fiction: cold pluto, part four
His name is Morgan and he’s sixteen, Rue is thirteen. We’ve had to do a bit more rearranging, but somehow we all fit. Ziggy is stuck in the trunk again and he softly whimpers his discomfort. Hyeon sits with Joey in her lap while Morgan and Rue squish together. Rue noms on some rice crispy treats and drinks through two bottles of water. Morgan lets her before partaking on anything himself.
Their parents are dead; the dad was first, out helping move bodies with the fire department. There were three other siblings, two girls and one boy, only two. He died in their mother’s arms, then the two sisters and finally the mother, coughing up blood and begging for her living children to stay away.
Rue cries as she chews her food; Hyeon put s a hand on the girl’s shoulder and says something comforting in Korean. After a while, Rue finally starts to fall asleep, using some clothes as pillows pressed against her brother’s side, as if carved from his bones. He eats some nuts and drinks, Ziggy rests his head on the boy’s shoulder.
“We never had a dog before,” he says. His voice is dead pan. “Dad’s allergic.”
“It’s okay,” Joey says, leaning forward so he can be seen. “My dad died too.”
:::
You like bad country music. Like, Willie Nelson bad. Conway Twitty bad. But it’s what your mom liked growing up. You tell me a lot of stuff on those nights where we share a sleeping bag laid out next to the car. When you kiss your way down my chest, across my belly, the dip of my naval. When afterward, you lie on top of me, your head against my chest and my fingers in your hair. You tell me you were so scared to leave the house, but you couldn’t be in the same place she died.
“I’m glad you came along, though.” You say, your lips brushing against my skin.
:::
We have to stop at three gas stations before we find a working pump. This station is a few miles off the interstate in a small town. I compel you to stay away from the big cities and you humor me.
The smell of hay and cows wafts. You pop the cap and grab the pump.
“I’m going to check for supplies,” I announce. Morgan joins me. They don’t really talk a lot either. Rue asks Morgan questions and plays games with Joey. Joey talks to them both non-stop, just happy to have people near his own age to talk to. I hear him trying to teach Hyeon more English.
The lights and power are off and that familiar smell of rot hits us in the face. We don’t find much. The longer it’s been, the few things we find. I try to keep my panic silent. Some cans of nuts and breakfast bars are the only foods we find. Morgan grabs some supplies for the car. Oil and rags, wiper fluid.
“How are we doin’ on supplies?” You ask, hanging up the pump and replacing the cap on the car.
I shrug. We’re still good on things like noodles and the rice; we don’t really stop long enough to do foods like that. “We’ll be okay for now.”
“We’ll be to that camp soon.” You nabbed a map a few hundred miles ago. The thought of a real bed, a mattress and a sink made me inwardly swoon.
The bones in my hip pop and my knees crack. “Want me to drive?”
“Nah.” He puts attention to the kids in the parking lot. “Everyone pee?”
:::
I packed a few sentimental things. An album with all the photographs I could fit. Two stuffed animals that I kept at the bottom of my backpack. Three CDs (though I hardly listen to music now) and all my mother’s jewelry. I wear the rosary she bought in Italy around my neck, made from glass beads and cherry oak wood. A large turquoise ring on my thumb, a piece of costume jewelry, a topaz stone on my middle finger. Jingly silver charm bracelets. A pair of pearl earrings. Joey tells me that the necklace his mother is always twisting was a gift from his father. “Dad got it for her when she moved to America, before I was born.” His father was an American GI. “She tells me that no one had ever given her something so pretty.” He sighs wistfully as he eats beans out of a can.
Morgan and Rue have nothing but the clothes on their backs. We make a stop at a dollar store for supplies. The pickings are slim, but Rue finds a yellow sundress that’s a little long for her, but she’ll grow into it. Morgan grabs some cheap sneakers and some oversized t-shirts.
The smell in here isn’t as bad as the gas stations; dollar stores don’t really carry fresh food. But there are a few bodies in the back, by the cleaning stuff. Hyeon found them and came rushing to us with a handkerchief covering her mouth. “Bodies,” she told us. We nodded and told the kids not to go back there.
I stop at one of the display cases. A cardboard box with flowers and plants on it. Seeds. My heart flutters at the sight of it. Tomatoes and cucumbers, squashes and peppers. Some strawberries and watermelon. Corn. I grab as much as I can fit into my pockets, and then turn to you and start stuffing yours.
You chuckle at me. “What are you doing?”
I look at you as if you’re crazy. “We don’t have to worry,” I say still stuffing. I grab a few flower packets just ‘cause. “When we get to the camp, we’ll have food.” I’m beaming and smiling like a kid. For the first time in three months, I feel like we’re going to be okay.
:::
I’ve been collecting plants every time we pull over to pee or stretch our legs. We all stretch our legs a lot lately. My car was only meant to sit five. Little things for tea or for headaches. For colds or stomach pains. Medication won’t last forever.
Sometimes I sit in the back and you teach Morgan how to drive. He’s a fast learner and you beam with the pride of a father when he drives almost a full two miles without mistake.
:::
When we get to the camp, Camp Washington (not very creative, I think, but who cares?), I’m so happy and scared that I cry a bit. Hyeon and Joey point and tell you where to turn, where to finally stop. We’re at a collection of cabins right by the lake. There’s a dock and some boats.
A man steps out of the smallest cabin, carrying a shotgun bigger than yours. He has long black hair and a worn face, deep set eyes. He points the gun. You stand in front of me, Morgan stands in front of Rue, and Hyeon in front of her son. I’m not scared though; I knew this would happen at some point. Carefully I reach behind me and clutch at the pearl handle of my pistol.
“We’re not sick,” you announce with your hands raised, taking a step forward. “We were just looking for a place to stay.”
He stares us all down from Joey to you, the smallest to the largest. Rue starts to wimping into Morgan’s back. The man lowers his gun and clicks off the safety. He’s dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt that’s stained with grease. “Welcome to Camp Washington.”
:::
His name is Dan Arbuckle and he’s Navajo. Spent half his life on the reservation before meeting the woman of his dreams. “White devil my grandmother called her,” he chuckles and pours us all tea. He’s been cleaning up some of the cabin and the grounds, waiting for his grown children to try and find him. They had all scattered around the world, the spirit of the sky strong with them. They came to this camp as a family when they were all much younger. “It was a special time and place for us,” he says with a shine to his eyes. “If they survived, I know they’ll come here.”
There’s a little bit of electricity, things are run on generators. There are a lot of cabins on the ground, some with just beds, others, like where he’s been staying, where we sit now, have small kitchenettes and bedrooms, a tiny living area. “Water seems to run fine,” he says. “Not sure where it comes from, but it gets you clean.”
The thought of a shower makes everyone swoon.
As I sip my tea I look around his modest housing. In the living area there is a small couch were you, Rue and I sit. A chair where Hyeon sits. Dan sits on a stool, Morgan and Joey sit on the floor. Joey plays with one of his toy cars.
Dan tells us that the fishing is superb and he’s even caught a few rabbits. He didn’t want to venture too far from the camp, but he knows there are deer in the area. I tell him about the seeds I found.
“Wonderful,” he gleams. “There’s a small gardening area up the hill. Some tomatoes coming up all ready.”
“I can start planting tomorrow.” It’s May all ready, and if we wait too long, we won’t have anything during the summer.
After tea, Dan shows us the grounds. The area he’s been staying, he’s cleaned up. Cut back all the weeds and the long grass. He’s cleaned five of the twelve cabins, tended to that tiny garden. It was something for him to do while he waited.
Hyeon, Joey, Morgan and Rue will share the double-cabin. Two bedrooms and a kitchenette larger than the one in Dan’s. You and I share a cabin. We don’t discuss it, it just happens. Our cabins are right next to each other, with Dan’s across the way.
:::
We unpack the car and I park it by the cabin. Morgan, Joey and Rue go down to the lake with Ziggy and all four of them seem to be having the time of their life. Our cabin is a little dusty; I open all the windows and the front door, the screen is holding on by the hinges. There’s no air-conditioning, but that is a little fan which won’t get much use; Dan only has the power on a few hours a night. Everyone decided that the water would be on starting at ten and then shut off at seven. We never knew when anything would stop working.
There’s a fridge that’s been unplugged, but cleaned, so I put the rest of the canned goods and noodles to save space. In the one set of cabinets by the sink, I put the medicine, the dried herbs and flowers. I pause at the sink; I see the lake from where I stand, bright yellow sun glinting off the lapping water. The kids are playing at the shore and Ziggy dives in and out of the water. I reach over to open the window and a breeze hits me in the face.
You drop the duffel bags in the bedroom which I have yet to go and see. Our living room only has the small couch, moth-bitten and a little saggy. The table in the center of the room creaks, and so does the bed. I hear you testing it out, sitting and then standing up. Sitting again and doing a tiny bounce. But it’s a mattress.
You come out and wipe under your nose. “Kinda smells.”
“We just need to air it out a bit.”
“Yeah.”
You investigate the bathroom, which turns out to just be a toilet and a shower stall, barely enough room to fit a person. But I’m so happy about running water, I don’t care; I don’t think you do either.
I keep watching the lake and you stand next to me, letting out a sigh. You press your hands on the counter; the light catches in your ring. Our fingers touch. “This is nice though,” you say.
“Yeah.”
“I thought we’d just spend the rest of our lives drivin’ around.”
I shrug. “It wouldn’t have been so bad.”
“Naw. Not with the company.” You wink and kiss my cheek.
Outside, Morgan throws a stick into the lake and Ziggy dives for it.
:::
That night in what used to be a dining hall, Dan and I make a big dinner. He has some fish and rabbit and cooks them up with some of the herbs that I have. I make pasta flavored with ramen powder. It’s the biggest meal any of us have had in weeks. I eat until I’m full and then past that. I can barely move, so happy to have meat again. I’m secretly thrilled at the prospect of deer; you and Dan are going in the morning. Your daddy took you and your brother hunting as kids.
My daddy wanted to take me, but I didn’t have the heart in my to actually kill anything. But he took me target shoot and I’m very good at that.
Morgan is going to teach Joey how to fish. Dan leaves the fishing poles and hooks on one of the tables for them.
It’s a little awkward back at my cabin, when it’s just you and me again; I start to unpack my duffel. There’s a closet with some shelves, but no hangers. I do the best to consolidate my stuff so you’ll have room too, but you leave your stuff in the duffel and toss the duffel into the closet. I have a pillow and you fluff up some of your flannel shirts for yours. We don’t talk about sharing the bed; but I pulled on a sheet over the lumpy mattress, put another one at the foot.
“So,” you say, sitting on the mattress, doing that bounce again, springing your feet.
“So?” I laugh and drop my empty duffel on the floor. I put my album on the very top shelf and the books. For the first time in a while, I take off the jewelry and put it in the drawer of the nightstand. My ears are sore. You grab me by the hips as I pass, and yank me down on to your lap, my legs on either side of yours. “What are you doing?”
Your answer is your mouth on mine, your hands slipping under my shirt and up my back. Tonight is different from all those times in the sleeping bag outside of the car. You strip me and lay me out on the bed. You map out my body with your hands and mouth. Slow and almost filthy the way your tongue dips into me, the light scrape of your teeth. You make me come hard, so hard that my hips buck into your face and you chuckle when you pull away, wiping your mouth. “Almost got my nose.”
“Sorry.” I pant and you move back up my body, stroking your hand down my side, your erection pressing against my thigh, ready, yearning. You kiss me and your lips taste of arousal and come, the sharp tang of myself. I suck on your tongue and bite at your bottom lip. You move to nudge apart my legs, but I push you on the chest, easing you to your back.
I ride you with lazy long strokes. “Liv,” you say, reaching up to catch my mouth, to run your teeth across my chest.
We fall asleep listening to the static of the weather radio and the waves just outside our door.