Emmy Laybourne - Savage Drift

“Awesome!” Jake said, coming in from the kitchen, holding a box of ice cream sandwiches. “Who wants a Fat Boy?”

“Mama?” Rinée asked again.

“She’s not coming home. I’m sorry,” Astrid said, then she broke into tears.

“Hey, you okay?” I went to her.

“I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “I hate girls who cry and here I am, a breakdown an hour.”

“You need some rest.”

“I’m having those cramps again.”

“How bad?” I asked.

“Like before.” She wiped her tears away. She tried a half of a smile, but looked miserable. “Maybe a little worse.”

“You should go lay down,” Jake said. “Me and Dean will watch Rinée for a while.”

“Yup. We’ll get the place cleaned up, too. And make some lunch.”

“Yunch?” Rinée asked. “Yunch?” And she marched off into the kitchen. Jake followed her, asking her if she’d like a Fat Boy ice cream sandwich.

“The pace has been too much,” I said, rubbing her shoulders. “You need rest. We’re somewhere safe now. When Rinée’s dad comes back, let’s ask him if we can stay here for a few days so you can get your strength back.”

“And if he doesn’t come back?” Astrid asked, saying what we both were thinking.

“Then we stay as long as we like. And we’ll find you a doctor. Make sure everything is okay. Get those vitamins.”

Astrid went up and took a shower, put on some of the dead mom’s stretchiest clothes, got into her bed—the whole thing. I encouraged her to do it. Surely the dad wouldn’t mind.

By the way, Jake?—not so helpful with Rinée.

The moment I entered the kitchen he said to me, “Dude, she’s got a mess in her pants.”

The diaper did smell—horrible.

And as I changed her (there was a changing table in the downstairs bathroom), he stood at the door saying, “Oh Lord, I’m gonna be sick!” and, “That is FOUL.”

It was pretty disgusting, but I didn’t want her to get a complex about her body. I mean, it’s all natural, right? So I held my breath and wiped her down and got a clean diaper on her. It was possibly on backward, but it was on.

After I scrubbed my hands with antibacterial soap (twice), Rinée took me into the playroom, a little room to the side of the kitchen. There was a little wooden pretend kitchen in there with tin cups and plates and some food made out of painted wood.

I sat down on a tiny chair next to a tiny table and Rinée went about bringing me different things to “eat.”

Jake was kind enough to make a stack of tuna sandwiches.

He and I wolfed down two each while we watched the TV.

No. News. Of. Drifts.

It was crazy. All we saw was more footage from the East Coast about the falling temperatures and the makeshift transportation system and more rioting at the gas lines. All old news.

Rinée had a quarter of a sandwich and some apple slices.

She kept asking for more apple and saying, “Moy ean? Moy ean?” “Ean” was her word for either apple or eat.

Astrid was conked out upstairs, so Jake and I divided her sandwich between us and ate it, along with the rest of Rinée’s. There were four more large tins of tuna in the pantry, so I thought it was okay to eat Astrid’s food. I planned to cook her something warm, anyway, when she woke up. There was some chicken in the freezer I set on the counter to defrost. If only I had Batiste here, he’d have prepared a feast. But I would do okay on my own. Maybe chicken with rice and cream of mushroom soup. There was some in the pantry and it was really hearty meal—comfort food and also hard to screw up.

We washed down lunch with a half gallon of Grovestand orange juice.

It felt so good to sit at a kitchen table with sunlight streaming in through a window and open up a fridge and take something out and eat it.

Rinée started yawning and literally rubbing her eyes—I didn’t know kids actually did that. I thought that was just from overacting in the movies.

I carried her up to her room.

It was lavender colored, with a crib in it and one of those glider chairs. The room had a poorly painted unicorn on one wall. It looked sort of like a pastel-colored mule balancing an ice-cream cone on its nose.

Rinée reached out toward her crib—that’s how tired she was.

I placed her in it and covered her up with a soft crib blanket that had sheep on it.

I went to leave and she said, “Tay. Tay, ean.”

“Have a good nap, Rinée,” I told her and started to close the door.

“Tay!” she demanded, starting to cry. “Tay, ean.”

And I realized she was saying my name.

“Ean” was Dean and she wanted me to stay.

I sat right down on that glider and started to glide. She lay back down.

Odds are even as to which one of us fell asleep first.

I have to tell the kids.

That is the first thing.

The second thing? I don’t know what the second thing is. Get sent away for testing, I suppose.

The breakfast bell had rung while I was in the bathroom, while Mario was dying.

Now everyone is milling out, headed to Plaza 900.

“Lori!” I cry. “Lori, where are you?”

I try to push my way back up the stairs, but then I change my mind and go with the crowd. Maybe they are in the courtyard already.

“Lori!” I yell. Where are they?

Then I see Carlo.

He is with another Union Man and they both see me and smile.

The people file past me as I freeze.

I glance behind me and see two more of them closing in. One of them has a chain.

The part of my brain wired for survival takes over and I run straight for Carlo. I see a flash of surprise on his face. I dodge through the people streaming toward breakfast, gaining speed and momentum and then, right as I get close to Carlo, I duck my head and shoulders and tackle a large man in front of me, sending him crashing into the two Union Men.

I veer in the other direction.

Toward Rollins and the clinic.

Away from the crowd I run free and fast.

I hear the Union Men following me and then a sweet sound.

“Hey!” a guard calls to them. “Breakfast’s this way.”

It is my guard. My friend from before.

“That girl’s running away!” Carlo protests.

“Don’t worry about her, just worry about yourself!”

So maybe there is one guard who isn’t in the palm of the Union Men.

I burst back into Rollins. I pound on the clinic door, knowing Dr. Neman will be furious.

“Have you lost your mind?” she screeches. But she lets me push past her into the entry room.

Dr. Quarropas emerges from the back.

“Hey. You!” He recognizes me. “We… we had to discharge your friend. Venger insisted—”

“You have to send me for testing,” I say, my lungs screaming from my sprint. My heart beating hard and fast. “I was exposed for a long time. I’ll be good to study.”

I can’t catch my breath. “I’ll do whatever they say. Send me away.”

“This is the second time today this girl has caused a major disturbance. I’m calling the guards—”

She picks up a house phone.