Flicker (2 page)

chapter three

T
he last cowboy came six months, one week, and three days ago. He brought news that had upset us all. He’d said there’s no government rebuilding itself, that there’s nearly nothing, and no one, left in the abandoned city streets and towns across the once strong nation.

The adults look into one another’s eyes, silent as they acknowledge the knock on the door. Once again I’m the outsider, left to wonder if the people I live with actually possess telepathic talents. They discuss so much without words.

But their eyes betray them. Dad looks determined, at what I don’t know. Mom squints a bit, as though willing the table to have compassion for whoever’s on the other side of the door.

Forest is the first to break the silent conversation. “We need to see who it is, then we can determine how we proceed.”

“We made a choice the night we lost Shelby,” Mark points out. “Don’t let one rebel change our decision.

This is news to me. A decision made ten years ago that I’ve never heard of?

“Before any of us answers the door, we need to look at the feed,” Dad says. “Then we can decide what we want to do.”

I understand the apprehension that comes with a visitor. We don’t know where they’ve been, if they potentially carry the virus. That’s been the greatest concern since we lost Thomas and Jack – avoiding the contamination of the outside world, whatever the cost. The only time we take walks outside on the property is when we’re wearing Hazmat suits. After surveying our borders, we spend an hour bathing in fire-hot water filled with antiseptic chlorine to scrub whatever may have gotten through our biohazard uniform. No visitor who’s come around has ever worn compound-approved safety gear, and though we talk about everything else under the sun, we don’t talk about that.

The men stand and head towards the study. Once they’ve switched on the battery to the surveillance camera, they’ll have the ability to watch whoever’s on the other side of the door from six different angles. I stand, too.

“You needn’t follow them, Lucy. Stay here with Diane and me.” I know Mom only wants to protect me from whatever gruesome monster they’ve imagined in their heads. Whatever horrendous creature has grown in the world at large these past sixteen years, but no creature, aside from a horse, has ever come to our property. The men who come riding on the stallions are allowed to stand on our land because the cowboy rebels have something we are desperate for, information on the state of the world.

I sit back down, putting my head in my hands. Concentrating, I strain to hear the men in the other room talk. I look at Mom and Diane, wondering why they aren’t the least bit curious to see who is on the other side. Maybe the cowboy knows of a clean food source.

The study becomes loud and animated with the men’s voices.

“I don’t care, I want to hear what this guy has to say!” Mark yells.

“There’s nothing he can say, and he might put our plan in jeopardy. We have no idea what he wants!” Dad shouts back.

I look at Mom biting her nails as the tension cuts through the room. We never fight like this at the compound.

“Maybe Mark’s right, we should at least find out, shouldn’t we?” asks Forest. Dad slams something down, the remote control to the surveillance system, maybe. He’s outnumbered.

“Fine, we’ll gear up and go talk to him. Outside though, I don’t want to risk him coming in here,” Dad says.

“What difference is it going to make now?” Mark asks. “Besides, look at him–he’s sitting in the grass. Not a threat to our security!”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Dad argues.

The principle of what, I wonder, as Mom’s eyes fill with tears. The series of the evening’s events confuse me, and I want to understand what they’re talking about. I’m smart enough to know I can’t say a word when Diane’s present; she’s never understood what passes between Mom and me. I can’t imagine she’d start now after hearing the fight in the other room.

The men walk back into the dining room, and Mom wipes her eyes. Ignoring her, Dad announces the plan as if he’d agreed to it all along, “Ladies, clean up the dishes, we’re gearing up to go out and meet this cowboy.”

They head down the hatch where the bulletproof vests and artillery are stored. If this cowboy’s a threat or a looter-in-disguise, we have enough ammunition at our compound to start a war.

A nuclear disaster or missile crisis isn’t what caused the people in our compound to bury themselves sixteen years ago. An outbreak became an epidemic, and eventually swept through the entire world, laying billions of people to rest within a few weeks.  That was how the blackout came to be. The virus couldn’t be contained or stopped, unless you were like us, protected in a self-contained bubble.

“Diane and Lucy, we need to listen to the feed. We need to hear what the cowboy has to say.” Mom’s voice is urgent and it puts me on edge. I take a step towards her, wanting her protection.

“No, Mark doesn’t want me to go – so I won’t. I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on doing what you want all the time,” Diane hisses back at Mom.

“What? You’re seriously going to bring up the greenhouse situation again? I told you a thousand times–
I didn’t know the spray would kill the plants. I thought it would stimulate them.”

Diane uses that against Mom every time they’ve disagreed this past year. Throwing Mom’s miscalculations of Miracle-Gro quantities in her face.

“I’m going to clean these dishes. You do what you want, Cecily. You always do anyway.” Diane spits her words in Mom’s face.

Mom doesn’t flinch, and instead she takes my hand. Relieved, I squeeze back. We aren’t affectionate, not in the way I’ve read about families being. The characters in the books I devoured as a girl received good night kisses and big-hearted hugs, but those aren’t a part of my life. Tonight though, things feel different. The food’s gone, there’s a secret plan, and an unexpected visitor has arrived.

Diane grabs our bowls and walks into the kitchen. The moment she’s gone Mom takes me by the shoulders, and looks deep in my eyes.

“Listen to me, Lucy. I don’t want to fight with your father, not tonight, so I need you to make me a promise.”

“Anything. I’ll do anything.” I hold back the rest of my words;
I’ll do anything just to know what’s going on.

“Tonight, when the time comes, don’t drink anything. And don’t ask me any questions, even if you get scared. Can you promise me?” She shakes my shoulders, as though her force will make me answer faster.

“Yes,” I answer and as I say it, I realize she’s asked me to do the very thing I don’t want.

I make her a promise, and in doing so I forfeit myself.

chapter four

D
ad, Forest, and Mark walk back into the house from the underground bunker, fully loaded as though this lone ranger has already declared war. They wear Hazmat suits and semi-automatic rifles hang on their shoulders, the same gear they wear every time they go to meet an outsider.

They’ll do anything to keep us safe. I’m grateful to have been born in this compound with this family when I could have been born in the outside world, only to die from the virus. I’m one of the lucky ones.

“Dad, can I watch the feed from the study?” I ask, knowing Mom will regardless of what he says. With everyone so jumpy tonight I don’t know which way his opinion will sway.

“Of course. I want you all to know if we’re under attack and when we’re re-entering the house.”

Diane walks back into the dining room from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.  “Mark,” she says, “you must stick to the plan, okay?” He embraces her, awkward in his astronaut-like suit. Forest coughs, breaking their moment. With curiosity I watch their tight hold, Diane’s hands steady as she pats her husband’s back before letting go. Hiding emotions from people who watch your every move is impossible; I just wish I understood them.

“Come on, this guy’s been sitting outside for the past hour scouting our place. We’ve got to find out his intentions, stat,” says Forest.

The men walk through the house and Dad unbolts the heavy steel lock from its resting place. Forest opens it and they walk into the sealed anti-contamination room towards the front door. Mom and I follow, not wanting to miss a single detail, but Diane stays back, perfectly squaring each chair at the dining room table.

I’ve seen seven of these cowboys in my life. I’ve never spoken with any of them, though I’ve wanted to. Dad says we can’t trust these men and the stories they bring. The adults in this house question the motives of everyone. Neurosis is an understatement. They sit around the table for months after someone visits, re-hashing the scenarios and hypothesizing about probability. We always end up right where we began, in our domed house, pretending our resolve is something besides fear.

After the men close the heavy door behind them I follow Mom to the study. Turning the knob on the volume, I’m anxious to hear the words they exchange. Mom sits on a stool in front of the six four-by-five screens and she smiles at me as the conversation comes through loud and clear,

“State your intent,”
Forest says, gun raised, his voice meant to intimidate.

“No intent, really. Just been traveling through the Peninsula, stopping if I find something of interest. I saw this house from the hills and I thought I’d come down. That’s all.”
He stands with his hands lifted over his head
, “Look, I’m sure you’ve seen enough thugs out here … but I’m clean, I swear. My name’s Charlie.”

“Where’d you come from?”
Forest shouts
.

“Man, I’d love to talk, but could you point that gun out of my face?”

             
The cowboy takes the reins of his horse, offering an apple to soothe the beast stomping the ground. His horse’s hair is chestnut-red like mine. The mane is well groomed and it would look lovely with my apple blossoms in a crown around his head. I can’t help but wonder what will happen to this boy and his horse after they leave here.

“Let Mark do a search. If you’re clean, we can talk. If not, I suggest you leave. Fast.”
Mark walks over to him, with Dad close behind, and pats him down thoroughly.

“He’s good, Forest. Just a boy, like we’ve seen before,”
Mark says.
Charlie looks about my age, maybe a little older.

“Told ya
.” Charlie smirks and shakes his head. The men lower their guns, and circle him.
“What’s the deal with the suits?”
He points at their head-to-toe protective gear. Charlie wears jeans and a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up. Through the pixilated screen I can tell his arms are tanned from the September sun.

“The suits are to protect us,”
Dad answers.

I look over at Mom, her arms are crossed and she taps her fingers against her elbows. Diane joins us; apparently her curiosity got the best of her. With her blond hair pulled back in a hair net it should be easy to read her face, but her blank stare makes it hard to know what she’s thinking.

Mom’s forehead is creased and her eyes flit to Diane. “I wish you’d be reasonable,” Mom whispers. “The cowboy would be dead if the air was toxic.”

“Stop it,” Diane seethes. “He could carry a strain that he can fight off, but we can’t. You want to risk that?”

Mom shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her lack of understanding bothers me. Dad, Forest, and Mark have explained a thousand times how our bodies couldn’t fight against the virus because we’ve been sequestered for so long, how we’re different than the travellers who pass by. In the safety of our compound we’ve become our own petri dish of organisms, insulated from the bacteria beyond. Keeping protocol ensures our safety; nothing is worth a contamination we can’t fight against. They’ve explained how they would be forced to kill us if we ever dared walk out of the house without the safety of the Hazmat suit, because exposing the other compound members isn’t an option.

I turn back to the screen confused.

“That’s cool,”
Charlie says, rolling his eyes
. “I used to see other people like you around the country, but not anymore. Now everyone’s joined The Light.”

“Joined?”
Dad asks
.

“Dude, The Light. You haven’t heard of them? When’s the last time you were in a city?

Forest clears his throat, avoiding the question.
“We’ve heard of The Light. A boy, like yourself, was here about six months ago and mentioned the group. We didn’t realize people were joining them, is all.”

“Well, you couldn’t join. You’re an old man. They only take women and children. Boys are cut off at twelve. Sucks to be me, right?”
He laughs, but I can tell it’s forced.
“I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“And why’s that?” Forest asks.

“Not my scene. There’s other stuff I’m supposed to be worrying about. Not interested in worshipping their prophet.” He shrugs, his words cool, intentionally distant.

“What do you mean prophet?” Forest presses, not surprisingly. He’s always the most insistent on facts, on finding answers, on reason.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard stories from people passing by. Their prophet, he’s like a human battery, light’s up their Refuges. A literal power source.”

I feel Mom’s eyes on me, but I don’t want to turn to look at her. The screen has me transfixed; Charlie’s morsels of information are the most I’ve been offered in months.

“You’re sure we couldn’t go? I mean, if we wanted too?” Mark asks.

“I already told you, that place is bad news. It’s all doom and gloom. And they won’t let you near them anyway, those guys aren’t interested in competition.” He looks around the property. “Hey, do you guys have any food? I haven’t seen any rabbits out here for a couple of days.”

“No. We don’t have food for you,”
Dad says, not adding the terrifying fact: There’s no food for us, either.

“Whatever, man. You guys are nuts, in your suits like paranoid freaks.”

“We’re protecting ourselves!”
Mark says.

“From what? The rioting days are long gone man. You survived the freaking virus. You win, Doomsday Prepper.”
He turns from Mark and the others. Taking the reins of his horse, he jumps back into the saddle.
“Come on, boy.”
He kicks the horse in the rear and gallops away, past my apple blossom tree.

“
What does he mean, Mom?” I ask, too scared to look in her eyes. “Are we crazy?” I’m ashamed of my question, but I remember the last cowboy said the same sort of thing.

“No, Lucy.” She glances at Diane, whose steel eyes are fixed on the screen. “It doesn’t matter what that boy says. Not anymore.”

She walks away with Diane, and I turn back to the screen, now empty of the cowboy and the horse.  As I turn off the monitors, a longing spreads through my chest, causing a quick intake of breath. I pull back the tears that threaten to spill. This longing returns whenever I think about what the world was like before, what people were like
before.
The people I read about in books and see in my parent’s old photographs. People had full and bright lives.  My world is veiled in dulled colors, yellowed linoleum lines the kitchen floor and faded jeans cover our sallow skin. Here, nothing shines. Everything has greyed.

I trust my father completely, but Charlie just dismissed him. He took one look at Dad and decided who he is and what he stands for. He knows nothing about the years they’ve worked to find a cure to what killed our compound members or the years before the blackout they spent preparing for a time such as this. He just took one look at their suits and dubbed them ignorant. Decided us fools.

Knowing the men will take an hour or more sanitizing themselves from the acrid air outside, I decide to sit in my favorite armchair and pull out my embroidery hoop. I need to keep my mind from dizzying itself with unknowns and who-knows and I-wish-I-knew’s. As I finish the blazing sun in a bright blue sky, I imagine a sun shining its light on me, filling me up. When the feeling of longing for more comes, I’ll be able to look at this sun. I’ll look at it and I’ll be okay.

I thread an orange piece of floss on my needle and weave in and out as I complete a ray. The motion is awkward with these latex gloves, but it isn’t something new. Most days the adults find some reason to have me “sanitize.” Looking at my hoop, I’m thankful that Shelby, may she rest in peace, brought such an incredible stash of embroidery materials when she prepared for the blackout. Her hobby’s been my saving grace on this compound.

After I tie a knot on the loose thread, I close my eyes. Delicately moving my fingers over the shining orb on the muslin-covered hoop in my lap, I sigh. Simply touching the sun isn’t enough. I try to shake my frustration at the silent treatment the adults are giving me. I need to speak up in a way I rarely do, knowing it will be impossible to sleep tonight if I don’t know their plan. Of course we’ll discuss the news brought by Charlie, but I’ll have to press them if I want details. Once finished with the section of the sun I’d been working on, I place it in my basket, resolved to speak.

The six of us congregate in the dining room after the men have finished changing. The room is clean, thanks to Diane. She’s turned on the lamp, which emits a faint light, helping us make out one another’s faces, but hardly anything else. I’m not a talkative person but tonight I’m about to burst.

“We watched the video of the cowboy while you spoke with him. Can you believe his nerve, Dad?” I ask.

“We aren’t talking about what he said, Lucy. What he said was of no consequence.” His eyes are grim, like he’s weathered many storms since my victorious baked-beans-discovery.

“What do you mean? Every time someone visits, we talk about it. Do you think their prophet is real?”

No one answers; they sit in silence, letting irritation gnaw at me as the seconds slow. I’m tired of only having conversations in my own head. No longer able to restrain myself, I let the words tumble out.

“What did you think of his horse? Have you seen one like that before? His hair was just like mine.” I touch the long braid that hangs over my left shoulder. “I think it would be nice to be in the sunshine all day. Sleeping under stars at night. I mean, if it weren’t so deathly, of course.” I smile; it’s been so long since we had anything new or exciting to talk about.

“Quiet, Lucy!” Forest slams his fist onto the table. I jump, and Mom does too. Diane starts crying in Mark’s shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay.” Mark tries to comfort his wife, but an eerie heaviness settles around me, seeping into my pores.

“Mom, what’s going on?” She won’t meet my eyes, so I try Dad’s. He doesn’t turn away; he meets my gaze straight on.

“This is a part of our plan, Lucy,” Dad reassures me. “We’ve all shared many years together, and though most of it hasn’t been what we hoped for, we also knew on the day we walked down the steps into the bunker that we wouldn’t be able to foretell the future. The best we could do was stick it out, together.” His eyes keep blinking, oddly, like a paranoid tick has overcome him. I don’t understand what’s happening.

“Jordan, stop it,” Mom says to Dad from across the table. “Do we have to do it like this? There are other ways.”

“There are no other ways, Cecily,” Forest growls. “We made a vow to one another and we can’t do anything else in this world. I owe that much to Jack.” His eyes flash with anger as he grabs hold of the edge of the table.

“What about the cowboy? What about what he said?” Mom pleads. “At least for some of us?” Her eyes dart to Diane and me.

I don’t understand the urgency from everyone in the room. They said they had a plan, so why’s Mom freaking out? Dad said everything was going to be okay.

“We have to do this now, Jordan, or something, or
someone
,” Mark turns towards my mother, pointing his finger, “will do something to sabotage it.”