by Eric Keller
Even though everyone had heard this story told many, many times and even the children had it memorized, there are scattered claps and a couple hoots at the mention of Sam before Paulina continues, “Of course, Morreign invited him to stay without talking to any of us about it. I was worried about having a stranger here, but I guess I trust her, trust her instincts, she’s been right before, and this Sam guy seems to know about the woods and that sort of stuff, knowledge we desperately need. I’m too tired and cold to write more.”
Tina handed the metal bottle to Jacob. He took a painful swig before slipping it to Louisa as the girl continued to read from predetermined spots in his aunt Ainsley’s diary. Telling of the arrival of the Hopes and the Walkers interspersed with more mundane but equally important occurrences such as harvesting the first garden, the return of a large supply trip, the signing of the Seven Rules, the day the fuel ran out, the marriage of Ram and Emmanuelle.
Then a heaviness took over the room as everyone knew Paulina had reached the last page of the Diary with writing on it. They had all seen the Diary and could picture the strained handwriting that replaced Ainsley’s usual neat, looping style. “March 2, 2041. I think the baby is coming. I don’t know why or what but I think something is wrong, the pain is different this time, and my body seems to know this isn’t right. I want to tell Leo, but it’ll only worry him, and there’s nothing that can be done but let whatever is going to happen happen. I don’t think I’ve missed anything from the past as much as I miss the idea of a clean, well-lit hospital full of arrogant doctors. I keep thinking back to that first night, that first day with nothing but the collapsed huts, four exhausted kids and four clueless adults pretending to be tough. I don’t know how but through all our hard work and cooperation and luck we managed to rebuild life here, not only for us but for many others. I hated this place, this horrible, barren, frozen lifeboat in a sea of trees, but if the birth goes wrong, I will dearly miss this place and the community we’ve built.”
Ainsley’s intuition had been right. The baby came breach. Both mother and child died the next day in a flood of blood, chaos, gore, and agony. Every year different passages of the Diary were chosen, key ones being picked more often than others, however, every year the reading ended with that last entry. Years ago Jacob asked his mother why they always finished the reading that way, and she told him it was a reminder of all they lost building this place, a reminder they should appreciate their good fortune for being in Malden and a reminder of danger still existing.
A moment of awkward silent reflection as Paulina climbed off the table. After a minute or two, Jacob’s mother’s voice, strong and clear, broke the quiet. “I’ll say my piece, but I’m too old and battered to get up on that damn table.
. . .
The dinner at the Longest Night Gathering was not fancy, it never was, but it was hearty and plentiful, which made Morreign glad as she watched familiar faces eating through smiles. When they first got to the Lodge, they commemorated the fleeing on its anniversary back in February but the deep, dreary winter month with everyone cold and hungry meant the event lacked a celebratory tone. People campaigned to move the party to June when fresh food and sunlight existed. As the setting sun cast the room in a pleasant glow and she felt contentedly full, there could be no question they were right to make the change.
Despite the filling meal and her husband’s safe return, for some reason, Morreign felt woebegone. She felt the impulse to ruminate at length about those they lost and all they endured. Regardless, she kept her speech succinct, because tonight was not a night for mourning and, instead, she spoke easily of winter finally passing.
After the speeches, came the reading of the Seven Rules. No violence tolerated. No theft tolerated. The Committee to determine the allocation of supplies and work. The Committee determines acceptance of strangers. Location of Malden not to be disclosed. Committee members to be elected every Longest Night and two-thirds of adult inhabitants can call for re-election of Committee members at any time. The Committee to determine all punishments.
Next, they held the annual election. Everyone lined up and dropped their well-used slips of paper into Leo’s well-used hat. There was a nervous moment at the beginning when he pulled out the first two votes and read out that they were both for Griffith Hope but, with the way some of the youngsters were trying to suppress giggles, Morreign figured the jokester put up a couple of the teenagers to vote for him. In the end, he only received three votes, and the Committee remained the same as it had been for the last four years: Morreign, Leo and Boris Walker.
The election rules were extremely simple. Every person over the age of fourteen wrote two names on a piece of paper which went into the hat. The three people whose names showed up the most formed the Committee. Every adult was eligible to serve and once elected they were required to sit for the year. Everyone, except for Sam. They all said they exempted Sam out of respect for his other talents but Morreign knew everyone knew they could not force Sam to do anything he did not want to and he would not want to sit in meetings about rationing and work details.
Morreign’s hip ached miserably, so she was glad when the kids started clearing the dishes. She stood. The ache did not go away, but it spread out and lessened. For the thousandth time, she cursed herself for not being more careful on that measly strip of ice. Years of facing countless dangers and she wrecked her hip walking across the Clearing with an armload of firewood. She leaned against the wall with a sigh.
People were beginning to mill about, patches of conversation forming. Soon Leo would break out his harmonica, then RueAnn would open her guitar case, and a couple of ad hoc drums would be set up as the sparse furniture was moved aside. The adults and kids would dance as the teenagers snickered. When the mediocre musicians and clumsy dancers needed a break, people would take turns telling the funny, happy stories they all heard a thousand times before.
Morreign used to love nights like these. They reminded her why they did all the hard work, why they grew so many blisters and why they sacrificed so much. Tonight, though, she only felt tired. Despite what she told Paul, their supplies were adequate but dwindling. Malden could not survive on puny potatoes grown in a too short season and the occasional squirrels Sam trapped. If they could no longer supplement the food they grew and hunted with items looted from the past, not only would life be grim, she feared serious nutritional problems.
Boris Walker leaned against the wall next to her, interrupting her thoughts. “How’s the hip?”
She smiled and answered, “Annoying.”
Boris arrived in the second spring after the attack. Him and his girlfriend, Samantha. They were doing government research on the impact of climate change on tundra growth. They referred to it as a weeklong boondoggle designed to get them out of the office and into the fresh air. Getting out of the office saved their lives. However, they had left their daughter behind at Thule with a babysitter and, to this day, a deep, guilt-laden depression hung about the couple.
Before long, they realized the world was not going to be revived, and they could not stay in their motor home outfitted for research barely surviving off trapped prairie dogs forever. Packing up the remnants of their supplies on to their aluminum boat, they set out on the river with no idea where they might end up. Luck led them to Malden where they settled and gave birth to a second daughter, Paulina.
“I bet. Nothing of mine is broken, and I’m still sore all the time from chopping wood and turning dirt.”
For a long moment, they stood in companionable silence. Boris, tall and lean with a grey beard seemed to be taking in the scene like an anthropology professor surveying a lost tribe. Morreign found him overly cerebral but respected him, a practical person without the need to joke or fill every silence with small talk. They watched the kids hurriedly clean up the dishes, all of them wanting
to get done so the party could start.
As the last dirty bowl scurried into the kitchen, Boris said, “Sometimes I think some things out here might actually be better than back in the old world. I remember when I was a kid, my mom had to scold, threaten and bribe to get me and my sister to simply put our dishes into the dishwasher.”
“It is different that’s for sure. I made the mistake of mentioning dishwashers to Jacob a while back. Try explaining a machine that sprays super-hot water on plates to a kid who hauls water from the river and heats it over a fire before washing his face. He looked at me like I was insane.”
“Yeah, there were some battered magazines in the stuff Paul and Sam brought back. One had these pictures of a football stadium packed with fans. Paulina asked if everyone in the world got to go to the game. They’re our kids, but we’re from different planets.”
Looking over at her son, his arm possessively tight around Louisa’s hip as they laughed with Griffith and Tina, she pondered this thought. When she was his age, her life revolved around text messages, one hit wonder boy bands and lip gloss. Jacob’s life revolved around collecting firewood, re-reading worn out novels and not starving. Seven years old at the bombing, he vaguely recalled the past world but never really lived in it. Morreign figured this to be for the best, he could not pine for what he did not remember. Still, a part of her wished he remembered more. A family should have a history, a culture and a past they can share.
This world was more his than hers. Jacob grew up in it, she came to it late in life. His lifelong experience equipped him better than her. He carried none of the biases from the future turned past, and he lacked the desire to force things here and now to work like things in that other place and time. Further, the harshness which filled Jacob’s entire life hardened him in a deep and practical way. She and Paul were merely toughened up enough to survive the radical change from a once soft lifestyle. They were forced to rapidly grow a hard crust over soft insides, they were eggs. Jacob’s life made him hard through and through, he was a stone. Morreign felt useless to Jacob in this new world as any advice he sought from her would be a local asking a tourist getting off a train for directions.
Weary of her maudlin thoughts, she moved stiffly from the wall before saying to Boris, “I think I better go home and try to stretch out this damn hip before it completely ceases up. Please tell Paul when he comes looking for me that I went to lay down.”
. . .
Hale’s back ached, and the nest of blankets felt suffocating, the heat of Kinma’s naked body filling the tight space despite the coldness of the room. The powerful smell of sex between unclean bodies wafted out of the bedding every time he moved. When he first came back to Thule with Kinma, Hale felt awkward sleeping with her, his reason for going to get her coming from a sense of concern about leaving a human alone in the wilderness, not desire for an indebted slave. However, after a time, she became the initiator and, with no TV or internet, sex quickly became a favorite pastime of theirs.
Despite their intense activity, Hale could not fall asleep. To be fair, he did not really want to sleep. He merely laid there, in the tangle of blankets, trying not to think as ideas raced through his mind as he listened to Kinma breathing softly, enjoying the feel of her hot skin and the smell of her hair.
Of course, dawn did not care about what Hale faced, and it arrived undaunted and undelayed. Hale managed to creep out of the blankets without waking Kinma. He did not know what to say. She knew everything he could tell her, she must know by now. However, he stumbled pulling on his heavy boots, and one thumped loudly against the wall.
Wrapped in a blanket, her long black hair a pretty, tangled mess, she smiled at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. She stepped forward and kissed him gently on the cheek, saying, “I love you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
She let go and stepped back, holding the smile on her lips even as her eyes filled with tears. Hale knew she was afraid. She would be left here, alone, in the grungy darkness surrounded by a band of deviants severed from humanity and led by a sociopath. He also knew she was afraid for him. He could not speak, not only because he did not know the words to say but because his own fear would be clear in his voice and worry her even more.
He nodded and smiled back slightly before turning the knob and stepping out of the apartment that once belonged to a woman he only briefly knew, a woman named Rosa. Standing in the dark hallway, he tried to remember the night he first came here ten years ago to sleep with a stranger he picked up at the bar but he could not. That night occurred in someone else’s life. With a deep breath, he walked away from his decade-long sanctuary.
. . .
The harsh, crab apple wine made Jacob’s stomach ache and his head swim. With the party winding down, the young men and women of Malden snuck off to the woods behind the Lodge. They built up a fire, another bottle of wine showed up from somewhere and, as always, Griff loudly led the conversation.
“All I’m saying is that it should be the young guys, me and Jacob and Hurley, going out there. We’ve got more energy, we can travel farther and can come back with more than scraps. Go out and find things that’ll really make a difference around here.”
Louisa and Jacob knew it was pointless to argue with Griff when he was in this mood but Jacob’s cousin Emma always let his ruminations get under her skin. She poked at an old wound, “Yeah, like last time? Maybe you can get so sick you need to be carried back again.”
Griff had gone on a scouting and hunting trip in the fall but, after a few days of sleeping rough, he caught a fever. The others on the trip ended up putting him on a makeshift litter to bring him back to Malden. He appeared to shrug it off, but Jacob knew his friend’s pride was irreparably wounded.
As Griff began to provide his familiar retorts, Jacob, feeling emboldened by the wine, took Louisa’s hand and gently led her away from the firelight. Once they were several steps away, she said, “Don’t understand how those two can have the same argument over and over.”
The usual gossiping held no interest for Jacob tonight, and he kept walking, responding aloofly, “Yeah, I’m tired of it.”
In behind the Lodge, on the edge of a gully, stood a clump of willows with their curving branches arching above them to make a hidden alcove. Tonight, with the white moon massive in the sky, the dewy grass shone like silver, and the budding leaves made a soft rustling sound all around them. Jacob gently turned Louisa to face him.
A head shorter than him, she stepped in close, sliding her face in under his chin. Jacob knew this move, even though they were closer he could not kiss her and if he could not kiss her, the evening could not progress as he wanted it to. He sighed with barely masked frustration as she said, “Hold me, hold me for a minute.”
For, what seemed like ages, they merely stood in the glistening woods listening to the leaves in the breeze. Finally, Jacob could take no more delay, and he stepped back, lifting her chin with his index finger. They kissed, chastely at first but Jacob pushed forward. Slowly, cautiously, like a child trying to pet a frightened puppy, Jacob moved his hand up inside her loose jacket. She did not stop him when his cold hand touched her warm, smooth skin and he grew bolder.
It felt clumsy, his hand cupping her surprisingly heavy breast under the layers of clothes but the pleasant sensation made him bolder. He pulled her tight, pressing into her waist which sent a tremor into his gut as he reached around to squeeze her backside. For a time he enjoyed holding her in each hand as they kissed sloppily. She let out a sigh and shifted against him causing a powerful sensation to ripple through him as she rose up on her toes to nuzzle his neck.
Taking this as a profoundly positive sign, Jacob dropped his hands t
o her hips, fumbling with her belt buckle. He managed to open the belt, but before he could undo her jeans, Louisa pressed in again, sliding her head back under his chin and locking his hands between them. He tried to step back so they could continue but she held him fast, whispering through her heavy breathing, “I’m sorry.”
Pained frustration immediately replaced excited eagerness. He thought, this time, would be the time. An odd rage coursed through him but he tried to hide the anger in his voice as he knew it would do no good. “Why not?”
He hated the tone in his voice, the whiny sound. Talking into his chest, she said, “I’m scared. I don’t know how to explain, I’m simply scared. I want to, I really do, deeply, but, I don’t know, I’m scared. Scared about after, about us after, I guess.”
“Scared? Of what? I love you, you love me. We are obviously meant to be together, how can you question that?”
The words were true. When he first saw her, terrified and lying silently on that musty bed in the Lodge, Jacob knew. Despite them only being children, he knew he would be with her forever, knew that as clearly as he knew the sun would rise and the poplar leaves would fall. Every minute of the millions of minutes they spent together since that first moment reinforced the certainty of that for him. Tonight, however, his words sounded shallow, accusatory and pleading rather than caring and truthful.
“No. No. I don’t question that. I don’t know. I try to explain, I want to explain, I really do…”
Jacob knew he should interject, console her and remain patient. But he was tired of being patient. He let her trailing words die on the breeze, not letting her off the hook. She continued, “You belong here. Hell, your family created here. I’m, I’m alone here. Alone everywhere I suppose. It’s different for me.”
