Richard Cox - House of the Rising Sun

“Cibola,” he said, and walked on.

After that we veered westward, even though the ground became drier and the air hotter. The idea was to find a place far away from a nuclear plant, in the plains or in the mountains, but there’s no way to know for sure where all of them are.

I can’t believe we’ve been walking so long. Paige thinks we’re almost to Nebraska. I remember telling Skylar how a woman would never be able to make it alone in a world like this, and just look at us now: Paige and I have walked something like 500 miles together, taking care of two boys, and we’re still alive. Also, the supernova seems brighter than ever, especially at night. But after it sets, there are so many stars in the sky it feels like we’re in space.

I guess I should also put this in here: Paige has killed two people so far, both men.

The first was a nasty fellow who snuck into our camp and tried to steal our backpacks. Paige doesn’t sleep the way you think of normal sleep… any sound wakes her up. Like sometimes the wind wakes her up. Anyway, she walked the man away from our camp so the boys didn’t have to watch.

The second guy was perched above us on a small hill just east of Enid. I’m the one who spotted him. I think he was trying to steal supplies from people who passed by, and maybe this worked with others, but Paige drew her handgun so quickly the man never saw it coming. The sound of his body hitting the ground was awful and the impact left his head pointing away from his body in a direction that wasn’t natural.

I think I’m in love with Paige, especially for the way she has taken care of the boys (and let’s be honest, the way she has taken care of me). The first time we kissed, it wasn’t even her idea. We were sitting together beside the glowing embers of a fire, after our first hot meal in three days, and the sleeping boys looked so peaceful. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers.

And when I did, the entire world opened up, a reality so powerful I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t seen it sooner. Never in my life, not with Seth or Dan or the three boys I slept with in college, have I enjoyed the body-shaking desire I feel for Paige. It seems impossible, in a world where true love is a luxury, to have found her. But I did. And what I feel is more fundamental than lust. Paige is the engine that gets me from one day to the next. Every morning, I wonder what new challenge or reward we’ll encounter. Maybe that sounds earnest, like the end to a cheesy movie, but I know my feelings are authentic because I let her read my entire journal. I never imagined I would open myself like that to anyone.

I miss Seth a lot. We were married for many years, and you don’t disconnect such a profound experience from your life overnight. But I know he’s in a better place. Seth was not a happy man, not even on his best days. He suffered through terrible darkness that he didn’t share until it was too late, and I think that’s why he was willing to sacrifice himself for us.

During our big talk, the day of the pulse, he made it clear he had never cheated on me. But just because there was no woman doesn’t mean he was faithful. He lived every single day with someone who wasn’t me, treated her to lavish trips, to glamorous dinners and free drinks and fancy hotel suites. He drained our shared bank account and stole money from his father. Maybe the depression wasn’t his fault, but Seth still shouldn’t have hidden it from me.

If you’re wondering, I still hear the ringing in my ears. I was as surprised as anyone to find out it wasn’t just me, but knowing that made it easier to adjust. It’s always there. I can hear it if I pay attention. Most of the time, though, I don’t even notice.

And I don’t know if it makes me see better or hear better or think better, but I’ll tell you this much: I can shoot almost as well as Paige now, and she’s been practicing her whole life.

We’re camped off the road a bit, just north of a town called Phillipsburg, and I’m writing this by the fading sunlight. Paige is napping next to me. Brandon’s sleep has been restless, and I was about to check on him, but he just sat up and looked at me. You can’t imagine my relief.

“Mom,” he said. “Where are we?”

I told him we would be in Nebraska tomorrow.

“That’s cool,” he said.

Now he’s smiling. Watching me write this. My heart is so warm and

full.

“Where will we go after that?” he just asked.

I haven’t felt this much hope in probably my whole life.

It was easier to feed himself after Thomas left Skylar with the men in Kiowa Village.

But it wasn’t easy to live with the idea that he was somehow broken, that years of emotional abuse from his mother had turned him into an unworthy romantic partner.

It was true that the best place for any baby to survive this awful new world was in the protective embrace of a community, but not being involved at all left Thomas feeling impotent and worthless. The right thing to do wasn’t always the best thing for you personally.

He killed the occasional rabbit or squirrel and caught just enough fish to keep his hunger in check. If he could avoid digging into his stores of rice until winter, there was a decent chance he could survive indefinitely in this new world.

In the bed at night, Thomas imagined Skylar beside him, her form cupped into his. He imagined waking up next to her, basking in the glow of her beaming smile. And even if Thomas wasn’t earnest enough to believe he loved her, he was sure with time he could. If nothing else he wanted to provide for her, protect her, to be a father to their unborn child.

A week ago one of the desperate hunters had wandered to the cabin and tried to get in. Thomas had been lying on the couch, half asleep, when he heard the front door rattling. At first he’d been seized with hope, with the idea that Skylar had come back, and he scrambled to the window to see who was there. Instead he found a bulky man in a pink golf shirt and plaid shorts. The man’s hands were trembling. He reached again for the doorknob and tried turning it. He threw his weight against the door and turned the knob again. That’s when Thomas knocked on the window with his pistol and pointed it at the man’s head.

After that, no one else came by. At least not until now. Not until you.

“You know what’s funny?” I say to Thomas while he pours dried potato flakes into boiling water.

“What could possibly be funny about this, Aiden?”

“I’ve been watching the lake for more than a week now and refugees are crawling all over the place. Up and down the shoreline, every cabin has had to fight off multiple break-in attempts. Several of these intruders have been wounded or killed. But you sit here and make powdered mashed potatoes and don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Thomas carves a spoonful of those potatoes and tosses it onto a plate. He makes a second plate and offers one of them to me.

“My pick?” I ask.

“Of course.”

By now I’ve been on the run for many days, and even though I’ve snuck into two cabins (and killed six people in the process), I’m still hungry. I wolf down the potatoes in seconds and desperately need a drink. You know how it gets when you eat a bunch of sticky stuff and can’t swallow.

Thomas is stirring two glasses of lemonade mixed from individual sugar-free packets. When he hands me one, I drink it in four large gulps, desperate to wash down the potatoes.

“So how do you do it?” I eventually ask him. “How do you keep refugees away from your cabin? Did you use your screenwriting skills to build some kind of force field around this place?”