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I wasn’t sure what kind of look that might be without a uniform, but I answered truthfully all the same.
“No. I was going to be. Shortly before I was supposed to go into the Marines, that’s when it all happened.”
Pictures of that first week, of my mother’s frantic call materialized in my mind:
“Atticus, looters are going house-to-house, day and night,” my mother had said during that phone call that set my life on a different course. “They broke into ours last night—we hid in the attic; we were so afraid! Tara started crying when she heard the men downstairs ransacking the place. I had to put my hand over her mouth so they wouldn’t hear.”
My mother let out a shuddering sob into the receiver; it tore a gash in my heart.
“Josie’s traumatized. She won’t come down from the attic. She won’t eat anything. I had to force water down her throat. Atticus, please come home. I don’t know what to do! There’s nowhere safe we can go. I see fires burning over the city. The Paron’s have left, said they were going to stay with friends in Roanoke. Atticus, they asked me if I wanted to take Tara and Josie and go with them, but the streets are too dangerous, and Roanoke is a long way.”
My mother’s voice rose with a frantic tenor; I shook, grasping the cell phone next to my ear.
“Please come home! Please come home, they’re going to kill us!”
“I’m coming home. I’m leaving right now”—I thrust my feet into my shoes—“I want you to take Tara and enough food and water to last you two days and go back into the attic with Josie, and I want you to stay there. Don’t even go downstairs to use the bathroom”—I grabbed my truck keys from the counter; the cell phone pressed between the side of my face and shoulder, and I stormed out of the apartment—“Don’t come down for anything, and keep the attic door locked. I’ll be there soon.”
I ended the call with a heavy feeling in my chest—it was a long drive. And my mother was right: the roads were dangerous. Despite the odds, I drove the distance without sleep.
I came out of the memory; smoke spiraled in front of my face from the end of my cigar.
“I guess you can say I was a deserter before I even got started.”
I looked down at my hands, unable to hide my shame.
“They wanted me to go that day,” I explained about the military, “straight into the service; drop everything and get on the first plane. They needed every able-bodied person in the efforts to combat the virus, and the chaos in the streets.”
I shook my head, interlocked my fingers and held my hands still. Then I looked back at Esra with a conflicted expression.
“I chose my family. I don’t regret it. I was all my mother and my sisters had. Who would’ve protected them other than me…?” My voice trailed; only after I’d said it did I remember that not even I could protect my family. I’d tried, but my best wasn’t good enough. Not even close.
“Ah,” Esra said with a nod of understanding. “Don’t let it weigh on ya, son. I bet a lot of men did the same thing, faced with the same choice. And like ya said: ya weren’t technically in the military yet. You weren’t a deserter, son; ya just changed your mind last minute is all. Did ya get draft papers?”
“No. “
Esra nodded.
June walked in with the tray on her hands again; four bowls of steaming ‘something’ sat atop it; the smell made my stomach rumble. I didn’t care what it was—I intended to eat it, no questions asked.
“Deer stew,” June said, and held the tray out to Esra first, and then to me.
Eagerly, I took a bowl into my hands; steam rose from the brown mush; parsley flakes floated atop the food, and sprinkles of black pepper and what might’ve been cayenne. I dug right in and filled my grumbling stomach. Definitely deer meat.
After having seconds, I wanted thirds, but didn’t want to feel as though I was taking advantage.
“How do you preserve your meat?” I asked.
Esra gulped down his third glass of pink lemonade and rose from his chair. With the jerk of his head he said, “I’ll show ya,” and I got up and followed him outside onto the back deck.
Esra explained how to build a smoker, which led to conversations about canning and gardening, which somehow led to a short conversation about Texas and the Gulf of Mexico, which ultimately led to the dreaded topic of how long Thais and I intended to stay.
Standing at the railing, my hands dangling over the edge, I gazed out into the tops of the trees. My shoulders rose and fell as I thought about Thais and what I knew had to be done soon.
“We shouldn’t have stayed as long as we have,” I answered. I turned to see Esra on my right. “I know you’ve been here for a long time, had some close calls, but what you said about limits and nobody living forever, is true. But it’s especially true when you’re trying to survive alone.” I looked out at the tops of the trees again. “We’re not going to stay much longer. We can’t. I have to get her somewhere safe.”
“You’re right about survivin’ alone,” Esra said. “But we’re too old to be movin’. I reckon we just stay here for as long as we can, then when our time is up, it’s up, and ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. Jeffrey’s a pretty fast runner,” he went on, “and he might could get away if he had to, but me and my June”—he shook his head—“we ain’t even gonna try runnin’.” He laughed suddenly. “Can you imagine her runnin’?”
I couldn’t imagine either of them running.
