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Spent recent days in a daze avoiding, everyone. People speaking at me like -white noise. Congratulations, a high five, a pat on the back. Each an intrusion on my space. For what, a chunk of land? Still anxiously waiting for Brett and Cord to return. Echoing in my mind Addison’s advice regarding my past, let it go. I may find them -my daughters, try to explain what happened, seek forgiveness, or share our mutual despair. When alone my mind imagines multiple outcomes, Addison’s words haunt me: “Family, look around. Today this is family.”
Nights are getting cooler and longer while supplies dwindle. We have rarely been outside of our enclosure. You name it, everything is in short supply, wood, food, and solutions. Trouble aplenty and each day lines form at the gate as strangers seek asylum. Families are desperate, becoming angry and aggressive, demanding admittance and tired of hearing “no, sorry, go away.” From the outside, we appear wealthy. Not true. Our “leadership” insisting that Scout Teams venture farther afoot, become belligerent… combative when necessary. The weak will not survive. Thirty-five percent of our protein is bug based and potatoes. Our neighbors, to the west, not pleased that we dug more latrines along their wall. When the wind blows, the odor is foul.
Within the “Well” members are restless, angry, confrontational, everyone on edge combative. With the additional territory, our population now exceeds two-hundred. Mr. Maddox busy reinforcing our perimeter and maintaining order.
Darkness has arrived with more rain. The evening is cool. The mood is more sinister each day. The masses huddle, keeping “Others” at arms’ length. Previously able to coexist, friends are now engaged in disputes over boundaries. Everyone on edge.
I’ve sought solace in my corner, eagerly awaiting sleep, a momentary escape from reality. I have claimed my territory when a stirring catches my attention. Without fail, someone seeking shelter each night, bringing with them a sad story. I sit up and weaponized, ready for whatever crawls through the entrance..
“It’s me. Addison. May I come in?”
I do not know where the team members live, sleep, which seems odd in itself, and this visit was unexpected, but, “Sure.”
She appears slow, haggard looking, hair mussed up, fatigued, seeking refuge?
“Is everything okay?” I whisper.
“Just anxious,”
“Anxious,” we all are!
“I’m damp and cold. May I share your candle light/heat? Is that really a candle?” she asked.
“It’s amazing what one can do with ear wax.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Sorry, sure. Not much of a candle. I try to read by its light but usually end up with a headache after a few pages. So, what’s up?”
Addison crawls across the pallet and slides next to me, both now leaning against the wall, shadows dancing on the partition, prying ears listening beyond the flimsy separation. Once this building was a school filled with books.
Books once cherished. Classics now censured. Books burned because they were filled with dangerous ideas, books containing graphic violence, promoting disrespect for parents/family and authority, sexually explicit, exalting evil, glorifying violence, lacking literary merit, unsuitable for particular children, or including offensive language. Ban by the moral majority. Books now burned, used as kindling or as insulation, for warmth. The few that exist, hidden.
“So, where have you been staying?”
“With Diana in the medical center, but she has been shuttling between there and the new med tent across the way. Staff upset with my inhabitance, apparently not pleased with me taking up space and… shady reputation,” Addison replies.
Scout Team members viewed with suspicion a love-hate relationship. Thank you for the supplies, but you need to go away.
“Jesse?”
“Sorry, guess I wander off for a moment.”
Sitting next to me, I realize it has been ages since I felt another body, Emily the last. I can feel Addison shivering. Her voice sounds muted, tired as she speaks. Her closeness stirs memories. Again she trembles. Not wanting to be heard whisper, “You need to remove the damp outerwear and crawl into the sleeping bag.” She did not resist. Clothes collected, hung near the chiminea, I added a small amount of wood, knowing other members would likely push back on ‘wasting’ wood on an uninvited guest. Laying on the pallet by her can still feel her shudder.
Quietly I hear her say, “Disrobe and… join me. I need your warmth… please.”
I hesitate but can see she is in distress. I acknowledge her request. Slipping in the sleeping bag, we spoon, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing into her exposed neck. I feel her body relax; the tension slipping away.
Wet clothes hung, needing hours to dry. She pulls my arms around her while settling closer. It has been a while. Shared warmth. Memories stirring.
Taking a deep breath, “Tell me, who are you?”
Silence. Unsure if she heard the question? I waited, feeling her rhythmic breathing.
“I was raised in Southern California, my parents considered wealthy, my dad an engineer, my mom a writer. Some of our wealth, inherited.” She pauses. Catching her breath, gathering her thoughts.
“Home schooled with private tutors. And an only child raised to be self sufficient. My dad, my dad, wanted for me to seek new experiences, to live life to the fullest. Also, wanted to be sure I could care for myself. To defend myself from the depraved characters I would face, and he did, and I can. With all the climate change, California did not fare well, and we eventually headed east, ending up in northern Arizona. Lost my parents in the pandemic, feeling lost, alone I wandered and, well, dad was a fan of guns taught me well, the world got crazier and crazier and humanity followed along.”
Her breathing regular, continued, “Men treated my like a, a treat to be used for their pleasure, single, alone, but that was their mistake. The son of a preacher-man made the mistake of abusing me, hit me once, paid the ultimate price. In return, his dad put a price on my head. So, I kept on the move, using what nature provided and my dad’s upbringing. A con artist, cunning, needing a trade, sold my skill set. Staying one step ahead of the preacher, his hired agents… private investigators.”
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
“Running away. Mr. Maddox hired me as part of his security cadre. The Committee appreciated my expertise. One day will move on. Feel trouble closing-in. Today, this is family until it isn’t.”
“You need to stay.” I blurted.
“I’m not sure that is a…,” her voice trails off. I’m sure she is right.
“Why here, tonight?”
“We all get you’re out-of-pocket, about your family, daughters, but things are crashing around us, folks are increasingly pugnacious and you gotta come up with ideas and step-up. The other Scout Teams are failing and people are dying. We are dying from within.”
“I didn’t ask for this…”
“STOP! And I didn’t plan on getting beaten by a preacher’s son. Never thought I’d be running from the law, I… Just stop.”
Silence. Warmed, breath regular… she sleeps.
My goal from day one was to keep my head down, avoid conflict, do my job, and move about incognito. Never thought I’d be running from the law.
Never thought I’d be spooning with Addison. Feeling these feelings.
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