“Got plenty of that around here. Yeah, I’ll watch her.”
“Thanks. Love you, sis.” I kissed her on the forehead and left.
Uncle Paul, Aunt Caroline, Mom, Alyssa, Ben, and I went to the meeting together. A huge bonfire had been lit between the edge of the camp and the woods. Everyone crowded in close enough to absorb the heat radiating from the fire.
The mayor of Warren, Bob Petty, stepped even closer, so that the fire illuminated his face as he spoke. Soon he was sweating, and the orange light glinting from his wet face gave him a demonic look.
His speech was long and convoluted, but basically it boiled down to this: Since Stockton invaded Warren, the mayor had assigned scouts to keep watch and look for an opportunity to fight back. Stockton had only moved a small amount of pork and kale out of Warren in the week they’d held it. But earlier today, eleven trucks had pulled into Warren. They were being loaded with pork, kale, and cornmeal, the food the people of Warren needed to survive. The mayor had decided that instead of waiting to starve on the farm, every able-bodied person with a weapon would try to retake Warren. He ended his speech with a bunch of meaningless rah-rah stuff and instructions to be ready at dawn.
When the applause and scattered cheers died down, Ben spoke into the silence. “That is a stupid plan,” he said in a loud voice. A few people booed, but Ben went on, “It does not make sense to attack where the enemy is expecting it or when he expects it. A better alternative-”
Ben kept talking, but the mayor shouted over him. “You’re not from Warren, son, and I don’t recall asking for your opinion. It’s decided.”
The crowd broke out into a babble of conversation. I sucked in a deep breath and bellowed, “He’s right! It’s like sparring. You never strike where your opponent expects you to.”
The mayor glared at me. “And what would you suggest?” His voice practically dripped with derision.
“Attack Stockton,” I said. “All their fighters will be in Warren. They won’t be expecting it.”
“Our food is in Warren, not Stockton!” someone yelled.
“Their homes, wives, and children are in Stockton,” I replied. “Once we control it, we can negotiate.”
“We’re not going to negotiate with the aggressors,” the mayor yelled. “Tomorrow we’re going to Warren to get our food back! This meeting is adjourned. Get a good night’s sleep-we leave at dawn.”
Dispirited, I turned away from the fire. We trudged back to the house in silence, except for Ben, who talked nonstop about famous military attacks that had failed because they were too predictable. Uncle Paul got an oil lamp off a hook in the entryway and lit it using a stick from the hearth in the living-room-cum-hospital.
Upstairs I paused at the door to the girls’ room. I wanted to talk to Darla but didn’t want to wake her. I heard voices through the door and knocked. “Come in,” Rebecca called.
It was pitch black inside. The light from Uncle Paul’s lamp receded down the hall. “You guys make a place for Alyssa to sleep?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Rebecca said. “Let me get some light.” I heard a thump, thump and then Rebecca pushed past me carrying a tiny oil lamp, like they used to put on tables at fancy restaurants. She lit it from Uncle Paul’s lamp and returned to the bedroom. Since when had she gotten so efficient? Amazing what a volcanic eruption can do to change a pesky little sister into an ally.
There were two beds in the small bedroom and two places to sleep on the floor, made up with extra blankets and pillows. Darla was snuggled into the far bed. Her face looked wan but more peaceful than I’d seen it since we’d rescued her.
“You okay?” I asked her.
She shrugged at me and told Rebecca and Anna, “I want to talk to Alex for a minute. Alone, okay?”
“Sure,” Rebecca said. “Yell when you’re done.” Anna got out of her bed. She was fully clothed-they all were. It was freezing in that room. They went into the hall, and I closed the door and sat beside Darla’s bed.
“You seem better,” I said.
“Maybe a little.”
“That’s good.”
We lapsed into silence for a moment.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Dr. McCarthy says you might blame yourself for what happened to me.”
“I should never have stood up on that overpass. Never have dragged you back to Iowa with me.”
“You didn’t drag anyone. I insisted on going.”
“But I-”
“But nothing, Alex. Maybe standing up on that overpass was a mistake. Maybe not. But you came for me. You found me and saved me.” She crushed my hand in hers.
“I always will,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“Tomorrow I’m going to help with the attack on Warren. It’s a stupid attack, at least that’s what Ben thinks, and he’s probably the smartest guy here. But whatever happens, I’m going to find a way to survive and come back to you. Because I love you. And I always will.”
“I. . ” Darla’s eyes brimmed with tears, “I love you, too, Alex.”
Her words fell on me like rain in a desert, bringing the promise of a glorious field of new blossoms. “We’ll make a place for ourselves in this shitty world somehow. We’ll find a way to make the life we want, to get married and have a family. I swear we will.”
Darla reached out, pulling me down onto the bed alongside her. My father was dead, my mother crushed with grief. I couldn’t surrender my burdens-the life-and-death decisions we had to make on an almost daily basis in this new world. But together, Darla and I would carry them.
As we embraced, my spirit soared. I was seized by a fierce joy. I would survive. I would survive and do battle at Darla’s side. We would fight together to make a place in this disaster-hewn world-a place where we could live in peace.
Or die trying.
