August Ansel - The Attic

Handy took one of Renna’s hands and pressed it to his lips. It was a sweet, courtly gesture that made Arie smile. First love at the end of the world, she thought.

“What we have there is a whole lot of people surviving,” said Handy, “and they’re family. We have some kind of resistance in the blood, I guess. Not everyone lived. Quite a lot of the little kids took the pox right off.”

“That makes sense,” said Curran. “If you do have some kind of immunity, it would get thinned out in the next generations.”

“Three brothers are still alive there, and in good health, but two are Arie’s elders.” He looked at Curran. “Family alone isn’t enough now. The old man believes it is, but he hasn’t been off the land in decades. What’s needed is able bodies, but trustworthy. The trip from there to here made that clear. The world’s gone hard.”

“The world,” said Arie softly, “has not changed. Nor have people.”

“I don’t know,” said Curran. “The guys who pulled me out of my empty house changed. When I first saw Little Mikey, I thought I was getting rescued by an old drinking buddy, the one who used to buy pitchers of beer and beat me at darts no matter how soused he got. I don’t know what he is now, but he’s changed, trust me.”

“And you?” said Arie. “You might have ended up living in the main building with the bosses, two rooms of your very own and every night with a woman. Instead, you ran for the woods. Curran,” she said, leaning toward him so that Talus had to finally move off her lap. “Lawlessness is here.” She tapped two fingers hard on her sternum, making a muffled, hollow thump. “Before the Pink, we agreed on the surface to a rule of law. We pretended together that we were largely abiding by our consciences. We decided the only real problem among us was the outwardly renegade.” She shook her head. “Not so. You’ve seen it firsthand. A great lot of people were restrained from their worst impulses only for fear of punishment. Now, the threat of shame is wiped out.”

“No county jail, no problem?”

“That’s right, Curran. They’re following the dark thing that was in them all along.”

“At the land we have plenty,” said Handy. “There’s water—springs, wells, creeks. Small livestock. Gardens.”

“Holes in the hills,” said Arie.

“That too.”

“Daddy Mack was a big believer in preparing for Armageddon,” Arie explained. “You might say he got a tad stocked up.”

“So you learned it from him,” said Renna. “All the stuff in the attic—you must have been setting that up for a long time.”

“Granny and I both,” Arie told her. “The handwriting was on the wall for years, I’d say.” She closed her eyes, tired, wanting to get upstairs alone.

“What the land lacks is people,” said Handy. “With so few left and fewer still to be trusted—we need each other.”

Curran stood and stretched, rolled his head to work the kinks out. “So,” he said, “tomorrow we pack, and next morning we get the hell out of Dodge.”

Handy’s smile, rare and transformative as always, was one of genuine relief. He got to his feet and clasped Curran’s shoulder in wordless solidarity. Arie saw in the gesture how he must be missing his brothers, the men he’d been surrounded by all his life.

“I’ll take first watch upstairs,” said Arie. Her voice was raspy from all the talking, and when she stood she was stiff from the straight-backed chair. “You walking wounded need all the sleep you can get,” she said, “and I’m going to get a start on sorting and packing. Handy, I’ll wake you later. You hold on to this.” She handed him the map. “With Renna’s permission, of course.”

Renna nodded. “I’m done with my part.”

“And an admirable job,” said Arie. “Sleep well, all.”

“Wait, Arie,” Renna said. “I’ll walk you.”

Arie took the handle of the camp lantern. “Come on,” she said. They moved together in the yellow-white circle of light. Renna limped, but not much, even after sitting on the floor all evening. “I’m amazed how fast you’ve gotten that leg back in order,” Arie told her.

“I’m scared,” Renna whispered. She took hold of Arie’s elbow, and the cold of her fingers was a shock. “I’m happy, glad we’re leaving, but also…I keep wishing we could stay here.”

“If you weren’t afraid, I’d think you’d lost your wits,” said Arie. “Do you want me to tell you everything will be fine? I might be able to say it with a straight face.”

Renna laughed, and Arie was glad to hear it. “No, don’t say that. I guess I just had to tell someone. Say the words.”

They were in the little bedroom now. “I think you could tell Handy,” she said.

“I don’t want him to think I’m weak. Or make him worry about me.”

“He’ll likely worry about you anyway,” Arie said, “but weak? Handy already knows better, and so do I.” She patted Renna’s smooth cheek. “You can trust him with your secrets, girl. Take this now. I can find my way without it.” She handed Renna the lantern and climbed up into the dark attic, blessedly alone.

Everything they possessed between the four of them was listed in Renna’s log, every last plate and rag and bottle of tincture, the blankets and baskets and strings of leather britches. Seeing it all in Renna’s precise handwriting was both a comfort and a concern—it made their stores real, and it made them finite. Arie could see at a glance where the gaps were, and the largest one was food. The three of them had to have more for their first two days going cross-country, when getting distance between themselves and the bosses was most important. Time spent foraging or hunting was time wasted. First thing in the morning, she and Handy would hit the woods, making a sweep of their snares and quick-salting whatever fish and small game they could manage in a hurry. This would at least give them meat for the first day or two of travel.

She went up top for a second perimeter check. The wind had relented a little, but on the roof it wanted to push her around. She stayed in a defensive hunch and scanned with the binoculars, first the yards, then the street. The moon was up, waning now and intermittently obscured by low, scudding clouds flying south to north. It was a threat of wet weather, one Arie hoped would pass over without harm. Satisfied with her check, she returned to the attic and let down the sky panel, glad for the relative warmth inside.

She’d cleared the work table of all her usual paraphernalia to make four piles to be carried: one each for Renna, Curran, and Handy, and a stash for Talus. As she sorted, she ticked off the items from Renna’s log and adjusted the diminished stores on her own shelves. Handy had his rucksack, and Pop’s old nylon backpack would be a good fit for Curran. Renna couldn’t carry much until she was fully healed, but Arie decided to send her with the carry basket, rigged with a tow-sack cover. As for Talus, Arie had cut a pillowcase and was reassembling it into a saddlebag to fit across the dog’s broad back and tie like a harness at her chest and under her belly. It was quiet, straightforward work, satisfying.

They still didn’t realize she wasn’t coming along, and while she worked she chewed over the notion of when and how to tell. The less time they had for arguing, the better. If she could stave off that moment until they were ready to put foot to path, that’s what she’d do. She wanted to part in peace, but part they would—even if she had to lock herself inside and threaten them off with the slingshot.

Alone here again, her provisions divided by four and a group of reprobates pressing in, she estimated her sojourn to be near its terminus. There was peace in it. If the interlopers breached the house, she’d make quick work with her short spear and save them the trouble. Be done, finally.