The Seven Habits

little out of hand. That’s all.”

Levi grabbed a thick piece of cloth from a hook on the wall and walked over to the fire. Wrapping the fabric around the handle of the pot, she lifted it from the tripod and carried it back to the long table that lined one wall.

“You hungry?” she asked hopefully.

Ocean shook her head silently.

“No… I don’t suppose any of us really are, huh? If Cord hadn’t come along when he did… well, I’m not sure how all this would’ve turned out.”

The mention of his name caused memories of the attack to crash against Ocean’s mind and the waves of emotion that followed made her swoon as the room grew blurry and dim.

“Hey… you okay?”

Levi’s voice sounded as muffled as if she were on the other side of the wall Ocean leaned against for support.

“Just… hot… in here. Hard to breathe.”

Levi took Ocean’s elbow gently and guided her toward the door. Her other hand pressed lightly on the young girl’s back, as if afraid she might topple at any moment.

“Come on… let’s go sit at the table. It’s cooler in there.”

As they left the kitchen the sound of Baby’s crying grew louder and inwardly Ocean cringed. She knew she should be in the nursery, that she should be rocking and singing to the little one, perhaps changing the cloth that was swaddled around his waist. But there was still something within her that demanded she take some time for herself and she found she was powerless to resist its impulses. Why the hell doesn’t Levi just go and take care of Baby? Why did she have to act like she couldn’t even hear the infant shrieking?

Levi helped Ocean onto one of the wooden chairs and then pulled one out for herself.

“Baby…” Ocean said. “Baby’s crying.”

Levi glanced at the nursery and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’ll shut up soon enough. Right now, we have to worry about you.”

Though it wasn’t the first time she’d heard Levi say things like that, Ocean couldn’t help but to gawk at the woman with wide eyes. Maybe it was because her own mother had turned into such a cruel, callused bitch, but she simply couldn’t comprehend how someone could hear their child cry and brush it away so easily. Why in God’s name couldn’t Levi show a little warmth and compassion to the very life she’d brought into the world?

“Anyhow, like I was saying, Cord has this way of keeping Gauge in check for the most part. It’s weird really.” Levi had raised her voice to be heard over the wailing infant and twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger lazily. For Ocean, this was the last straw. She pushed her chair away from the table so abruptly that the legs grated over the brick with a squeal and stormed across the room.

Baby’s nursery and the kitchen shared a wall, though the infant’s room was no bigger than the interior of one of the cars that used to make up Ocean’s home. As such, the the doorway was much smaller than the entrance to the kitchen and she had to stoop to keep from banging her head. Once in the room, she marched immediately to a crib that seemed to defy gravity, with bulges of silver tape and coils of wire around wood that looked about to crack at any moment. Baby lay on a long piece of foam covered with a thin blanket, his tiny hands and feet pummeled the air, his red face screwed into an expression that looked like a walnut.

“Shhhh… it’s okay… everything’s okay. Ocean’s here, Baby. Yes, she is. Ocean’s here.”

The infant was always heavier than she expected, no matter how many times she lifted him, and Ocean hoisted the child to her hip with a grunt. She sniffed the air but couldn’t smell any traces of poop and the cloth wrapped between his legs seemed dry. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she patted Baby’s back, making his cries seem as if they were rapidly starting and stopping, and continued whispering in his ear.

“It’s okay. I’m here, Baby. I’m here.”

Within ten minutes, Baby’s crying had subsided and his small thumb was wedged into his mouth. She walked out of the nursery carefully, so as not to trip when going through the doorway, and returned to her place at the table.

“What’s wrong with him anyway?” she asked as she rocked back and forth in her chair.

“Who? Baby? I don’t know. You’re the one who got it to stop crying.”

Ocean stiffened, but somehow managed to keep the irritation she felt from seeping into her voice.

“No… Corduroy.”

“Oh, him. What do you mean?”

Ocean knew she’d have to pick her words carefully. Part of her wanted to know more about the man, as if by having knowledge about his life she could somehow have a modicum of power over him. She knew it didn’t make any sense and there was no way she could learn anything about him that could give her any sort of leverage. But at the same time she felt compelled to ask. The trick was in not seeming to eager, to make it appear as if she were just making small talk.

“Well, to start with, how did he get burned?”

“Says he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember a lot about life before… you know, all of this. Gauge thinks it was the fire. That maybe it boiled his brain or something.”

Levi laughed as she leaned forward and propped her chin in her hands.

“Saying it like that, it sounds kind of silly. But to do that much damage to his body, it would have had to have been one hell of a fire. Hard to tell what something like that would do to someone’s mind. That’s why he doesn’t eat meat, by the way. The burns. They’re in his throat as well as on the outside. He just can’t swallow anything that’s not very soft.”

Ocean ran the tip of her finger along Baby’s cheek, feeling the tickle of the downy fuzz that lined his soft skin.

“Is that why he has those fits, you think? Because of the fire, I mean?”

“Probably.” Levi shrugged. “Maybe there’s something to Gauge’s brain boiling theory after all.”

Ocean held her breath and looked down at the child bundled in her arms. Baby’s diminutive fist clutched her shirt and his nearly transparent eyebrows arched with each slow breath he took. When he was sleeping, Ocean was content to hold the infant forever. She loved looking down on his round face and bowed lips that for some reason reminded her of the statue back home. Her father had told her once that it was called a cherub and that, back when the world was still alive, water had flowed from the bucket tucked under its arm and collected in a pool at its feet. You weren’t allowed to drink the water, but that was okay, because back then if you were thirsty, all you had to do was turn something called a spigot and fresh, clean water would come right out of your walls. If anyone else had told her this, Ocean would have suspected they were teasing her. But not her father…

For what was about the millionth time, she wished that he were there, that she would look up and see him striding out of the north tunnel with his coarse, reddish beard and blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. He would take care of her just as he always had. Corduroy wouldn’t so much as look twice at her and would certainly never dream of laying his grotesque hands on her.

“He scares me sometimes.” Ocean admitted as she watched Baby sleep. “Does he ever scare you?”

Levi wrinkled her brow and leaned back in her seat.

“Cord? No… he’s like a brother to us. Actually, I can’t imagine living down here without him. I know all those burns probably creep you out a little, but he’s really nice once you get to know him.”

Levi’s answer told Ocean everything she needed to know. It was good that she hadn’t blurted out the truth, that her intended conversation had been cut short by Gauge thinking Corduroy’s comment had been intended for him. She’d just have to make sure that they were never alone together and a witness was always close by. But still… some of Levi’s answers had planted seeds of curiosity in her fertile mind.

She thought about her father again. What was it he used to say when he’d watch the rotters from rooftops? To beat your enemy, you’ve got to understand them. She’d heard that so many times that memories of the phrase sometimes crept into her dreams.

“Wonder what’s taking the guys so long. It’s not like they had to go far for those tools.”

“Maybe Gauge is taking time to calm down.’

Ocean’s voice was as soft as Baby’s snores. Mentally, she was going over the night before once again, trying to recall if she’d seen any tools once she’d opened the heavy, metal door. She couldn’t remember anything that