“What reason would justify killing off seven billion people in a matter of months? Not to mention those who’ve died in the fallout. The people who are sick or get injured in some kind of accident and don’t have doctors anymore. The Americans who are outnumbered by guns by about ten thousand to one now. Why does everything have to have a purpose? Why can’t the superflu just be a random oops, where that one patient-zero bird was supposed to fly into a window but didn’t? The universe was created by accident, so why can’t it end the same way?”
He laughs, and I realize how riled up that got me, though I’m not sure why. But he’s nodding. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. But maybe some of those random moments have reason. Like a universal convergence, where all the right moments happen at all the right points in time. And just for a split second, things make sense. Thebird realizing at the last moment it was about to fly into a window. It doesn’t make sense to us because humans, and the bird, all died. But viruses are living things, too, so in that moment, everything converged to make it survive and spread.”
All this has gotten a little too cerebral for me. I’m sure Andrew wouldn’t mind having this conversation with Cal, but I don’t know how we got here from talking about his Christofascist settlement. I shrug. “Okay.”
“What I’m saying, Jamie, is not everything is going to make sense. And maybe not everything we do in life is something to feel good about, but sometimes—yes, even those maybe-random moments—things converge and it makes sense. But not for everyone.”
Like his fascist pastor’s death. It didn’t make sense for Pastor Phillip, but it made sense for everyone else here, still alive.
That’s how I was feeling after I shot Harvey Rosewood. There was guilt because I never wanted to hurt anyone. I neverwantto hurt anyone. But I would kill Harvey again if I needed to. To protect Andrew, I’d do it.
Over the past few months I’ve also thought about Danny Rosewood, and how his death would be the easiest thing for us. The more I thought about it, the easier that thought came. My stomach no longer turned; the guilt in my chest wasn’t there. The thought was like a splinter embedded too deep in my finger; the skin healed over it and it became a part of me.
“Pastor Phillip liked to use that Bible passage about the meek inheriting the earth. Could be, the meek outnumber the others. And maybe now, without the structure of society, we’re all learning how to fight back. If those random moments converge again—and honestly,it seems like with a smaller population left, it’s happening a whole lot more—there’s strength in numbers. Especially if the randomness of the world lets people like Pastor Phillip survive the flu. Or the people coming after you.”
I absolutely clock that he’s using the present tense. Maybe my gut is right, and he can be trusted. Still, he said there’s plenty for him to feel guilty about from the before times. Maybe it’s stupid stuff like shoplifting or lying to someone he loved. But it could be more.
“What do you still feel guilty about? From before, I mean.”
“Next universal convergence,” he says. “If you’re still with us, remind me to tell you.”
That doesn’t make me feel great. Cal pushes open the door to the back room, and I follow him out to the truck, hopping in next to Cara and Rocky Horror.
As we drive out of town, I see the gray fox again, lying low in the high grass on the side of the road. I feel Cara’s eyes on me and turn. She gives me an arched eyebrow, asking if I’m good, and I nod. But I can’t help but think about her family. How they all survived the superflu only to die in some mysterious fire she escaped. Maybe that was another random convergence. One that involved others who sought to hurt. Once we’re on the highway again, the wind is too loud to talk over, so I’m able to think about what Cal said.
We’re all learning how to fight back. And maybe that’s what we need to do. I’ll always fight for Andrew; we just need to find other people who are willing to fight for us, too.
Andrew
JAMIE, CARA, AND ROCKY HORROR COME BACKwith plenty of food for all of us, and they said there’s even more about an hour and a half drive up the road. Which is great news, because an hour and a half drive is probably about a day and a half walking. And there’s apparently more food than even the Nomads can carry, so even if we don’t leave with them, we can stop there and replenish some of the food we eat.
But we still need to figure that part out.
Shortly after dinner, while Jamie is off using nature’s facilities, Rocky Horror sits down next to me.
“Cute nails,” he says.
I hold up my right hand, where the nails have been painted a vibrant blue. “Thanks, Niki did them for me.” She even painted the two fingers on my left hand that weren’t wrapped. I turn to show them off in the sling my injured arm is resting in.
“How’s the arm feeling?”
I know I can be honest with him. “Like shit.”
“Yeah, I can tell ’cause of the cuntyness.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I heard you snap at Jamie earlier today—”
“I didn’t snap at him.”
“And most of it’s readable on your face.”
“It’s not cuntyness you’re reading, it’s pain. Annoyance with pain. Like unending, throbbing pain that doesn’t go away no matter how much I try to ignore it, or breathe through it, or I don’t know what else.”
I don’t have to hide it all from Rocky Horror like I do with Jamie. It’s kind of freeing. When Jamie asks how I am, I lie and sayfinebecause he always wants to help. I love that about him, truly. But when nothing can be helped, he tries anyway, and that can make it worse. I’m in pain—so much goddamned pain—I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m just so sad. That’s it. None of the big words are big enough to express how I feel. Sad is the only one that feels right. We lost our home for the second time since the apocalypse, and now our only option is to either go back to the original one and hope we can strike a deal with the people there, who expect us to pay them food taxes to stay, or join up with the Nomads and make the road our home until we end up wherever they decide to put down roots. Which just feels exhausting.
Rocky Horror nods. “I get it. This part sucks.”
