46
THAIS
I thought Jeffrey would give me the grand tour of the treehouse with all of its elaborate woodwork and maze-like floorplan and the spiral staircase that led upstairs to an open loft. But it wasn’t the house he wanted me to see. Taking my hand, Jeffrey led me through a spacious front room and into a den, where, instead of furniture, a small-scale house and landscape sat on a three-foot wide, three-foot long, one-inch thick sheet of plywood in the center of the room.
My eyes grew wide; absently I took off my backpack and placed it on the floor, reached out and ran my fingers lightly across the moss-and-rock-covered ground that blanketed the plywood. Across the landscape there were miniature trees and bushes; a couple of hills had been raised; there was a small pond near the little house with a dollop of real water; and a horse stable and a barn.
I leaned over the tiny house, peered in at the intricately-placed sticks; a little door had been carved out on the front, and a few windows; there was even a tiny porch the size of a matchbox.
“You made this?”
Jeffrey nodded. “I make it.”
He leaned over next to me and pointed at the moss and trees first.
“I find it one day. Grandpa said it was fake grass. He showed me how to make it. So I make it.” Then he pointed at the house. “It’s not a real house; too little to be a real house, but I make it with sticks. See? I glued it with sap. It’s very sticky.” Then he made a face. “But don’t eat sap.”
I made a face, too.
“Now don’t be a’keepin’ her too long, Jeffrey,” said June from the living room. “Would ya like somethin’ to drink, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” I stood with my hands folded down in front of me.
When June moved out of the way, I glimpsed Atticus sitting in the front room talking with Esra, and I regarded him for a moment.
ATTICUS
I felt Thais’ eyes on me, turned to see her from across the room, and smiled back at her with adoration.
“So where were yens comin’ from?” Esra asked, pulling me back into our conversation.
Esra adjusted his old bones to make himself comfortable. “Not to be nosy,” he went on, “but I was just wonderin’ if yens were run out of your last home. Happens a lot I ‘magine, with the wicked runnin’ ‘round like they do.”
“Ran out—yeah, you can say that.”
“Ah, well, yens are probably better off out here anyways. June, get me a smoke will ya!”—he turned back to me—“We was livin’ up in Mt. Vernon when it all happened. Before things got real bad we high-tailed it here. Been here ever since.”
“And you’ve been living off the supplies in the cabin?” I asked, still not understanding how any of this was possible. “Not to be nosy, either, but that cabin is well-stocked. After six years, I’d think more than half of it would be gone by now. Even if you frequently went out in search of more supplies”—I shook my head with disbelief—“Not even your grandson could pull that off by himself.”
June re-entered the room carrying a tray; four clear plastic cups sat atop it filled with a pinkish liquid. She offered the tray first to Esra who reached for a cup, then to me, who looked at the liquid, wondering what it could be. I took a cup, looked down into it, and then up at June askance.
“Pink lemonade,” June told me. “Got a can of the powdered stuff. Ya don’t like pink lemonade?”
I shook my head. “Oh no, it’s not that, I just—.” I glanced at Esra, watched him gulp the lemonade down in almost one breath. “I like pink lemonade—thank you,” I told June, and then took a sip.
“Where’s my smoke, woman?”
June didn’t answer; she went into the den where I could faintly hear Jeffrey telling Thais all about how he’d made the model, and about how he could climb up and down the tree without having to use the elevator, and about how he liked to swim in “Mr. Graham’s fish pond”, but that he couldn’t anymore because it was our pond now.
I listened intently to Esra, and because it was in my nature to do, I listened for the faintest of lies.
“Our cabin down there,” Esra said with the backward tilt of his head, “was filled with supplies, too. A week before they came through here, we had nearly emptied it plum-out, brought as much as we could up here. We knowed it was a matter of time ‘fore somebody came and stole everythin’.”
He jerked his head to the left. “The other cabin—it’s just a oversized shed, really—was locked up real good. It ain’t got no windows, and the only way in was through that door, but it was dead-bolted. They wundn’t gonna burn it down ‘cuz they knew there was somethin’ valuable inside or else it wouldn’a been locked up like that.”
He stopped long enough to down the rest of his drink, guzzled it, and then set the empty cup on the table between our chairs.
“Anyways, we got three bedrooms in this treehouse: mine and June’s, Jeffrey’s, and the other we keep stuff stored in. When thangs start runnin’ low up here, we bring stuff up from the shed.”
That was all interesting, and I was glad to be given the information so freely, but it still didn’t answer my question.
Finally, Esra got around to that.
“We don’t need much,” he said. “Never have, really. Most of that stuff was what my son, Samuel, and his wife was stockpilin’. We use a little sometimes of this and that, but me and my June always did like the simpler things in life, ya see. She cain’t grow a garden out here for lots of reasons, but she has tomato plants out on the deck; grows basil and thyme and other herbs in the windowsills. I hunt and trap. Got a few blackberry bushes nearby; Jeffrey brings back bucketful’s of ‘em. And he used to fish at the Graham’s pond before yens moved in. We ain’t got a water source close—even the pond is too far for us to get to—so it ain’t easy keepin’ clean, but we manage. We collect rainwater mostly for drinkin’.”
“But why have all this stuff if you don’t use it?”
“Like I said, we use a little every now and then. Durin’ the winter when food’s harder to find. I cain’t hunt much when it’s cold—hurts my damn bones—but we break into the food in storage. Them MRE’s kept us alive last winter, that’s for sure.”
Esra shook a long, knotted finger at me; a look of lecture in his beady eyes. “Way I see it, havin’ all that stuff on hand…well, cain’t just use it all up and not work for the things ya need, thinkin’ ya have all ya need already”—he shook his bald, liver-spotted head—“no, ya act like you ain’t got no stockpile, hunt and work hard for your daily needs, and only if you’re practically dyin’ because ya cain’t hunt no more or fish or trap or garden, do ya break into the goods as a last resort. Woman, bring me my damn smoke, will ya!”
I glanced at the pink lemonade, and then the two cigars June carried into the room and handed to each of us.
A cigar? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen one; my eyes glistened and my mouth watered like a child’s over an ice cream cone.
“I guess you were really in need of these cigars and that sweet drink, then,” I said, and then bit the tip off before putting the cigar in my mouth.
Esra chuckled; June lit the end of his cigar with a lighter.
“Well,” Esra said, “cain’t grow a cigar on a tree, or sugar in a tomato pot—gotta allow yourself a treat every now and then, duncha?” Heavy, sweet-smelling smoke billowed from his mouth.
I nodded, puffing on my cigar merrily.
“How did you put out the fire?” I asked.
“What fire?”
Esra looked confused for a moment, but then he understood.
“Oh, the old cabin—it burned itself out after a while, but back then there wasn’t as many trees or vines or bushes close enough to catch the forest on fire. Thank God for that. We went down there after the intruders was dead, and we threw dirt and mud on what we could. It had rained the night before, too—everythin’ was real good and wet when the fire started; I imagin’ that really kept it from spreadin’.”
I nodded, puffing on my cigar.
I glanced across the room again to see Thais. She laughed and smiled and carried on with Jeffrey as if they’d known one another forever. She was so beautiful, so full of life and spirit, reveled by Jeffrey’s joy so much so she had no idea her own joy easily lit up an otherwise shadowy room.
I frowned when I heard Esra’s voice again—I wanted to enjoy Thais a little longer.
“We’ve been lucky so far, but I don’t reckon it’ll last forever.” Smoke rose from his lips and circled his bald head in wispy coils.
Last forever. No, nothing lasts forever.
“I worry most ‘bout the soldiers comin’ through here”—(my ears perked up)—“I’m surprised they haven’t already. We’ve seen ‘em from the deck; even seen ‘em at the Graham’s place. That was after Terry kilt ‘imself; but there had’ta been at least thirty of ‘em. Probably from Chicago, maybe Lexington.”
My heart stopped. I coughed, choking on the cigar smoke. I set the cigar in the ashtray on the table, and tried to keep the worry—and the guilt—from my face.
“I reckon God’s protectin’ us. Cain’t really be any other reason why a group big enough to take this place hadn’t come through in all this time. But even God has limits. Nobody lives forever—June! Come get my cup! It’s empty!—Them soldiers are somethin’, I tell ya.” Then he grumbled under his breath, “Ain’t real soldiers though—just bastards wearin’ the uniforms.”
Not real soldiers—just bastards wearing the stolen uniforms of real ones. I sat with my back hunched over, my elbows propped on my legs, my hands suspended between my knees. Maybe it was just the guilt, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was going through what Mark Porter went through before I’d killed him: trying to hide who I really was, the things I’d done.
Then I pressed my back against the chair and propped my ankle on my knee so I appeared casual rather than guilty.
“It is surprising,” I said, “that no raiders have come through here.”
What I didn’t say was: I remember talk of scouting parties being sent to the Shawnee National Forest—you’re a lucky man, Esra, to have been overlooked by them. Men like Marion, who led the scouting party that brought Thais and her sister to Lexington City would’ve killed Esra and June and even Jeffrey—too old and too handicapped to be of any use—and they would’ve had a field day with the supplies here.
“Say—were you a soldier?” Esra asked. “Ya got that look about you.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of look that might be without a uniform, but I answered truthfully all the same.
“No. I was going to be. Shortly before I was supposed to go into the Marines, that’s when it all happened.”
Pictures of that first week, of my mother’s frantic call materialized in my mind:
“Atticus, looters are going house-to-house, day and night,” my mother had said during that phone call that set my life on a different course. “They broke into ours last night—we hid in the attic; we were so afraid! Tara started crying when she heard the men downstairs ransacking the place. I had to put my hand over her mouth so they wouldn’t hear.”
My mother let out a shuddering sob into the receiver; it tore a gash in my heart.
“Josie’s traumatized. She won’t come down from the attic. She won’t eat anything. I had to force water down her throat. Atticus, please come home. I don’t know what to do! There’s nowhere safe we can go. I see fires burning over the city. The Paron’s have left, said they were going to stay with friends in Roanoke. Atticus, they asked me if I wanted to take Tara and Josie and go with them, but the streets are too dangerous, and Roanoke is a long way.”
My mother’s voice rose with a frantic tenor; I shook, grasping the cell phone next to my ear.
“Please come home! Please come home, they’re going to kill us!”
“I’m coming home. I’m leaving right now”—I thrust my feet into my shoes—“I want you to take Tara and enough food and water to last you two days and go back into the attic with Josie, and I want you to stay there. Don’t even go downstairs to use the bathroom”—I grabbed my truck keys from the counter; the cell phone pressed between the side of my face and shoulder, and I stormed out of the apartment—“Don’t come down for anything, and keep the attic door locked. I’ll be there soon.”
I ended the call with a heavy feeling in my chest—it was a long drive. And my mother was right: the roads were dangerous. Despite the odds, I drove the distance without sleep.
I came out of the memory; smoke spiraled in front of my face from the end of my cigar.
“I guess you can say I was a deserter before I even got started.”
I looked down at my hands, unable to hide my shame.
“They wanted me to go that day,” I explained about the military, “straight into the service; drop everything and get on the first plane. They needed every able-bodied person in the efforts to combat the virus, and the chaos in the streets.”
I shook my head, interlocked my fingers and held my hands still. Then I looked back at Esra with a conflicted expression.
“I chose my family. I don’t regret it. I was all my mother and my sisters had. Who would’ve protected them other than me…?” My voice trailed; only after I’d said it did I remember that not even I could protect my family. I’d tried, but my best wasn’t good enough. Not even close.
“Ah,” Esra said with a nod of understanding. “Don’t let it weigh on ya, son. I bet a lot of men did the same thing, faced with the same choice. And like ya said: ya weren’t technically in the military yet. You weren’t a deserter, son; ya just changed your mind last minute is all. Did ya get draft papers?”
“No. “
Esra nodded.
June walked in with the tray on her hands again; four bowls of steaming ‘something’ sat atop it; the smell made my stomach rumble. I didn’t care what it was—I intended to eat it, no questions asked.
“Deer stew,” June said, and held the tray out to Esra first, and then to me.
Eagerly, I took a bowl into my hands; steam rose from the brown mush; parsley flakes floated atop the food, and sprinkles of black pepper and what might’ve been cayenne. I dug right in and filled my grumbling stomach. Definitely deer meat.
After having seconds, I wanted thirds, but didn’t want to feel as though I was taking advantage.
“How do you preserve your meat?” I asked.
Esra gulped down his third glass of pink lemonade and rose from his chair. With the jerk of his head he said, “I’ll show ya,” and I got up and followed him outside onto the back deck.
Esra explained how to build a smoker, which led to conversations about canning and gardening, which somehow led to a short conversation about Texas and the Gulf of Mexico, which ultimately led to the dreaded topic of how long Thais and I intended to stay.
Standing at the railing, my hands dangling over the edge, I gazed out into the tops of the trees. My shoulders rose and fell as I thought about Thais and what I knew had to be done soon.
“We shouldn’t have stayed as long as we have,” I answered. I turned to see Esra on my right. “I know you’ve been here for a long time, had some close calls, but what you said about limits and nobody living forever, is true. But it’s especially true when you’re trying to survive alone.” I looked out at the tops of the trees again. “We’re not going to stay much longer. We can’t. I have to get her somewhere safe.”
“You’re right about survivin’ alone,” Esra said. “But we’re too old to be movin’. I reckon we just stay here for as long as we can, then when our time is up, it’s up, and ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. Jeffrey’s a pretty fast runner,” he went on, “and he might could get away if he had to, but me and my June”—he shook his head—“we ain’t even gonna try runnin’.” He laughed suddenly. “Can you imagine her runnin’?”
I couldn’t imagine either of them running.
“But where is there left to go?” Esra said, his laughter fading. “Seems like you’d be takin’ a bigger risk leavin’ this place and bein’ out on them roads.”
Esra’s words reflecting Thais’ back on the farm. I sighed.
“Yeah,” I said, and nodded absently. “It’s a risk, but it has to be done.”
Jeffrey came out onto the back porch then, with Thais behind him.
“I tell her I make her a house, too,” Jeffrey told Esra, overjoyed by it. “And she says I-I can go back to swim and fish whenever I want”—he clutched his grandfather’s frail arm—“Isn’t that great, Grandpa? I can go back swimming again!”
Upon hearing this news, I glanced over at Thais; she blushed, lowered her eyes, and then shrugged her dainty shoulders as if to say: Well, I couldn’t tell him no.
I smiled in return, telling her: It’s okay.
Later in the afternoon, June brought up the conversation I tried so hard to avoid.
“Are yens gonna stay in the Graham’s cabin?”
“No,” I said truthfully, and Thais’ face fell. “I’m not sure how much longer we’re going to stay, but we do have to be moving on.”