“What happens if he comes home?” Sam asked.
Sometimes in life, people say things. Often without thought, never truly meaning the words they spoke. However, when Burke answered the question presented to me, by saying. “I never liked Mark much. I’ll kill him if you want.” I believed he meant that.
The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted in a partial smile when he glanced at Burke. “You are kidding, right?”
“Nope. Squatter’s rights.” Burke shrugged. “Survival of the fittest. We need his house. If I could have killed him all those times he yelled at me for parking in his driveway, I would have. But… there were laws.”
Dan asked, “Was he that bad?”
“No.” I quickly answered. “And if he comes back, we leave. If he gets angry or violent…” I shifted my eyes to Burke. “Then we’ll let Burke handle it if needed.”
Sam shook his head in such disgust. “That’s not right, it’s the man’s house.”
I chuckled with sarcasm. “And this is coming from a man who’s been ripping him off? Just… plan on him not coming back, OK?”
“What about the people on this list?” Burke asked. “You have all of us doing something to prepare for leaving. But… do you think these people are coming?”
“Yes.” I answered with certainty.
“All of them?” Burke questioned further.
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, I don’t see…” Burke paused to try to remember. “What’s his name? Rod’s friend.”
“Denny.” I replied. “That’s because I really don’t think Denny made it.”
“But you think Mona did?”
“Mona stays. She could very easily be alive.”
“She was in Tulsa.” Burke argued. “What makes you more sure that she’s alive and Denny is not.”
“Because Denny works downtown. I know for a fact that downtown got hit.”
“Yeah, well, Mona is smack dab in the middle of missile silo ally.” Burke pushed my list to me. “She’s a goner.”
That was it. I grabbed and closed my notebook, then stood up. “Forget it. Why do I bother? Go back to discussing, whatever. I’m just trying to add a little order to the weeks ahead.” I flung open the curtain and stormed off into my partitioned area. Dejected that my idea wasn’t welcomed warmly, I plopped down on my sleeping bag. Somehow they must have forgotten that the basement wasn’t all that big, and that the curtains, though a wonderful sense of privacy, were not sound proof. I heard what they said.
“Why did you have to argue?” Sam asked.
“I wasn’t arguing.” Burke said. “I was questioning. You questioned.”
Dan spoke up. “She has a good idea. Like it or not. I know what she’s trying to get at. If you would have just… listened.”
“I did listen.” Burke sounded offended. “That is why I questioned. Granted, I may have been a little hard. But, if Jo wants to make a list of who does what, then Jo should make it realistic. Is she wants order, she’s not going to get it by giving important jobs to people who just won’t be here. It’s been a week. With the exception of Craig, if they ain’t here, they ain’t coming.”
Burke was wrong. He was dead wrong. I wanted to stand up, throw open the dividing curtain and blast my loudest, ‘Fuck you, how can you say that!’
I had preached and preached for people to stay below for two weeks. Maybe they listened and were waiting out the time. Yes, there were some people I had given up on, that was because I knew of their circumstances when the bombs went off. But the others, they stood as good of a chance as anyone. Maybe it was gut instinct, or maybe it was pure unadulterated hope, whatever the case, I wasn’t giving up. I had eight people on that list, and my firm argument was, if I had circled three names already, there was no reason to believe I wouldn't circle the rest.
10. Foolishness by Nature
Civilizations all had different ways to keep track of time. I started referring to time passed as ‘AB’, or ‘After Burke’. Reasoning that everything shifted in energy the day he arrived. Things felt different having him with us. The spark he ignited that made us all want to fight, rekindled a flame that had been extinguished by the bombs. A flame of passion that was desperately needed to battle the odds and conquer what was ahead of us. A flame we hadn’t realized was out, until Burke fired us up. It felt good. It felt alive. And even though it mainly was to gripe about Burke, Matty had added a few more words to her daily repertoire of vocabulary. While most of our need to fight was directed at Burke, we likened it to a practice run for what was ahead.
When the mighty revelation hit me of what all Burke inspired, I wondered if he had done it on purpose. If he had some deeply seeded psychological genius that he hid for decades. An instinctual skill that told him that we all needed some ‘oomph’, and he intentionally played little ‘mind games’ to aid us along. Following an hour-long daydream mental picture of Burke sitting in some Freudian mode, I shucked that idea. He wasn’t being crafty, he was being Burke.
It was three days AB when I had my first true victory over Burke. A ‘Feast your eyes on this’, moment in which I gloated. For his visual benefit I nearly plowed his face into my ‘I’ll be there notebook’ and made him watch as I circled the name ‘Tammy’.
“All right, already! God!” Burke yelled. “I see her!”
But the gloating period had to be kept to a minimum, Tammy had arrived, but she arrived with problems. Physical problems. Nonetheless, Tammy wouldn’t own up to them being anymore than a scratch. For as long as I have known Tammy, an injury never held her back. In fact, there was a sense of ‘boasting’ when it came to Tammy being hurt. She treated her injuries like war wounds, spewing forth great tales about them. Even at times—depending on how she acquired them—she’d brag of them like trophies.
Except this time.
For an odd reason, we couldn’t get from Tammy exact details of what happened. We knew she was near ground zero, but obviously far enough away that she wasn’t vaporized. We also got that she was driving and her truck over turned from the blast. Other than that, she said she took cover, waited until she couldn’t wait anymore then headed our way. Though her long-term goals were with our little group, her short-term goals weren’t; her objectives were a warm bowl of soup, cup of water and a place to rest for a few hours. Then she was heading off to find her teenage son, stopping first at the high school two miles away, then home.
Sam prepared food for Tammy, stating her injuries made him sick. I think Sam was sick and he used Tammy as an excuse. There was, however, a slight odor, sour smelling, that came from the thick gash on her left bicep. Without placing my nose directly to her, I wasn’t able to determine if it was the gash, or the burnt skin around it. Either way, her arm was swollen, and the areas not infected on the limb were deep and red. Burke tended to the arm, I cleaned the abrasions on the side of her face, and Matty applied a band-aid to Tammy’s skinned knee. All while Tammy griped that she wasn’t a baby and for us to quit fussing over her.
Simon must have found the entire scenario very interesting. He made his way over, sneaking in between the three of us playing doctor. Little index finger extended, he’d point awfully close to the wounds while saying, “Does your boo-boo hurt?”
Davy finally pulled Simon away; I know it was for fear that Burke would step on him. He took Simon aside, and colorfully narrated our attempts as if he were reading Simon a book, and we were the words on the page.
“OK, enough.” Tammy aimed her complaint toward Burke. “I told you it doesn’t hurt.”