Page 39 of The Midnight Hour
Mattie, Ruby, and Phoebe return a little while later, seeming animated; apparently, there’s a youth center with a ping-pong table and some board games. They met a few other kids and, although Mattie acts dismissive, I can tell she is excited by the prospect of friends, maybe even a social life, and that gives me a flicker of gladness.
“Where are they from?” I ask, curious now. “Did they come a long way?”
Mattie shrugs. “We didn’t go into all that stuff.”
I get it; I don’t think I want to hear dozens or even hundreds of other people’s stories—either what they endured or how easy it was. I’m not sure which would be worse, but I already know I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for any of it.
And so it’s with something approaching dread that I walk with the others toward the mess hall just down Duxford Road, the main street of the base. It’s a sunny day, the sky hazy and blue, although as the sun sinks lower in the sky I feel an oncoming chill in the air, the promise that the night will be cool.
Lots of people are trudging toward the mess hall, a sprawling, one-story building in white stucco with a gazebo and garden area in the back. Kyle and Sam have joined us and say the single men’s lodgings are fine, four bunk beds to a room and communal bathrooms.
“Did you meet anyone?” I ask, and they simply shrug in reply. I can’t tell if that’s meant to be a no or a yes, and I don’t press. I think we’re all feeling a little battered, as well as unused to social interaction. I glance, with cursory curiosity, at my fellow residents, but it’s hard to tell much about any of them. They look weathered, as I do, with a weary resignation in their faces that I recognize all too well. Everyone’s wearing an assortment of clothes that look like they came from a garagesale; at least we were able to change out of our blue boiler suits.
“Nothing marks you more as a noob than this suit,” Mattie had declared when she, Ruby, and Phoebe returned. She gladly peeled it off to replace with her own t-shirt and cut-off shorts, as did Ruby.
Inside the mess hall, there are long folding tables with benches; it’s crowded, and it looks like the space is meant to cater for about a third of the number of people crammed in there. The food is served in bowls in the middle of the table—some kind of tuna casserole, and, while it’s definitely not my kids’ favorite, it’s hot and nourishing and I know they’ll eat it.
We sit at one end of a table, squeezed in close together, as others take their own seats. I look around, deliberately not meeting anyone’s eye, just as I suspect everyone else is deliberately not meeting mine. There’s a weird, muted feeling to the place, like everyone has been turned down a notch. Is that simply a result of the trauma we’ve all undoubtedly experienced—I suspect most people here are suffering from some form of PTSD—or is it this place itself?
Either way, I don’t mind. I can happily be on autopilot for a little while. I can coast along without thinking too deeply about anything, because right now I don’t think I can handle anything else.
I’m just starting on the fairly unappealing pile of congealed tuna and pasta on my plate when Daniel suddenly gasps and rises from the table.
“Tom,” he practically shouts, and we all stiffen and look around at each other, alarmed, uncertain. “Tom!” he calls again, and this time he really is shouting.
“Daniel—” I begin, only to stop when I see a man walking toward us. He is tall, round-faced, plain but friendly looking.
“Daniel, isn’t it?”
“You remember.” Daniel’s voice chokes. I stare at him,bewildered. This has to be someone he met on his journey back to the cottage, I realize, but why hasn’t he ever mentioned anyone?
Tom nods slowly. “I remember. You found your son?”
“He’s right here.” Daniel pats Sam’s shoulder proudly. “You were so kind. I went back to your house, after, but you’d gone, but…”
Tom nods again, in understanding. “We had to leave in a hurry. We heard about a base near Buffalo that was accepting people. My cousin told us, you remember, the reservist?”
“I remember.”
“We didn’t have time to pack,” Tom explains, “so we just left it all pretty much as it was.”
“Isaac’s blanket…” Daniel blurts, sounding emotional again, and bewildering me further. Who is Isaac? “There was blood on it. I thought…”
Tom frowns in concern, and then a light of understanding comes into his eyes. “Teething,” he says succinctly. “A tooth broke through. Man, he’s missed that blanket, though.”
Daniel shakes his head in wonder. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m glad you made it,” Tom replies, grasping his hand. “We left Buffalo two months ago and came here. The radiation…well, it’s all been worse than anyone realized.” He nods toward us. “This your family?”
“Yes…” Daniel introduces us and we murmur hellos. It’s clear that Daniel feels something more for Tom than this stranger feels for him. He greets us all politely, chats to Daniel for a few seconds more, wishes us all well, and then moves back to his table, where a woman and three young children are sitting.
Slowly Daniel sinks back into his seat. “I can’t believe it,” he whispers. “I can’tbelieveit. All this time…all this time I thought they were dead. I was so sure…” His voice chokes.
I’m about to ask a question when Mattie nudges me hard in my side.
“Mom.”
I’m still thinking about Tom and his family as I turn to her. “What is it?”
