He was seeing a world of total darkness.
So was Astrid. And though it made no sense she worried about her tents. The ropes needed tightening periodically or they would start to sag. And the fabric of the tent itself needed checking, because small tears got bigger fast, and beetles and ants were very good at finding such openings.
She recalled once waking up in the tent to find a steady stream of ants crossing right over her face and picking at a morsel of food she’d let fall. She had jumped up and run for the water, but not before the ants panicked at her panic and bit her a dozen times.
She could smile at the memory now. At the time it had made her cry at the weirdness and sadness of her stupid life.
But she had learned from that. And there had never again been so much as a crumb of anything edible in her tent.
And what about the time she found a snake in her boot? Lesson learned there, too.
If no one picked her blackberries, the birds would get them.
She went on this way for a while, fully aware of the fact that she was nostalgic over things that had usually been pretty miserable, realizing that she was as trapped as Sam in waiting, waiting, waiting for doom.
The image of the coyote with the human face and legs came suddenly to mind. It knocked the breath out of her.
BANG. BANG. She could hear the sound of the gun better in memory than she had at the time. At the time she’d been numb. Now she recalled, too, the way the gun bucked. The way the abomination bled out in the sand.
The way the little girl’s face relaxed in death and the blind eyes filmed over.
What terrible thing was happening? Why couldn’t she figure it out? Why couldn’t she help Sam to pull off one more impossible victory?
One of the great reliefs about living on her own had been the fact that she had no expectations to meet. She didn’t have to be Astrid the Genius, or Astrid the Mayor, or Astrid Sam’s girlfriend, or Why-won’t-she-shut-up Astrid.
All she’d had to do was get enough food to eat each day. A huge accomplishment that was all hers.
Sam had binoculars to his eyes. He checked the barrier. Then swung them inland.
“Mo’s on his way,” he said. He shifted slightly. “So is Howard, out in front of him by a quarter mile. He’s just… Okay, now I can’t see him.” He lowered the binoculars. “Figures. Howard’s heading to his still to bring back one more shipment of booze.”
Astrid made a wry smile. “Life goes on, I guess.”
Sam frowned. “You were telling me something. Earlier.”
“Get back to work. If I need you to worry, I’ll let you know.”
“Very funny.” He almost smiled.
He looked suddenly very young. Well, he was, Astrid supposed. So was she. But they’d forgotten about all that in this world where they were the elders. He looked like a kid, a teenager, a boy who ought to be yelling happily as he ran into the surf with his board.
That image made her hurt. A tear welled. She pretended to have a speck of dust in her eye and wiped it away.
He wasn’t fooled. He put his arms around her and drew her close. She couldn’t look at him for fear of crying. She couldn’t see the fear in him and not want to just hold him like he was a little boy.
“No,” he whispered. “You have to open your eyes, Astrid. I don’t know how many more times I’ll see them.”
Her cheek was wet when she pressed it to his.
“I want to make love to you again,” he said.
“I want to make love to you, Sam,” she answered. “We’re scared.”
He nodded and she saw his jaw clench. “Inappropriate, I guess.”
“Human,” she said. “Most of human history people huddled, scared in the dark. Living in little huts with their animals. Believing the woods around them were haunted by spirits. Wolves and werewolves. Terrors. People would hold on to each other. So that they wouldn’t be so afraid.”
“I have to ask you to do something dangerous soon,” Sam said.
“You want me to go out and check the measurements again.”
“I know we were thinking tomorrow morning....”
She nodded. “I think it’s growing faster than that. I think you’re right. I think we need to know whether we’ll have a sunrise tomorrow.”
His face was bleak. He wasn’t looking at her, but past her. He looked like he wanted to cry but knew it was futile.
Once again she saw him as he must have been once upon a time, long, long ago. A big, good-looking boy out in the waves, trading jokes with Quinn, giddy that they were skipping school. Happy and carefree.
She imagined him drawing strength from the sun beating down on his brown shoulders.
The FAYZ had finally found the way to beat Sam Temple. Without light he would not survive. When the final night came with no prospect of dawn, he would be done.
She kissed him. He did not kiss her back, just gazed at the growing stain.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, Sinder had been very fond of black. She had painted her fingernails black. Dyed her brown hair jet-black. Donned clothing that was either black or some secondary color chosen to accentuate the black.
Now her color was green. She loved green. Carrots were orange and tomatoes were red, but each lived within green. The green turned light into food.
“How cool is photosynthesis?” Sinder called to Jezzie, who was a half dozen rows away, down on her knees, searching with deadly focus for weeds, bugs, or disease that might endanger her beloved plants. An overprotective mother had nothing on Jezzie. The girl hated weeds with a burning passion.
So was Astrid. And though it made no sense she worried about her tents. The ropes needed tightening periodically or they would start to sag. And the fabric of the tent itself needed checking, because small tears got bigger fast, and beetles and ants were very good at finding such openings.
She recalled once waking up in the tent to find a steady stream of ants crossing right over her face and picking at a morsel of food she’d let fall. She had jumped up and run for the water, but not before the ants panicked at her panic and bit her a dozen times.
She could smile at the memory now. At the time it had made her cry at the weirdness and sadness of her stupid life.
But she had learned from that. And there had never again been so much as a crumb of anything edible in her tent.
And what about the time she found a snake in her boot? Lesson learned there, too.
If no one picked her blackberries, the birds would get them.
She went on this way for a while, fully aware of the fact that she was nostalgic over things that had usually been pretty miserable, realizing that she was as trapped as Sam in waiting, waiting, waiting for doom.
The image of the coyote with the human face and legs came suddenly to mind. It knocked the breath out of her.
BANG. BANG. She could hear the sound of the gun better in memory than she had at the time. At the time she’d been numb. Now she recalled, too, the way the gun bucked. The way the abomination bled out in the sand.
The way the little girl’s face relaxed in death and the blind eyes filmed over.
What terrible thing was happening? Why couldn’t she figure it out? Why couldn’t she help Sam to pull off one more impossible victory?
One of the great reliefs about living on her own had been the fact that she had no expectations to meet. She didn’t have to be Astrid the Genius, or Astrid the Mayor, or Astrid Sam’s girlfriend, or Why-won’t-she-shut-up Astrid.
All she’d had to do was get enough food to eat each day. A huge accomplishment that was all hers.
Sam had binoculars to his eyes. He checked the barrier. Then swung them inland.
“Mo’s on his way,” he said. He shifted slightly. “So is Howard, out in front of him by a quarter mile. He’s just… Okay, now I can’t see him.” He lowered the binoculars. “Figures. Howard’s heading to his still to bring back one more shipment of booze.”
Astrid made a wry smile. “Life goes on, I guess.”
Sam frowned. “You were telling me something. Earlier.”
“Get back to work. If I need you to worry, I’ll let you know.”
“Very funny.” He almost smiled.
He looked suddenly very young. Well, he was, Astrid supposed. So was she. But they’d forgotten about all that in this world where they were the elders. He looked like a kid, a teenager, a boy who ought to be yelling happily as he ran into the surf with his board.
That image made her hurt. A tear welled. She pretended to have a speck of dust in her eye and wiped it away.
He wasn’t fooled. He put his arms around her and drew her close. She couldn’t look at him for fear of crying. She couldn’t see the fear in him and not want to just hold him like he was a little boy.
“No,” he whispered. “You have to open your eyes, Astrid. I don’t know how many more times I’ll see them.”
Her cheek was wet when she pressed it to his.
“I want to make love to you again,” he said.
“I want to make love to you, Sam,” she answered. “We’re scared.”
He nodded and she saw his jaw clench. “Inappropriate, I guess.”
“Human,” she said. “Most of human history people huddled, scared in the dark. Living in little huts with their animals. Believing the woods around them were haunted by spirits. Wolves and werewolves. Terrors. People would hold on to each other. So that they wouldn’t be so afraid.”
“I have to ask you to do something dangerous soon,” Sam said.
“You want me to go out and check the measurements again.”
“I know we were thinking tomorrow morning....”
She nodded. “I think it’s growing faster than that. I think you’re right. I think we need to know whether we’ll have a sunrise tomorrow.”
His face was bleak. He wasn’t looking at her, but past her. He looked like he wanted to cry but knew it was futile.
Once again she saw him as he must have been once upon a time, long, long ago. A big, good-looking boy out in the waves, trading jokes with Quinn, giddy that they were skipping school. Happy and carefree.
She imagined him drawing strength from the sun beating down on his brown shoulders.
The FAYZ had finally found the way to beat Sam Temple. Without light he would not survive. When the final night came with no prospect of dawn, he would be done.
She kissed him. He did not kiss her back, just gazed at the growing stain.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, Sinder had been very fond of black. She had painted her fingernails black. Dyed her brown hair jet-black. Donned clothing that was either black or some secondary color chosen to accentuate the black.
Now her color was green. She loved green. Carrots were orange and tomatoes were red, but each lived within green. The green turned light into food.
“How cool is photosynthesis?” Sinder called to Jezzie, who was a half dozen rows away, down on her knees, searching with deadly focus for weeds, bugs, or disease that might endanger her beloved plants. An overprotective mother had nothing on Jezzie. The girl hated weeds with a burning passion.
