Page 7 of Haven

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MY PARENTS USED TOgather all staff and teens together in the evenings after dinner. We’d discuss any news or announcements and then read books out loud together. It was a somewhat corny, old-fashioned custom, and it was invariably mocked by the kids. But my parents insisted it was important for strengthening community, so they allowed no exceptions to the routine.

They kept it up even after Impact, even after the world tumbled into chaos. And when my dad died, Jackson and I continued it.

It might still be corny, but it’s not mocked much anymore. Without phone and computers and televisions, there’s not much else to do in the evenings for entertainment. And it’s nice. Familiar. Relaxing. Most of us enjoy it—or at least don’t resent it.

Tonight is Kate’s turn to read from the paperback legal thriller that was a best seller twenty years ago. Fortunately my parents had a pretty good collection of books, and we can often pick up more on scavenging trips since books aren’t immediately gobbled up like food and medication. So we’re not likely to run out of things to read anytime soon. If we ever do, we’ll just start from the beginning and reread them.

I’ve got the chair closest to the window, and there’s a little breeze now that the sun has gone down. It isn’t even very ashy. I can hear a few frogs and crickets outside, providing a soft, shrill refrain to our gathering.

The world feels better than it did four years ago. Than it did even last year. In the month leading up to the asteroid impact, the scientists were all trying to predict what it would do to the world. It was worse than most of them expected, but all of them said that it wasn’t an extinction-level catastrophe. The planet would come back. Regenerate.

Tonight, sitting in my seat near the window and listening to Kate read, I almost believe it’s true.

Jackson sits across the room, cleaning his weapons the way he always does during the reading. But he’s listening to the book. He huffs with faint amusement at the funny parts and pauses from his work if the plot gets exciting. He’s a hard man, so I wouldn’t expect him to enjoy this kind of thing like the others do, but he never even questioned us continuing this practice after my dad died. It grounds the rhythm of life here at New Haven.

When an hour has passed, Kate finishes the chapter, and we wrap up with Jackson giving some terse reminders about assigned duties for the next day. Then everyone is dismissed. A lot of folks remain, hanging out in the lounge and chatting. Others head to bed, and a few couples, including Kate and Miguel, slip outside to find a spot to have sex in private since there’s no sex allowed in the bunk rooms.

It’s one of the rules. We don’t really care who fucks whom around here, as long as it’s consensual and not in the bunk room or the public spaces so as not to disturb people’s sleep or make others uncomfortable. We make sure no one takes advantage of the younger residents but otherwise leave people to make their own choices.

Last year, one of our young women got pregnant. Fertility has been low in the past years because of malnutrition and environmental factors, so pregnancy doesn’t happen very often. We were ready to take care of the baby. Excited even, since babies have become so rare. But the girl and the baby both died in childbirth.

No one much wants to risk that again. Jackson scavenges condoms wherever he can—but they’re all expired by now and so their effectiveness is iffy. Otherwise, the old-school rhythm method has generally been effective when combined with our low fertility.

I stay by the window, working on some clothes from the mending pile. I listen to the conversations around me and mentally prepare my argument to Jackson about why we need to risk the trip to look for antibiotics for Molly.

The room is starting to empty out when Caden comes over, pulling up an old leather ottoman next to my chair.

I try to hide my internal cringe. I know what he’s going to say.

“Hey, about my outing tomorrow,” he begins.

“I told you to talk to Jackson. He’s responsible for supply runs.” I glance over to where Jackson is still sitting, now sharpening knives. He appears completely focused on his task and isn’t aware of anyone around him.

“I know. I did. Jack said no to making it a supply run, but I still think—”

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