Two Nights Ago
In the minutes after we emerged from the jail cell, we quickly took turns using the bathroom, washing our faces, scrubbing them clean to the point they were raw and nearly numb. I retched, dry heaving, my stomach churning in knots and I welcomed the pain. I deserved it. The heat from the water made a mask of steam on the mirror and I didn’t wipe it clean. I refused to look at myself in the mirror. Shame burned through me. Shame at what we’d done to live. In the sink, the water turned a diluted, splotchy red as whatever I rinsed from my face spiraled down the drain.
Still, the smell stuck. It permeated my skin, into every pore, so strong, it was like I could touch it.
No amount of scrubbing made it go away.
A part of me died that day, doing what we did.
My memory gets hazy after this, bits and pieces missing, stretches of time gone, but what I know for certain is that we ran from that place, that haunting, toward the woods. We never said a word about it. Not then. Not after. Never.
The air outside bit against my face. It felt good, the freshness of it, so different from the suffocating heaviness of the station. I embraced the air in my lungs, the ground beneath my feet and the simple sensation of wiggling my fingers. How had I not ever appreciated the very miracle of being alive?
I thought of Renzo: he’d been right. Staying on the ledge was the best place, the safest place. Why had we left? Then I chastised myself. What was done was done. One thing was clear; if we were going to hide, if we were going to wait however long it took for help to arrive, we needed food.
An idea popped in my head and I said, “There’s a hunting cabin on the other side of the island. Dad showed it to me. There might even be some leftover canned goods.”
Theo asked, “How do you know it’s still there?”
“I don’t.”
He hesitated, gazing at me, his eyes focusing above my forehead.
“What?”
“There’s something,” and he reached out to my hair, flicking something off. Whatever it was grossed him out.
“What was it?”
He didn’t say, and I realized it must’ve been a remnant. A piece left over. From a person. I suddenly felt as if insects were crawling in my scalp, and I wanted to shave my hair right then and there. I wanted my skull clean. “Is it gone? Is it gone?!”
“I got it, Ruthie.”
“Did you get all of it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” I ran my hands through my hair. I could feel myself slipping out of control, madness creeping up on me.
“How far is it?” asked Max, probably to take my mind off myself.
“About a half hour.” And I found my center of gravity again. I reminded myself, We’ll be okay. We’ll make it out of here. I will not die in vain. “We’ll take a straight shot through the forest until we come out the other side.”
“That’ll take us near Renzo’s house, right? You think that’s where he ran off to?”
“Renzo,” I said. I hadn’t told them. I shook my head, my meaning clear.
“He tried then,” Max said.
I nodded.
“It’s weird. In a different universe, we might’ve been friends.”
“You were,” I said. “In the end.”
We shared a moment of silence and then Max said, “Let’s go.”
The forest was dark and by all accounts should’ve been scary. Forests at night are naturally creepy, branches becoming figures, playing tricks on the mind, but after what we’d been through, just to walk in nature, no matter how dark, felt like an oasis.
No, that’s not it.
It was Theo and Max. It was the two of them by my side, hearing their breath, their steps next to mine. They kept me afloat. They gave me purpose. They probably thought the same of me, but if not for them, I would’ve given up. The human spirit can only take so much. I thought of that poem about footsteps in the sand and feeling abandoned. Max and Theo were spiritually carrying me.
I wanted them to know, I needed them to know, so I said, “I love you.”
They didn’t stop walking, only looked back at me as if they misheard. Maybe they thought they imagined it, so I said it again.
“I love you, too,” Theo replied.
“Me, too,” Max said.
And that was it. No waterworks. No epiphanies. Only more walking.
Many minutes later, we came upon the hunting cabin. It lay alone, like something from a fairy tale, on a small plot of land that had been cleared of trees years ago, but new growth had come back with a vengeance—nature never stops—giving it a long abandoned appearance. It was basic, its roof caving in with gaping holes, and it didn’t look safe. It might very well collapse with the tiniest push. Still, it was shelter.
Max asked skeptically, “That’s the place?”
“That’s the place.”
Theo hugged me. “Looks like paradise to me.”
As I stepped forward, I heard a sharp clap and almost simultaneously, a tree branch splintered behind me. Before I could say anything, another shot rang out.
Theo threw me to the ground, his body acting as a shield.
Max just stood there.
“Max, get down!”
“It’s Dirk!” he said. “I saw him. It’s Dirk.” Another shot and Max flinched.
Theo said, “Why’s he shooting at us?”
“Dirk!” Max shouted. “Stop! It’s us!”
“No shit it’s you!” came a voice from the cabin. “Don’t come any closer.”
Max said, “Dirk! We’re not like them. It’s only the adults. Not us.” Max stepped forward and another bullet whizzed by, too close to his feet.
“I said don’t come any closer!”
Max stopped and held his hands in the air. “We’re not infected.”
“Not what?”
“Not. Like. Them,” he said, enunciating every word.
“Tell that to my dad.”
“Your dad tried to hurt you, didn’t he? So did Ruthie’s mom. And the sheriff. And pretty much every adult in town.” Max motioned for me to stand up.
I whispered, “Are you crazy?”
“He’s got to trust us somehow.”
I shared a look with my brother and then stood up. Theo reluctantly joined. I could see Dirk’s face, peering behind a glassless window, a gun in his hand.
“Ruthie’s mom really tried to hurt her?”
“More than that,” I said.
“What’d you do?”
“Locked her up.”
Dirk was quiet a moment, then asked, “Who else is with you?”
I joined Max in raising my open hands, showing Dirk we had no weapons. “Just us.” I nudged Theo to do the same.
Dirk said, “Lift your shirts. You might have something in your waistband.”
We did, proving we carried nothing.
I asked, “What happened to your dad?” We carried on a conversation from several yards away.
“Thought he was drunk,” Dirk said. “Used to hit me sometimes.”
As Dirk spoke, I had a bit more sympathy for him. I’d always thought him a bully and nothing more. I never considered why.
“But this beating was worse. I didn’t even do anything to deserve it. He came at me with a piece of metal from his workshop. Then he reached for his gun. I couldn’t let that happen. I beat him to it. Then I,” and Dirk trailed off, his face fighting emotion. “Didn’t wait to see if he was dead. Just ran out of the house. Ran all the way to the neighbors to call the sheriff, but when I looked inside, the parents were stabbing their kids. Thought I’d lost my mind. I took off. Ran here. What the hell’s going on?”
“I can explain,” I said. “Or I think I can. There’s an infection.”
“An infection? Like Ebola?”
“Something like that, yes. Remember the oil spill and the cleanup? All that stuff they sprayed in the ocean and the beach? It was poison. It did something to the adults. Something terrible.”
“How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I can’t prove anything, Dirk. You’re gonna have to trust us.”
Dirk kept his gun level. “Stay where I can see you. All three of you.” Then he waved us forward.
We stepped toward him, hands up like criminals. I’d never liked Dirk. Hated him, actually, if I thought about it. But he had a gun. Protection. Funny how that changed things.
Once we were inside, Dirk said, “Any of you act weird, I’ll shoot your ass.”
Everything about him radiated suspicion—his hunched posture, the gun at his side, the distance he kept between us. There were welts on his arms, maybe from his beating. His skin was flushed, and he occasionally moved his jaw back and forth in odd contortions as if massaging it. I guessed that’s where he’d taken a few hits to the face.
If Max had any lingering animosity toward Dirk, he didn’t show it.
Behind Dirk, the cabin was rickety and old, yet a few cans and Mason jars lined the shelves for the hunters who used it as a respite in the winter. Bugs and insects, though, had feasted on the wood. It looked like sawdust, ready to chaff and blow away.
“You said something about an infection?”
“Yes,” I said. “You might not believe what I’m about to tell you, but the more I do, the more it’ll make sense.” I described my theory of animal behavior infanticide. Dirk had seen first-hand the effects, so he didn’t flinch in disbelief. He listened quietly, intently, taking everything in.
After I finished, he said, “So, that’s what you think, huh? Adults suddenly went crazy because of science.”
“I do.”
“You know, school’s not, what do they call it? My strong suit. I think it’s a lot simpler.” We waited for him to explain. “They hate us and this chemical or whatever, is just an excuse.”
Max said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean adults have always hated us. Look at ’em. They’re old. They’re pissed. They’re going out to pasture while we take over. They never got what they wanted. Look at my dad, he always wanted to be this big-time artist, but where is he? Here. Doing nothing. Their dreams are dead. Then they’re stuck raising us, and every time they look in our face, all they see is their own disappointment. They know we’ll be walking on their graves. That’s what I think.”
Theo said, “It’s happening. That’s all that really matters. I say we hunker down and—”
“Wait,” Dirk said. “Not here you’re not.”
“Why not?” I said.
“’Cause I don’t need your help. You told me a nice story about why things are the way they are, but I’m sorry, I don’t trust you enough to turn my back. You can take a few cans if you want, but this foxhole is mine.”
“Why can’t we share it?”
“’Cause I got here first.”
“I keep telling you, Dirk, we’re not like them.”
“You can keep saying that until you’re blue in the face but I don’t care.”
I stepped toward him. “I’m not leaving.”
“I’m the one with the gun.”
I took a chance that he wouldn’t really shoot us. “We’re not doing anything.”
“You’re squatting in my place.”
“Your place?”
“Like I said, finders keepers.”
Theo placed his arm on my shoulder. “C’mon, Ruthie. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I turned to Dirk. “This cabin doesn’t belong to anybody. Hunters used it. Who knows who even built it?”
“Well, I’m using it now and you all ain’t.”
Maybe, I thought, Dirk was still a bully—the why of it didn’t seem to matter so much.
Then I saw movement out the windowless window. My stomach fell. Couldn’t we get a moment’s rest? “They’re here.”
Dirk refused to look away from me. “I know that game. Trying to distract me.”
“How many?” asked Max.
Three or four adults emerged from the forest like silent Indians. They held kitchen knives and baseball bats—everyday items—as weapons. I didn’t recognize them. They must’ve been off-gridders. “Three or four, maybe more. They know we’re here.”
By now, Theo, Max, and I were all looking out the window. Dirk raised his gun at us, ready for any sneak attack, and then followed our gaze out the window.
He turned back, fear in his eyes. “You brought ’em here, didn’t you! They followed you!”
His gun was inches from my face. I spoke calmly and slowly, as if to an insane person. “We’re in this together, Dirk.”
“No thanks to you. Now get out.”
“You can’t send us out there.”
Theo stepped in front of me and faced Dirk. “You’ll have to kill us first.”
Dirk’s hand clenched his gun. “Don’t push me.”
I smelled it. We all did. Smoke. It spread from the seams of the wooden slats, a gray mass, rising fast, engulfing the room. Theo and Max began coughing, and I could feel my eyes sting. Suddenly, the roof exploded in flames. The heat was intense. The wood crackled. I saw an adult run by, awkwardly carrying a red gas container.
They’d set the cabin on fire. They meant to smoke us out or burn us alive. Probably didn’t matter to them.
Dirk spat, “You should never have come here!”
Outside, the adults waited in a semi-circle, fingering their weapons. A man with a baseball bat kept hitting his palm with it like an obsessive tic. I noticed a woman with hand-sewn clothes carrying a butcher knife. She was smiling.
I had no intention of burning to death. I grabbed Max and pushed his face to mine. It was the least romantic kiss in all of history.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“For what?”
“Always being my friend when I knew you wanted more.” Flames licked the walls and I crouched, remembering the whole stop-drop-and-roll routine from school. We clustered on the dirt floor in a haze of smoke, placing my shirt over my mouth, and it made no difference. My eyes watered.
Coughing, I asked Dirk, “How many bullets do you have?”
I didn’t know much about guns, but it was a 9mm. He said, “I don’t know. Only what’s left.”
“On three we run. To the right.”
Max asked, “To where?”
I thought and said the only thing I could think of, “Away.”
It wasn’t bravery, that’s for sure. It was instinct. I counted down. “One, two, three,” and we lurched from the ground and out the door. Death, I thought, here we come.