Page 81 of The Last Stars in the Sky
We all sit in the living room, sober and silent, as Daniel outlines what he thinks needs to happen. The two cars should be parked down the old logging road, filled with supplies and covered with brush. Someone in the old barn, on guard, at all times, even through the night. No one goes to the potato or oat field without an armed guard, and Ruby, Mattie, and Phoebe don’t go at all. We cut a few more trees to block the road, not as a decoy, but a deterrent.
“And if they do come?” Justine asks quietly, clutching Phoebe to her. “What do we do then?”
“I guess it depends how many there are,” Daniel replies.
“If it’s those guys from Flintville, it’ll be four or five,” Justine tells him. “They’ve been terrorizing the whole area for months.”
“We can take four or five guys,” Sam states with authority; he sounds like he’s talking about a shoot-out in a video game, some teenaged rumble.
“Maybe,” Daniel replies. “Maybe not.”
“So if it’s looking bad, we just get in the cars and leave?” Kerry asks. She sounds matter-of-fact, without any of the outrage I showed earlier. “Leave everything we’ve worked here for?”
Daniel nods. “If we want to survive.”
“How do we survive out there?” Justine demands. “Do you know what the world is like now?” She speaks scathingly, but Daniel doesn’t rise to meet her fury.
“Yes,” he answers quietly. “I know.”
Later, when we are alone, getting ready for bed, we talk again. The whole day has felt subdued, as if we’re already grieving. Mattie wanted to practice shooting; Ruby escaped into a book, barely saying a word. I fretted and paced and tried to figure out a plan—and came up with nothing. We are too vulnerable here, too defenseless against a mob. And a mob, I already know, is what it will be.
Now we are in our bedroom, the door closed, the lake outside the window gilded with moonlight, an illusion of serenity. In the distance, I hear the lonely, bittersweet sound of the whippoorwill, its mournful call tearing at me, reminding me of my childhood, of the sweetness of long-ago days.
“When we were traveling,” Daniel says, as he slips on a T-shirt for bed, “we heard rumors about a community out near Buffalo.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. “Buffalo?”
“It’s on a Department of Defense military base. The military abandoned the base right after the second round of strikes, and some people took it over. Or so I heard. It might not be true, and even if it is, it might not still be there.”
“Another homegrown militia?” I ask, scoffing.
“Maybe,” he allows, “but one that isn’t out for blood.”
“You don’t know that,” I point out, and he nods.
“No, I don’t. A few different people were talking about it, saying they’re trying to make a community there, a protected place where people can be safe, but it was all whispers or rumors. More a hope than anything else, but still…it could give us a place to go, to aim for.”
I’m silent, absorbing the idea, resisting it. I don’t want to head for some unknown military base in Buffalo. I want to stayhere, and harvest the potatoes, pick raspberries,live. Tears prick my eyes, and I swipe at them angrily. This is too deep for tears, too important for some childish emotional outburst.
“We were never going to be able to stay here forever, Alex,” Daniel says gently.
Instinctively, like a child, I bristle. “You thought we could, back at the beginning. You said we could make a life here.”
“I hoped, yes, but…” He lets out a long, low sigh. “What future is there for Mattie or Ruby, for Sam, in this place?” I’ve asked the question myself, but I haven’t yet answered it. “We can’t defend ourselves here,” he continues. “The world is too wild. And yet…it’s theworld. This is bigger than survival, at least our survival. What about the survival of society, of civilization? I know those seem like ridiculous ideas right about now, but if we want our children to inherit a world that isn’t eking out an existence entirely by ourselves, isolated and alone…then we have to go out there. Join with others, work together, if we can.” He gives this little, inspiring speech in a voice that only sounds tired.
“Do you even think we could make it?” I ask abruptly. “Based on what you’ve seen? Sam told me a little bit about your journey here—”
Daniel shakes his head. “Sam only knows what he knows.”
“What happened, Daniel?” My voice has turned soft, pleading. “What happened to you out there? Because I know something did.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I think—I am sure—that he’s not going to answer. Then he says in a voice so low I strain to hear it, “If you knew, you wouldn’t love me anymore.”
I open my mouth, close it again. Something in me trembles; I can’t speak. I have no idea what to say. To feel.
“I killed a man,” I blurt. “Out near Eagle Rapids. Ruby had been injured, she was septic, and Kerry and I went to a nurseshe knew of, for antibiotics—that was Justine. We went on the quad bike because the road wasn’t plowed, so we couldn’t take Kyle’s car. A bunch of guys in a truck chased us, they shot at us. And this guy was going to steal our bike, our only mode of transportation left. I couldn’t let him do that. I wouldn’t. And…and I didn’t.”
Daniel’s shoulders slump, his face etched in lines of grief. He’s reacting as if this is his failing, not mine, and I want—Ineed—to explain it to him. “I didn’t feel anything when I shot him,” I state matter-of-factly, my words coming in a rush. “Not sorrow, not guilt, not even relief. If anything, I felt…indifferent. He might as well have been a fly I swatted.” I realize it’s the first time I’ve said such a thing out loud. It’s the first time I let myself think it. “Daniel, whatever…whatever happened, whatever you did, I’d understand. I know I would.”
