Page 89 of Five Survive

Her back to the group, Red placed the walkie-talkie down on the counter, its ridges and edges imprinted in her right hand forever, lines and grooves alongside the ones already there. Should she keep going, all the way into the back bedroom to scream into the pillow again? She wasn’t sure she could, anyway, this was beyond screaming. This wasn’t real.

She spun on her heels slowly, closing her eyes so she could pretend she was anywhere but here. Anywhere was better than this RV. Even at the funeral, Catherine Lavoy’s hard grip on her shoulder, bones shattering under the volley of rifle fire, the sad, high notes of the bagpipes. Or under her comforter, all the way under, pajamas, sweater, and a coat, gloves and three pairs of socks, and still somehowcold. Her cheeks weren’t, though, because she was crying, cursing her mom for leaving them and letting the world fall apart without her. Cursing herself because, actually, Mom wouldn’t be dead without her. It was Red’s fault. She broke the world, she took her mom out of it, and didn’t know how to put it all back after. What would Mom say to her now? Mom used to fix everything; found Red’s keys when she lost them, pulled those silly faces in the mirror to make her snort on a bad morning. Red could almost hear her voice now, the way she leaned into the wordsweetie,warm and bright, but she pushed it away under the static of all those bad memories. Everything came back to Mom somehow, but Red couldn’t drag her into this, she didn’t belong. Mom was dead. And now the others were going to decide if Red would die too.

Something touched her floating hand, in the darkness of the backs of her eyelids, the yellow glow of the overhead lights fighting through. Skin, fingers, intertwining through hers. Red opened her eyes, blinking in the new light, and there was Arthur. Not Mom.

Arthur’s hand gripped around hers, scribbled checkboxes on his skin to match the ones on hers. Checked and unchecked. Things left undone and unsaid. She was never going to get around to calling AT&T, was she?

“Okay,” Oliver said, ripping a fresh sheet of paper free from the pad on the table. He folded it in half, then into quarters, then eighths, pressing his nail along the folds. He opened the page back out and started tearing the paper along the guided lines. An awful sound. “We each get a piece of paper and a pen,” he said, concentrating on ripping the pieces. “If you vote for Red to leave the RV, you writeYESon your paper, okay?” He glanced up to check everyone was listening, eyes stalling as they fell on Red’s and Arthur’s hands, still holdingon. He cleared his throat. “And if you vote for Red to stay in the RV, writeNOon your paper. Does everyone understand?”

No one answered.

“YESto leave,NOto stay.”

NOto live,YESto die.

Oliver scooped up five of the small rectangles of lined paper in one hand, the pens in the other. He offered them first to Maddy. She took them, paper fluttering in her grip. Her legs were shaking too, Red noticed, as Maddy slid herself down into the booth.

Oliver handed a pen and paper to Simon next, pointing him toward the front of the RV, in the cockpit.

“We need to stand away from each other, so no one can see how you’re voting. By the door, Reyna,” Oliver said, dropping the pen and paper above her hand, making sure his skin didn’t touch hers. They both fell to the floor, the pen with a small clatter, the paper floating featherlight through the air. Reyna grabbed them both and straightened up.

“Arthur?” Oliver said, holding out Arthur’s blank piece of paper and his pen. “Are you voting or not?”

Another glance down at their entwined hands.

There was a twitch in Arthur’s cheek, his eyes spinning around the RV, pausing on each person. Was he trying to work out the way everyone would vote, counting them up, thefors and theagainsts? Whether his vote was needed?

His hand disentangled from Red’s, wet with both their sweat, and he reached out, removing the pen and paper from Oliver’s palm.

“Over there.” Oliver pointed Arthur toward the sofa bed.

Arthur walked away, dropping down heavily onto the sofa, staring down at the tiny, blank rectangle of paper.

“Excuse me, Red,” Oliver said, pushing her out of his way as he bent to open the second drawer down under the counter. He pulled out a cereal bowl, swirling blue-and-white patterns, and pushed the drawer shut with his knee.

“Okay.” He took the bowl with him to the dining table, slotting in opposite his sister. His pen and paper were ready in his hand. “Everyone know what they’re doing?” he called, too loud, the others flinching. “YESto leave,NOto stay.”

And did Red imagine it, or had he said that first part louder, stumbling over the second? She knew which way Oliver was voting anyway, they all did. He was voting for her to die.

“Once you’re done, fold your piece of paper up twice and then come drop it in this bowl here,” he said, giving it a shake, the rim thumping on the wood of the table. “Okay. Vote now.”

Maddy uncapped her pen, the sound hollow and high, riding up Red’s spine as she watched.

Next her eyes darted to Reyna, who was writing something, leaning against her raised leg. Red couldn’t tell by the movement of the pen if it was two letters or three.

Arthur was already finished, placing the pen down beside him, carefully folding the paper, pressing down with his thumbs, that muscle twitching in his cheek again.

Simon’s pen was in his mouth, eyes up on the ceiling, his piece of paper ready for him against the top of the driver’s seat.

Maddy’s hand was cupped around her piece of paper as she scribbled something on it, pen flicking back and forth in her grip, tracing the lines of her chosen word.

Red couldn’t stand it, the scratching of the pens. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from shaking, her eyes darting around too fast that they started to water.

Simon was writing now, and then it was over in less than two seconds, pocketing the pen to fold up his vote.

Red realized she hadn’t been the only one watching, studying the others. Oliver had been too, only now turning to his own vote. He leaned over it and pressed the pen down, moving it up and across in jagged lines. Then he laid his pen down neatly on the surface, straightening it so it ran parallel with the side of the table. He folded his vote, once, twice.

“In the bowl, everyone,” he said, dropping his own in.

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