White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (9 page)

Chapter Six

Paulie could barely keep his eyes open. The day seemed a distant memory to them both. Even though he'd napped by the fire earlier in the day, his energy was dwindling. The chilled air was getting the best of Christian's son.

"You like Eggah, Daddah?"

"Edgar. Yeah, he seems all right," Christian answered his son, thinking back on the oddities of the day. Only thirteen hours earlier, the stranger had showed up at their window. And in record time, the man settled in as a regular in their household. Something in that fact disturbed Christian. Some people were just comfortable no matter the situation. Given that Edgar was a self-purported rambling man, perhaps that was his unique way of living.

"He's a scallium," said Paulie, but Christian couldn't understand the word. "He said so."

"Stalin?"

"No," Paulie replied, his eyes drooping as he shook his head from side to side. "Scallion."

Christian nodded, pulling up the blankets close to Paulie's chin. "A stallam," he said as if it was a common enough
phrase, admitting defeat in deciphering the word. Annie was great at translating for Paulie's sometimes jumbled up four-year-old speech.

Annie kept drifting in and out of his thoughts, especially as he watched Paulie slipping into the tranquility of sleep. Once upon a time, Annie would have been by his side, assisting in the transition to bedtime. Not now, and not recently. They separated in their parenting duties more and more, opting to be two separate entities raising a child on shifts. He wondered if Paulie ever suspected that they were the same person (two wardrobes, two masks) playing two roles in the theater that was their life.

What would Annie think if she returned before Edgar was on his way again? Sure, he was a wanderer, but that didn't mean he didn't grow roots every now and then. In fact, Christian was more than happy to have another adult by his side, even if it wasn't his wife. Edgar could bring value to their survival. He would be a drain on their resources, but he could also procure further resources, if things got really desperate. They'd guzzled down a half pint of bourbon during Paulie's naptime, reminiscing on their very different lives-- Christian as a domesticated house cat, Edgar as a free spirited drifter without a place to lay his head. They'd had a damn good time, even with Edgar's peculiar sense of humor and distractingly bizarre comments ("You ever smell yourself smile?" or "Sometimes I feel like Jesus is living in my mouth.")

Annie would flip her lid if Edgar was staying in their home.

All the more reason to invite Edgar to stay on as a long-term guest. Maybe it would piss Annie off enough to make her think twice about abandoning her family for pretty-boy coworkers in the future. She would continue to deny that it was on purpose, but Christian was never one to underestimate the power of the unconsciously self-destructive being. Annie had too good of a life to be faithful, to stick by the people that loved her. Instead, she was probably out there, dead in the snow and ice, perhaps sexually satisfied as she greets the afterlife.

"I miss Mammah," said Paulie, looking up to his father with eyes that reminded Christian of Annie's
—pulsing and deep, drilling deep into his being. "She okay?"

"Your mother's fine, I'm sure. She's with her friend Tony. He promised to take care of her and get her back to use safely."

"Eggah friends with Mammah too?" the boy asked next, prying his eyes open with his tiny fingers, in an attempt to regain focus as sleepiness overwhelmed him.

"I don't think they know each other. Edgar came here because he was sick.
Because he needed somebody to help him."

"We hep?"

"Yep, we certainly did. We saved his life, Paulie. It was a good thing we did," said Christian, rubbing Paulie's cheek as the boy let out a nearly infinite yawn. Paulie smiled at this statement. He clutched his tan teddy bear close to his chest. "You're a brave boy, you know that?"

Paulie nodded.

"And when your mom gets home, I'm going to tell her how brave you are. She'll be so proud. Just like your dad," Christian whispered, leaning across the bed, putting out the candle with the tips of his fingers (something that Paulie usually enjoyed, for its daring nature, though he was too tired to respond at this moment). Now Christian could only see the outline of his boy's face, beneath the moonlight that snuck in through the skylight of his and Annie's bedroom.

A quiet snooze escaped from Paulie as he settled into sleep and drifted away.

"Love you, kid."

Christian sat on the edge of the bed f
ar longer than he expected he would, something tugging at him to stay a little longer, something he could not explain. He didn't plan on climbing in just yet, but there was something soothing about listening to Paulie's steady, rhythmic breathing. The boy was a survivor, and he would continue to be one for as long as he lived. There was no doubt in Christian's mind that Paulie would survive this ordeal.

Why, then, did it feel less certain for Christian himself?
And for Annie? Was that why he really wanted Edgar to stick around, so that he could take over if Christian didn't make it?

I
t was silly. Of course, Christian would make it, if for no other reason than to assist his son in survival. There was no other option.

Christian stood up from the bed, still staring at his son's moonlit outline, squirming in the icy air, but cuddled beneath the heavy covers. He stared at his son even as he backed out the door, quietly navigating the maw of darkness, feeling as if he might slip away forever if he ever took his eyes off the sweetest face he'd ever known.

*  *  *

Christian sat up by the fire for an hour or so, wondering where Edgar went while he was putting Paulie down for the night. For a moment, he thought the man had slipped out of the house, off on his way again to his next unknown destination. It was to be expected, sooner or later. 

With a reflexive jolt in his knees, Christian
stood up suddenly, feeling as if eyes were watching him from the darkness of the kitchen. "Edgar?" he asked, and almost on cue, the stranger stepped from the maw of blackness, holding a second bottle of bourbon in his hand. They’d finished the first one during their afternoon pow-wow. Christian almost chuckled at the sight, adding, “I see you found my stash.” He hadn’t drank this much since college, but he couldn’t glean whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It felt good to let loose and that was enough for him, for now. Edgar’s affinity to the bottle concerned him, especially with Paulie in the house, but hell… this was the apocalypse after all.

And there was that word again.

"You don't mind, do you?" Edgar replied, pulling back his lips to reveal shiny white teeth that seemed to glow in the faux-fire's light. His ruddy, chubby face danced in a way that told Christian he’d already taken a few slugs from the bottom-shelf bourbon. 

"Not at all.
I'll join you, in fact. No need to twist my arm," said Christian. For the second time in the same day, they drank together, speaking in murmurs while Paulie slept, enjoying the creep and snap of the fire, each reflecting on the state of the world as much as they reflected on the oaky (yet sort of putrid) taste of their drinks. 

"He's a good boy," said Edgar, somewhere deep into the second glass of liquor.
 

"You bet he is. I'd die for him."

"As you should," replied Edgar. Christian heard the statement, but it took a moment to absorb the odd wording of it. Such was the way of Edgar-speak.

Chapter Seven

The wind ceased for an hour or two after they first embarked. They were quite thankful for that reprieve, albeit temporary.
Then the bastard wind returned, more bitter cold than before, almost as if it was saving itself up for a really nasty bout. The afternoon was wearing on with a monotonous swooshing sound of ski poles and humming gales.

They still hadn't arrived at The Purple Cat, and Annie didn’t expect to any time soon. Two miles was just short of a marathon in such heinous conditions, made worse by having a lump of a woman sitting on her butt, doing a whole lot of nothing. Annie wished she could do more to help, but at the same
time, she didn’t think she’d be much help anyway.

At one
point, they paused to discuss their route and sanity-check each other. The last thing they needed to do was go in the wrong direction, blinded by the snow, or veer off into the abyss. With the infinite whiteness, it was very much like being lost at sea-- no matter which direction you looked, it all appeared to be basically the same big blue ocean. Tony was carefully following the tree lines to be sure he was staying on the main road, though it was buried more than a dozen feet beneath them. Thus far, Annie had no question that he was going the right way down route 201. Eventually, that road went all the way to her home, but not today. She may not make it back by tomorrow either, depending how bad it snowed overnight. 

Tony's snow chariot was working out well.

Annie was ashamed to admit it, and she didn't dare say it out loud and inflate his adventurous ego. But it was a sturdy craft. For once in Tony's life, his words amounted to more than hot air. During a couple of breathers, they could feel the skis sinking into the slushy surface, so instead of fully halting, he would just slow their continual pace to a near crawl when he needed a timeout. His stamina surprised Annie, as well. Again, she didn't dare tell him that, thinking it might encourage his sexual advances. 

With each lunge of the ski poles, they only covered about three feet. The sheer weight of their makeshift sled was nearly insurmountable. A couple of feet’s progress was better than nothing at all. During her sheer
boredom, (Tony refused to let her have a go, stating that her arms were too skinny and she wouldn't be able to push them) Annie calculated the time it would take to arrive at The Purple Cat.

Five thousand two hundred eighty feet in a mile.
With the restaurant being about two miles away, that means Tony would have to push approximately ten thousand and five hundred feet. Each shove moved them an estimated three feet, so it would take thirty five hundred motions. He did one every ten seconds, so that was about three hundred and sixty per hour. 

Ten hours.

It would take them
ten hours
, assuming they didn't stop. Annie bit her numbing lip, trying to recalculate the number, hoping the number would work out better on the second try. It did not.

"How long have we been out here?" she asked, turning back towards Tony. His face was bright red from exertion. She hoped he wouldn't have a heart attack. He wasn't out of
shape. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He looked like he worked out on a regular basis, not one of those fair-weather weight lifting types. Even still, you had your Jim Fixes of the world, dropping dead of heart conditions in tip-top health. She’d be on her own if this trek killed him.

"I'm not looking at my watch," said Tony, his words raspy and filtered through the whipping wind. He disappeared and reappeared again, a magic act afforded by the treacherous weather. "But I'd hazard a guess that we're going on four hours. I'd say we're halfway there. That sign
back there said that Rotterdam is another mile. I feel like The Purple Cat is right over the Rotterdam line, right?"

She nodded. He didn't drive home this way, but she did. Typically, Tony would have veered off onto route 7 after turning onto the first stretch of Route 201. Not that Annie ever followed him home or anything, but she knew that he lived a couple towns over from her, in the quiet berg of Franklin. Suddenly
, Annie pictured his wife and children, sitting quietly by the door, waiting for their Daddy to come home. And what was Daddy doing? He was playing Sir Galahad with another man's wife, moving northwest when he should have been heading straight north. Sure, he'd have only a quick trek once he got her home, but it would veer him out of the way for at least a day's worth of travel, given the current speed their sled was moving. That was another day without his family, without supporting them. For that, Annie felt a sharp guilt in her gut. 

It was six more hours until The Purple Cat, unless her math was askew. Six more hours of hoping that there would be some food and warmth there, or at the very
least, some blankets, or tablecloths to bundle up in. Even though she wasn't doing the physical labor, she was exhausted, enough so that she nodded off a couple of times. She awoke with a snap, worried that Tony would see her napping and take offense to it, as though he was some kind of unwilling slave. 

Quite unexpectedly, Tony occasionally sang while he worked. Slushing sounds, violent wind gusts, and Tony's voice filled Annie's ears: "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to work we go!" He accompanied the repetition of that single line (she wondered:
weren’t there any other words to that damn song?
) with a series of painful whistles. She could barely hear the whistling, but it sounded like he had a knack for it. They were high pitched and crisp, as if delivered by a pro. 

At
first, she chuckled at his terrible singing voice. She was just loud enough so that he wouldn’t hear her amusement. Perhaps that was his intention, to get a laugh out of her, to force a bit of charm down her throat. His voice eventually lulled her, even though the words would surely drive her crazy soon enough. The song reminded her of Paulie, who had recently emerged himself in classic Disney movies.
Snow White and The Seven Dwarves
was probably his favorite, right next to
Bambi.

She pictured Paulie, cuddled up next to her in the wheelbarrow hull.
 

Annie could practically smell his breath, slightly sweet from the orange sherbet that he loved to snack on before bedtime. She usually
frowned on that kind of snack, but Christian loved to sneak it to him, as the child was mildly addicted to it. It was their little private thing, eating sherbet together at the kitchen table after a long, hard day, so Annie never got on Christian’s back about it, even though she was worried Paulie’s teeth might soon rot out of his precious head.

“Hi Ho!
Hi Ho!” yelped Tony, now sounding like he was trying to project his voice in an amphitheater. She could hear Tony laughing to himself and she suddenly worried that he might go crazy if they were stuck out here long enough. If he went crazy, she had no idea what she’d do to protect herself. Annie couldn’t deal with crazy, especially when crazy had romantic intentions towards her. “Hiiiiiiiii Ho! Hiiiiiiiii Ho!”

Serenity filled her as she continued to picture her baby boy.

She remembered the first time she held him, right after Paulie was born. Though she fought through a prolonged labor, she ended up having a C-section, mostly due to pain and impatience. She labored for more than twenty hours before they took Paulie out the
new-fashioned way
, as Doctor Deacon called it. There was a delay in giving the pinkish little fellow over to her, as she had to recover from the surgery for at least a half an hour, so that there was enough time for the drugs to wear off.

Bring me my son.
Right now.

Ma’am, you need to get a little more clear-headed first. We wouldn’t want you dropping that little guy on his head, would we? That would be a terrible way to start things off.

Bring me my son. Christian, tell them. Tell them I need to see my son right now. It’s been a half an hour and I still haven’t breast fed him. Don’t let them give him any of that formula crap… I need to give him his first milk. Go tell them that, Christian.

Ma’am, please calm down. We won’t give him any formula, I assure you. You’ll have him within the next fifteen minutes, I assure you.

You said that, fifteen minutes ago, too. I don’t believe you anymore (
looks at nametag
), MARY.

And that moment, which felt like it would never come, finally came.

She held Paulie close to her, looking into his tiny blue eyes, surprised that he was opening them so soon. It wasn’t typical from what she had read. She couldn’t even formulate words, for all the joy swelling inside of her, and she could see it in Christian’s dreamy expression as well. He was a proud papa, and he’d be a wonderful father. They’d both be wonderful parents, in fact. Paulie, in that single instant, became the sole reason for breathing, for existing, for surviving. He was everything that she had ever hoped for and she would die for him. And for Christian, as well. They’d die for each other, if it ever came to it.

Hey there, little guy. Your papa and I are so proud of you. You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve ever held. All the other mommies out there are gonna be jealous of you and me. We’ve got something special, don’t we?

Annie sobbed, trying to hide her face from Tony.

He didn’t notice, and he continued to sing, “Hi Ho! Hi Ho! To The Purple Cat we go!”

Annie fell asleep to the soothing swoosh of the sled, with vivid images of an innocent prince with radiant blue eyes, looking up at his mother for the very first time.