“Older than you. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Depends. Are you, like, fifty?”
He laughed. “Closer to thirty.”
She thought of that for a moment with trepidation and awe. Girls back in high school loved advertising if they had college-age boyfriends. In college, girls thought they were so special if their men were graduates, men with jobs and money. Mercy had always been envious and disgusted. Older guys could be creeps who lived in their mother’s basement and couldn’t find woman their own age. But older guys were more mature. They understood women. What they wanted. How to please them.
“That’s not old,” she said.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she said like she was a drinking, partying queen.
And on their conversation went into the minutia of what defines who people are: age, interests, aspirations, history. At one point when he was discussing his mother, showing enough concern for her to know he loved her but not so much that he was a momma’s boy, Mercy stared at his lips and willed them to come toward her.
The afternoon light morphed into the vibrant reds and oranges of a setting sun and the breeze that whisked past grew colder. By then, they were sitting only a foot apart.
“We should make a fire,” he said.
“Sure,” she said and in her head saw her jump on top of him and thrust her tongue into his mouth. Why the hell was he not making a move? They were alone. In the woods. It was almost too ideal to be believed.
Alone. Dad had been gone for hours. She stared off at the distant peak as if she might see him up there waving down at her. It was now a flaming match tip of yellow and red.
“How long does it take to reach the top?” she asked.
“A while,” Victor said. “There’s no reason to worry. I’m sure he’s fine. It’s not dangerous.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve done it several times.”
“Okay.” But in her head, Dad had fallen somewhere along the way or fainted or suffered a seizure and was slowly dying while she was desperately hoping some random guy might make out with her.
THIRTY-ONE
Victor gathered dead twigs and dried brush. He set the fire in one of the designated areas where gray ash long ago stained the ground. He had matches in his bag and after several false starts, he finally got the fire going. Mercy watched him with an expression on her face no one ever really showed him before. Even while his urges to attack her strengthened, he began to feel something indefinable in the pit of his stomach. It was like longing only laced with fear.
They sat next to the fire and talked but the flickering fingers kept Victor’s attention. Fire was so pure, so clean. It ate everything. It solved every problem. One day soon it would solve
That thought troubled him because he had always imagined himself as a lone man in these woods, preserving the sanctity of humanity’s purest purpose. But the universe was offering him this girl. She would be his companion. She would make the coming Dark Time almost pleasant.
Her father would be back soon.
Victor sat closer to Mercy and casually placed a hand on her thigh. The muscle tensed. It was strong, fit for a girl who spent her days reading books. He rubbed slowly back and forth, as if hypnotized by the feel of her jeans.
“Hey,” she said so softly it sounded like a voice from the crackling twigs.
When their eyes met this time, he did not deny her the kiss for which she had been longing, but he denied himself the pleasure of forcing himself upon her. Instead, he teased her lips gently with his own and lingered there only briefly. When he withdrew he smiled at her shut eyes and engorged lips. Self-control made her his.
“That was nice,” she said.
“You ever think about ‘the end’?”
“The what? What do you mean?”
The fire drew him in again. “The end of everything.”
“Like 2012?”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
“Do you really think that will happen?” she asked. “Like in that movie? The ground will just break open. The Earth will be flooded?”
“People always think the end will be some kind of epic showdown with fire and explosions and tsunamis. It’s because we think so highly of ourselves that we can’t possibly fathom that our end might be quieter, more drawn- out. That humanity will pass on so gradually most people won’t even realize it. Then they’ll be gone and that’s that.”
“Like
“Even a super flu has a grandness to it. No, it won’t be anything so marvelous. Though it will be spectacular in its own way.”
“Then what? What will end everything?” She asked him like a disgruntled school girl.
“The world seems to be falling apart. Uprises in countries everywhere. Death in the streets. The end has already started.”
“So, global unrest? That ends it all?”
“When I say ‘the end,’ I don’t mean eternal darkness, though it will seem like that. The end of the world will be the end for most people and things. It will be the beginning of a new time. An age of enlightenment unlike any Man has experienced since he first walked the Earth.”
“You mean cavemen?” she asked.
“The people who survive the Great Shift will be one with their atavistic selves. They will be able to harness from nature everything needed for life and happiness.”
“So, cavemen?”
“Enlightened beings,” he said.
She said nothing for several minutes and he let his words begin to seep into her. He added more wood to the fire and watched the flames attack it. Fire was greedy. Never satisfied. Almost perfect in design except it lacked self-control, making it vulnerable. It didn’t know strategy. It only knew hunger. The fire in his soul would soon be unleashed and the conflagration would be unstoppable.
“How do you know who will survive?” she asked.
The sun was almost gone now and Victor felt the shadows dancing on his face like ghosts. Like promises from the universe.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he said as if he didn’t really believe it himself. “There are people out there who have a mission to sort it out. Meaning, people.”
“What?”
“They’re called cleansers. They free the chained minds and souls of the destined survivors and they help purify the world for the New Time.”
“What do you mean, ‘purify the world’?”
He stared at her. This was the moment. If the last several hours meant anything, it would be determined now. She would either be his or he would ravage her and throw her away.
He hesitated. His palms were hot, his heart beating rapidly.
“It means--”
From off in the dark, a man called, “Hey!”
Mercy turned and jumped up, headed toward the shout.
Out of the darkness came an older man with the slumped shoulders and heavy gait of a weary traveler. The bobbing dot of a flashlight rocked with his steps.
“Dad!” Mercy shouted.
