Page 80 of Everything Under the Sun

I look.

In the water I see the reflection of your face;

I feel the ground beneath me move with haste;

I taste the sands of bitter disgrace.

I weep.

I cry for the cradle of warmer arms;

I reach for hands to protect me from harm;

I choke on the billowing smoke of alarm.

Where are you?

Where are you…?

Through her eyes, I thought I could see right down into the depths of her soul. And she went on and on, line after fluid line, until my heart ached and the air in my lungs became so heavy that unless I released it all in one long breath it would suffocate me and leave me dead on the floor.

Maybe there was a god, I thought, but then thought better of it when I remembered that same God let my family die such horrific deaths.

Fuck you, I said as if that God I no longer believed in was listening. FuckYoufuckYoufuckYoufuckYou.

Thank You, but fuck You.

28

ATTICUS

I agreed to stay at least until morning. Were it not for Thais, I never would’ve given a second thought to the idea. I never would’ve agreed to breakfast, and would’ve left the barn, rather than getting comfortable in their apple pie house. But I wasn’t alone, and Thais needed to eat and rest. Life on The Road could break even the most emotionally numb man, bring him to his knees if he found no way to make peace with himself. I knew this all too well—The Road nearly killed me before I was found by William Wolf’s men and taken to Lexington City. I didn’t want to risk the same happening to Thais. And when I saw the smile on her face, the hope, the joy—a stark difference from the frightened girl I’d met on the street of Lexington City—I decided to let her have this for just a little while longer.

I thought, as I lay on the living room floor, my body longer than the sofa where Thais slept above me, that maybe by morning I might choose to stay. But if I chose not to stay, I didn’t plan to leave her here, either, regardless of what she wanted. I’d drag her away kicking and screaming if I had to.

“Atticus?” Thais’ voice was quiet in the late night, as soft as the breeze that drifted through the open windows. She lay across the sofa, curled up with a quilt.

“Yeah?” I whispered. I lay on my back with a quilt beneath me, looking up at the ceiling, my fingers interlocked over my stomach, my booted feet crossed at the ankles—I still didn’t trust my surroundings enough even to remove my boots, unsettled by the possibility that at any moment we might have to make a run for it.

“Do you think they gave my sister a proper burial?”

I thought back to that night, the unforgettable image of Thais cradling her sister in her arms.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “I took measures to make sure that happened.”

Silence filled the small living room for a time. We lay together—separate, but very much together—while the family who lived in this house had turned in for the night in their bedrooms. An owl hooted somewhere outside; the song of crickets and frogs filled the night, lending a small piece of familiarity from the Old World to my ears. I wondered what Thais was thinking about. I only thought of her.

“Atticus?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the rest of the world is as bad off as we are?”

I paused, musing.

“Before the grid went down,” I said, “I remember the news. We watched it all day, kept the TV on twenty-four-seven.” I stopped to reflect; my teeth manipulated the inside of my cheek as I recalled the things I’d witnessed on that mesmerizing screen. There was no such thing as censorship by that time; every news station that still broadcasted took advantage of the chaos, and covered—in great detail—every bloody murder, every horrific execution, every mob beating, even of their own reporters. “It was bad everywhere,” I went on somberly, staring at the dark ceiling brushed by slivers of moonlight.

“I think maybe there’s two people just like us,” Thais said, “somewhere on the other side of the world, asking the same questions, wondering if life will ever be the same again.”

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