The tarp would make three loads. In between each load, he would snack on something that the women at the compound prepared for him. It was never enough to make him feel full. He missed the feeling of being full. His stomach grumbled in agreement. But it was always enough to keep him going. They were stingy with the bear meat. It seemed that when he had first brought it back to the compound that it was enough to feed them for months, but the supply had disappeared over the last few weeks.
Time passed strange now, amongst the snow and the trees with no leaves. As he pondered the peculiarities of time, the compound came into sight. The snow around the compound had drifted against the trailer walls, making them seem less tall. He thought that a particularly good athlete could run up those snowdrifts and jump right on top of the trailers. He prayed silently that the dead would never learn to run. That would be the end of the compound and everyone inside.
He tugged and pulled the tarp across the broken ground in front of the gate. He heard the rattle of the chain, and then he saw Tammy's smiling face. He liked Tammy. She was nice. Theresa and Liz, despite the pact, were still cold to him. He didn't know if it had anything to do with him being black, but he knew that could be an issue for them. They had them backwoods accents, and they didn't speak like Joan and Katie. His experience with people that talked like that had always been a fifty-fifty proposition. But Tammy, she had no fear of him. He was thankful for that. He didn't like the idea of people thinking poorly of him. Never had. Even when he was homeless, if someone gave him a negative glance or a look that said, "You disgust me," he would feel self-conscious and find a way to leave that person's presence. Those were most of the looks he had received back then.
"Got more wood, I see," Tammy said.
She always said it, but Mort liked it. It felt good—like a ritual—like the way his father had always made them say grace before a meal. He hadn't known what the words meant back then, but he liked the familiarity of them, the predictability. That was about the only predictable thing he had ever had in his life when he was a kid.
"Yep. This oughta keep us warm for a while," he said. It was what he always said. They smiled at each other, and Mort thought he caught something in her eye. He smiled and shook his head. I must be losing it. What does a woman like that want with a bum like me?
Tammy bent down to help him drag the tarp, and he said, "I got it. You all need to rest. Growing babies is hard work. That's what Joan says."
"I know," Tammy said, "but I get to just feelin' so useless all the time."
"I bet, in another month, you're going to wish you was feeling useless. When that baby comes, you ain't gonna have time to feel that way." He didn't know if the words were true, but the way the women talked about what it would be like to raise the kids, he thought that maybe it was. He knew as much about raising kids as he did about trigonometry. He had heard it was a thing that other people did, but he had never done it himself.
He dragged the tarp to the woodpile, under the shelter of an overhanging portion of the ranger station roof. Logs upon logs. He wondered how many more logs he would have to collect before they could get out of this place. Joan had shared their plan of escaping to the ocean with the others. Tammy and Liz had both liked the plan, but Theresa had fought a bit, saying that the beach could be just as bad as it was at the ranger station, perhaps even worse.
They didn't have much in the way of argument for Theresa's complaints, and in the end, it came down to personal preference. Theresa, seeing that everyone else wanted to make it to the ocean, eventually relented and said that she would go with them when the time came. Now they just needed time to speed up and the weather to change so they could get the hell out of the forest.
When the wood was stacked, he grabbed a couple of logs and headed over to the fire. He threw them on the flames and then sat on an upended plastic bucket, waiting for his hands to get warm. Joan and Katie sat next to the fire staring into its coals, and Tammy moved around preparing the dinner. There was no sign of Theresa, Liz, or Dez. Dez spent most of her time in the ranger cabin, carving her hate into the walls. Theresa and Liz were a bit of a surprise. Katie said they were in love. Mort didn't quite understand how that worked. He tried to imagine the particulars of it, but he just didn't get it.
"How was it out there?" Joan asked.
"It was good. I only had to kill one of the dead. It was quiet."
"Could you have ever imagined saying, 'I only had to kill one of the dead,' and it being a good thing?"
"Nope," Mort said. "But it's a strange world these days."
"Lemme see your hands," Joan said.
She always did that. She had spent a good part of an hour explaining the dangers of frostbite when he had come back from gathering wood
