now. It has a water well, prime hunting grounds to the north and east, and plenty of space to plant crops and greenhouses. I remember the seeds Elroy gave us along with his handwritten book on harvesting. Autumn has only just begun. Surely we can get something going before winter arrives. But more than anything, I think what really sells the point is the distance it provides between us and the Animas Animals.
“The location sounds ideal,” Richard says. “Only thing we need to figure out is how to get there without drawing attention to ourselves.”
Easier said than done. Even on the trail we didn’t always go unnoticed, and that was with only a few of us. Now we’re near thirty in number, most of whom are not used to hiking with heavy packs or constantly staying on alert for ambushes and attacks. It’s going to be slow going, especially with our need to avoid major roadways. Add in the fact we will be traveling at night, and I don’t see any way we can possibly make it to the farm by daybreak. I’m not the only one who realizes this either.
“What will we do come sunrise?” Leon asks. “We’re going to be moving slow. No way we make it to the farm in one night.”
“We’ll have to figure it out as we go,” Felix says. “Worse case scenario, we set up camp out of sight somewhere and wait out the day.”
“Agreed,” Richard says. “We’ll see how far we get and assess our options later.”
With that, we begin to hash out the route we’ll be taking. The most crucial part is the first few miles as we try and leave the town behind. Fortunately, this neighborhood is surrounded by forest, making it easy to avoid the main entrance. But with the Animal’s blood still running hot, we need to be careful. It only makes sense that they would leave at least a few men in the area.
“Assume we leave this area smoothly, how do we get to Florida?” asks my Uncle Will. “I don’t want to use 32nd street to cross the river. We’ll be too exposed.”
“The river’s low right now,” my father says. “We should be able to cross it no problem. Head north of the bridge and cross out of sight.”
“And once we’re across, there’s all that open land we can cut through. We can avoid 32nd street altogether,” my mother adds. And past 32nd, forest surrounds Florida Rd. on all sides, giving us ample concealment as we travel. We just have to get there.
With a plan in place, the rest of the afternoon is spent preparing for tonight. We divvy up the gear between us and make sure everyone is armed to some degree. I know Richard will have given everyone a crash course in firearm training, but it’s still strange to see with my own eyes. My sweet, Aunt Virginia, whom I’ve never heard say an unkind word about anyone, now loads a revolver at the dining room table. Grace and Ray sit with Richard’s youngest daughter, Hailey, and T.J., my Uncle Will’s nephew. Had the collapse never occurred, they might be counting down the seconds until the bell rang right now, eager to be released after a long day of school. As it is, even they have been armed for tonight’s journey. We’ve made it clear that they are only to use their weapons if absolutely necessary—as a last resort if our backs are against the wall. I hope it never comes to that. None of them should have to know the terrible burden that comes with taking a life.
Only one of us will go unarmed tonight. I approach her now, lifting her easily into the air and spinning her round in circles as she squeals with laughter. “Stoppp it, Morgan!” she yells. I can’t keep from laughing as I ease up on my spinning.
“You sure, Abe? Because your laughing tells me I should keep going.”
She beats on my chest with all the strength her five-year-old arms can muster. “Quit calling me Abe!” she chides. “Abby, or Abigail. I’ve told you like, a thousand times.”
“A thousand times?” I ask, spinning her around once more. I’ve missed her laugh. It still sounds the same as the day I left, untouched by all the bad that has happened around her. Despite all of the tension between me and my cousin Jenna over the years, it hasn’t soured the love I have for her daughter. I’d do anything for this little girl in my arms. “You can’t even count to a thousand!”
“Yes I can,” she challenges. “One, two, three...” she continues on and I have to cut her off.
“How about I test you instead?” I ask. “What comes after fifty-nine?”
“Sixty!” she says, knowingly.
“Ok. What comes before two-hundred and twenty-six?”
“Two-hundred and twenty-five.”
“Dang, you are smart,” I praise. “I don’t even think Leon knew the answer to that one,” I add when I catch his eye. He flips me off behind her back, making me laugh. “Alright, final test: what comes after nine-hundred and ninety-nine?”
“A thousand!” she says, excited at proving me wrong.
I whistle in admiration. “It’s official. You’re a genius Abe...igail. What? I called you Abigail!”
I feel better after talking with Abigail, her innate goodness easing the ball of tension lodged inside my chest. As evening makes its presence felt, I make it a point to touch face with everyone throughout the house. I share memories and tell jokes with those I fought so hard to reach, and with each smile, each laugh, I feel that tension loosen further. There is still fear lingering in the air. It lingers in myself as well. There’s no getting around that fact. But there is still so much to be thankful for, so many reasons to feel joy. I’m not going to overlook them—they are what will see us through this.
“You holding up alright?” I ask my mother. All day she’s been seeing to the needs of others. Overseeing preparations, lending comfort, reassuring worried minds that everything will be alright. I’ve always said she was the glue which held my family together. That’s truer now more than ever. And she’s not the type to back away from that role, nor would she ever let others know the toll it takes on her. But I know the weight of it all must be substantial. I won’t let her carry it all on her own. I need to be there for her now as she’s always been for me.
She brushes my hair back and leaves her hand resting on my cheek, a small smile on her face. “I have you and your sister back,” she says, simply. “I haven’t been this good in months.”
I feel a lump in my throat rise as she says this. Not so much for the words themselves, but for the sincerity behind them. “You know what I mean,” I say, continuing to dig. “I see how much you put on your shoulders, how you always put your own needs last. I need to know that you’re ok.”
Her smile grows as she shakes her head, a breath of laughter escaping her. “You don’t even see the irony, do you?” she asks. I must look confused because all she does is shake her head again. She draws my face close to hers and kisses me once atop my forehead. “Don’t worry about me, my son. As long as I have air in my lungs, and my family is alive and well, I have everything I need.”
I nod in understanding, knowing I’ll get no other answer from her. “Ok,” I say. “Just promise me you’ll let me help you if you need it.”
She draws me in for a hug, and for the tiniest of moments, I feel a child again: warm and safe inside his mother’s arms. Leave it to my mother to lend me comfort even as I try to do the same to her. “I promise,” she says quietly.
Not long after, the house is filled with the sounds of our imminent departure: zippers opening and closing; grunts and sighs as people heft their packs; the all too familiar sound of chambering rounds and clicks of safeties. Night has come. Time for us to make our leave.
“Remember the plan,” Richard says. He addresses the family halfway up the staircase, drawing everyone’s eye to him. He continues on, making doubly sure everyone knows their role. I find myself cringing. He’s a career
military man and he addresses us as such—like a commander laying out orders to his soldiers. I respect the man, and I know his experience is a tremendous asset, but I can practically feel his speech steal the air from the room.
“Do what you’re supposed to do, and we’ll make it out alive,” he finishes. The unease following his words is glaring. Either Richard doesn’t see what I see, or he chooses to ignore it. He descends the staircase, stopping to heft his pack and ready his weapons. People watch him with trepidation, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I can’t let us leave the house in this state.
“It’s alright if you’re afraid right now,” I say. Eyes shift to me, including Richard’s who narrow in surprise. “We all know how ruthless these Animals can be. They’ve taken our food, our weapons, even two of our own until we took them back. Now they want our lives. They have guns and vehicles and outnumber us ten to one. They’re dangerous. No sense in denying it. But despite all their power, there is one thing we have that they do not—something they don’t understand and which can never be taken from us: Love. And please, don’t scoff or roll your eyes at what I say. Love is what got me here—what gave me the strength to face so much evil on the trail and walk away from it alive. You gave me that.”
I pause, taking a moment to look each of them over so they know I believe in what I say. I can feel their energy rise with my words, can see belief flicker inside their eyes. I feed off the momentum, driving my message home.
“I love each and every one of you,” I say. “You are all my family, both by blood and by choice. There is no greater love than that. Put faith in it. Put faith in each other. And know that whatever we face, we face it together, as a family. We’ll get through this. I believe that as much as I believe in anything.”
Nobody speaks for a quiet minute as what I said sinks in. It’s Vince who finds his voice first. “Amen, Captain,” he says. He wears a smile and raises his hand in a mock salute. I find myself grinning in return, recognizing his praise through his sarcasm. More people sound their agreement, declarations of love and assurance issuing out of their mouths. I feel my heart lift as I watch it unfold, just as it did earlier when I spun Abigail in my arms. For the first time since I arrived, I feel as if my family is finally whole. Well, almost. But in this moment, it’s as if I feel her presence beside me, a smile on her face as she watches us come together.
A Cruel and Violent Storm Page 4
