“You too? Your whole community?”
“Yes. The houses burned, most of the people were killed… . The rest scattered, went to family or friends elsewhere. Scavengers and squatters moved in. I didn’t decide to leave. I escaped.”
Much too familiar. “Where did you live? What city?”
“San Diego.”
“That far south?”
“Yes. As I said, I should have left years ago. If I had, I could have managed plane fare and resettlement money.”
Plane fare and resettlement money? He might not call that rich, but we would have.
“Where are you going now?” I asked.
“North.” He shrugged.
“Just anywhere north or somewhere in particular”
“Anywhere where I can be paid for my services and allowed to live among people who aren’t out to kill me for my food or water.”
Or for drugs, I thought. I looked into his bearded face and added up the hints I’d picked up today and over the past few days. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
He looked a little surprised. “I was, yes. Family practice. It seems a long time ago.”
“People will always need doctors,” I said. “You’ll do all right.”
“My mother used to say that.” He gave me a wry smile. “But here I am.”
I smiled back because, looking at him now, I couldn’t help myself, but as he spoke, I decided he had told me at least one lie. He might be as displaced and in distress as he appeared to be, but he wasn’t just wandering north. He wasn’t looking for just anywhere he could be paid for his services and not robbed or murdered. He wasn’t the kind of man who wandered. He knew where he was going. He had a haven somewhere— a relative’s home, another home of his own, a friend’s home, something— some definite destination.
Or perhaps he just had enough money to buy a place for himself in Washington or Canada or Alaska. He had had to choose between fast, safe, expensive air travel and having settling-in money when he got where he was going. He had chosen settling-in money. If so, I agreed with him. He was taking the kind of risk that would enable him to make a new beginning as soon as possible— if he survived.
On the other hand, if I were right about any of this, he might disappear on me some night. Or perhaps he would be more open about it— just walk away from me some day, turn down a side road and wave good-bye. I didn’t want that. After I’d slept with him I would want it even less.
Even now, I wanted to keep him with me. I hated that he was lying to me already— or I believed he was. But why should he tell me everything? He didn’t know me very well yet, and like me, he meant to survive. Perhaps I could convince him that he and I could survive well together. Meanwhile, best to enjoy him without quite trusting him. I may be wrong about all this, but I don’t believe I am. Pity.
We finished the guns, loaded them, and went down to the water to wash. You could go right down to the water, scoop some up in a pot, and take it away. It was free. I kept looking around, thinking someone would come to stop us or charge us or something. I suppose we could have been robbed, but no one paid any attention to us. We saw other people getting water in bottles, canteens, pots, and bags, but the place seemed peaceful. No one bothered anyone. No one paid any attention to us.
“A place like this can’t last,” I told Bankole. “It’s a shame. Life could be good here.”
“I suspect that it’s against the law to live here,” he said. “This is a State Recreation Area. There should be some kind of limit on how long you can stay. I’m certain that there should be— used to be— some group policing the place. I wonder if officials of some kind come around to collect bribes now and then.”
“Not while we’re here, I hope.” I dried my hands and arms and waited for him to dry his. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
I didn’t laugh, though I wanted to. I just looked at him.
After a while he frowned and shook his head. In a little more time, he moved back against me, touching my face, my shoulders, my breasts.
“You’re not just eighteen,” he said.
I shrugged.
“When were you born? What year?”
“Twenty oh nine.”
“No.” He drew the word out: “Nooo.”
I kissed him and said in the same tone, “Yesss. Now stop your nonsense. You want to be with me and I want to be with you. We’re not going to split up because of my age, are we?”
After a while he shook his head. “You should have a nice youngster like Travis,” he said. “I should have the sense and the strength to send you off to find one.”
That made me think of Curtis, and I cringed away from thinking of him. I’ve thought as little as possible about Curtis Talcott. He isn’t like my brothers. He may be dead, but none of us ever saw his body. I saw his brother Michael. I was terrified of seeing Curtis himself, but I never did. He may not be dead.
He’s lost to me, but I hope he’s not dead. He should be here with me on the road. I hope he’s alive and all right.
“Who have I reminded you of?” Bankole asked me, his voice soft and deep.
I shook my head. “A boy I knew at home. We were going to get married this year. I don’t even know whether he’s still alive.”
“You loved him?”
TUESDAY, AUGUST 31, 2027
I’ve spent all of today talking, writing, reading, and making love to Bankole. It seems such a luxury not to have to get up, pack, and walk all day. We all lay sprawled around the campsite resting aching muscles, eating, and doing nothing. More people flowed into the area from the highway and made their camps, but none of them bothered us.
