fiction: cold pluto, part three
You’re really easy to talk to. And we talk about little stuff mostly. What we happened on both our ends. You were able to last a bit longer than me because you had more money. You don’t say this, but I know that’s why. You still carry your wallet though you tell me you know that money is probably worthless at this point. You like my stash of books.
“All I packed were clothes and food.”
After about three hours, you drive and for the first time, I start to relax, leaning against the door. Ziggy watches out the window, sometimes sticking his head between us for attention. You pet him and it’s like you two are best friends all ready. You sasid you didn’t have dogs, “Angelica was allergic,” You say. Your eyes get misty and you stop talking. I assume that she died, why else would you be alone.
“I’m sorry,” I say, offering a limp smile.
“It’s okay.” You stretch your shoulders and tighten your grip on the wheel.
I decide to take a nap. When I wake up you’re talking to Ziggy. I can tell that you’ve been crying, but you don’t say anything about it. Just offer to pull over so we can all have a bathroom break.
:::
I get used to it just being the two of us, and it’s kind of eerie. When there isn’t anyone else around, as if the whole purpose of the sickness was so the two of us could meet and hang out. We slow down a bit. Start having bon fires in fields where we drive the car. You tell me stories about Texas, about your struggles getting a gig moving out to LA. It was a few years before you were able to do anything besides wait tables and do some pretty good roles at the community theater down the street from your first apartment. You thought about quitting a thousand times. “But my daddy told me to keep tryin’.” You remember fondly.
I tell you about the little herb shop I worked at. How I knew what plants could help with what maladies. About my mother dying in the accident, my father of the sickness. I cry a little bit and you reach over to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. I cry against your chest, and drape my arm over your stomach. “I’m sorry,” I say.
You kind of laugh, I feel it deep in your chest, your whole body vibrating. “Sweetheart, we’ve both got’alota cry about.” And you kiss the top of my head.
The small fire that we made flickers out with the wind as we hold each other. Ziggy lays is head in my lap. We’re leaning against the car, I hear your head bump against it as you look up to the sky. Eventually I look up to, wiping under my eyes. Indigo is the color of the sky, and the stars are like little pinpricks. We can see the edge of the Milky Way. And for a second, I’m glad that we’re able to see it.
:::
We’ve been getting our supplies at gas stations that smell of rot and decay. I always hold my breath when you pull back the door for me-always the gentleman-and we duck in. I grab the granola bars and trail mix. Boxes of cereal and canned stuff. Some of the gas stations are empty, and most of the ones we come across don’t have much at all. We’re good for now, but eventually we’ll run out, and I don’t know what to do.
Just when I think we’re the only two left, and he’s talking about maybe starting to go through houses for stuff, we find two other people. Like when I met you, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. It’s my turn to drive and you have the seat pushed back almost the whole way. Ziggy is sticking his nose in the wedge between the seat and door so he can smell the air.
A small car, shiny and the color of the ocean, sits diagonal on the road. Like someone coming out of a parallel park. The closer we get, I see that there is a woman in the front seat, her face buried in her hands, jet black hair curtaining her face. She’s crying. A small arm is over her shoulders, and then is pointing. It’s a little boy.
She lifts her head and looks at us. I slow down the car and she steps out of hers. The little boy scrambles over his seat and out the door. She’s Korean and strikingly beautiful. The jet black hair blows in the wind, she wears a long skirt and a green t-shirt. She holds tight to the boy’s hand while the other twists a gem on her necklace.
“Are you sick?” the boy asks.
“No,” you answer. “Are you guys okay?”
He nods. “We were trying to turn around when the car stopped.” The mother tugs on his arm and asks him something in Korean while keeping her eyes on you and me. He answers back. “Mom wants to know where you’re going.”
“We don’t know,” I say. “Just trying to make it through.”
He translates to his mother who speaks back. “We were going to Washington. There’s a camp up there that me and Dad used to go to during the summer. There are cabins and a lake. We were going to eat fish.”
The mother speaks some more. “Do you know anything about cars?”
I don’t, you do a little bit and you look under the hood and fiddle. I stand with Ziggy, clutching to the leash. The boy, who’s name is Joey, pets Ziggy. His mother, Hyeon doesn’t move from her spot against the car.
“Mom doesn’t speak a lot of English,” Joey says.
You slam shut the lid and Hyeon jumps a bit, but calms herself by clutching to that gem.
“I’m sorry,” you tell Joey. “But the radiator is busted. It’s been leaking. Can’t fix that without taking it to a shop.” You wipe your greased hands on your jeans. Joey tells Hyeon.
Her mouth stays tight-lip. She touches her son’s face and hair, then puts her attention on you. “Thank you,” she says.
“We can drive you,” you say, almost panicked. My grip on Ziggy’s leash tightens. “I mean, we all gotta go some where.” You smile at her, an award-winning smile, all teeth (that you said you suffered five years of braces for) and eyes. I like your eyes. They’re gray, the color of mist and you have long and dark eyelashes. I haven’t said any of this to you of course, but I think about it sometimes while I’m tying to sleep.
“Really?” Joey’s face lights up like the sun. He translates to Hyeon who looks with disbelief, holding tight to her charm.
“Yeah,” you answer. Hyeon looks as if she’s going to cry, and she does a bit when she wraps her little arms around you. You’re almost a giant compared to her. She lets go and speaks with Joey and they start to get things out of the trunk. We go back to my car and you start rearranging the car. The things we had been keeping on the floor in the back seat to the trunk. I don’t know where you learned how to organize, but everything seem to fit nicely.
I folded my arms and leaned against the side.
“Are you mad?” You ask me, pausing to look at me.
“No.” I touch your chin. “No, it’s a good thing.”
I drive now, with you sitting next to me, and Hyeon and Joey in the back seat. Joey talks a mile a minute and happily lets Ziggy lick his face.
:::
You like the sound of running water, you tell me one afternoon when we have the car pulled over the side of the road and it’s raining so hard that I think we might float away. Hyeon is working on something in her lap, knitting or something. Joey is taking a nap.
We have the windows rolled down and the heavy wet air moves through the car. I feel it in my lungs. You’re in the driver’s seat and I’m stretched out, my legs in your lap. You run a hand over my ankle, your thumb caressing the bone there.
“Rain reminds me of home,” you say, dipping your head a bit out the window.
“In Texas?”
“It rains in Texas.” Your voice is soft and you lean back in the seat.
:::
Sleeping has become slightly more difficult with four people. Hyeon lets Joey have the length of the back seat that he shares with Ziggy and she sleeps on the floor with blankets and pillows. Normally you and I sleep reclined in the front seats, but sometimes we camp outside the car in sleeping bags. A tiny fire between us and the open field.
I’m not stupid; I know that not everyone we come across, if we come across anyone else, will be kind. Humans are a terrible breed of animal. Greedy, forced to do unthinkable things when the unthinkable happens. I still carry my gun on me at all times, but I don’t let Joey see it. Your shotgun is under all the crap in the trunk and we both keep bullets in the glove compartment.
Tonight it’s warm out, the weather has been changing. Flowers blooming and leaves coming out of their buds light and shiny green. The tree frogs make an overwhelming sound and I’m surprised anyone can sleep.
“Here.” You pass me a bottle. I read the label. Jack Daniels.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I say with a grin.
You shrug. “Seems like a gooda time as any.”
We drink out of the plastic cups we lifted from a gas station in Oregon. I’m on my third shot and my head is spinning, but you seem to be doing fine, a little wobbly though. Your eyes sort of gleam in the fire light.
The silence of the outdoors starts to get to me; the wind whipping of the tree branches, the songs of those stupid frogs and crickets. It drives me mad that I can’t hear past them, hear for other survivors and cars. I still haven’t ruled out the possibility of zombies.
You give me another shot. “Trying to get me drunk?” I knock back.
“Can’t think of a better time and place.” You start drinking from the bottle.
When it’s half-way empty you start talking, telling me about how you waited out the sickness in the basement of your home with your wife. It was kind of cool for a while, until she got sick. She lasted a week, she always had a terrible immune system. You buried her in the back yard, next to the flower bed of purple irises. I want to cry, but I don’t. Suddenly I’m glad that I was alone, that Mom was gone and I had no siblings. That Daddy was so far away.
“I’m sorry,” I say and roll a stone between my palms. You shrug and we both take another shot. I feel heavy and warm with tingling fingers. My skin hums in tune with those damn frogs.
You touch my cheek and tuck hair behind my ear. It falls right back against my face. You’re looking at me, but past me at the same time. I know you’re going to kiss me, and you do, a little sloppy at first, and I think maybe I should stop you, we’ve both had too much to drink, but your hands are quick to pop the buttons of my shirt, the naked feeling of your fingertips on my skin makes me shiver and I’m on my back, shifting my legs to make room for your frame.
There’s not much foreplay, your fingers play a quick tune inside of me while I struggle with your belt and jeans; the pants and boxers get as far as your thighs and you’re inside of me, jerky snapping hips, your hands tangled in the curls of my hair.
The next morning, there are leaves in my hair and my hip hurts from lying on the one side all night.
Hyeon is sitting on the other side of me. A new fire has been built and she’s boiling water. Her smiles are always tight-lipped, but she is smiling at me and says, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” I sit up. Joey is to our side with Ziggy’s leash.
You come to sit next to me and hand me a mug of coffee, that instant stuff from a can that we picked up back in Nevada. Some of the grounds stick in my back teeth as I sip. The water is warm though.
It’s decided that you need a map to finish getting to the camp. Hyeon knows the city. She had driving the boys up there a few times.
Everyone pees and I feed Ziggy half a can of food. There isn’t much left and I’m panicking at that thought. I write dog food in marker in my hand. When we get into the car I pass out the bags of dry cereal for breakfast. You start the car and we’re back on the interstate. As the sun rises from behind us (I’m not used to driving west) you reach over and take my hand, glance at the writing and then kiss my knuckles.
:::
Forty miles stretch on the highway, yellow hot sun and dry wind licking through the car. We won’t turn on the A/C anymore, it uses too much gas and we never know when the next gas pump will work.
You’re still at the wheel, strumming your fingers against your thigh. Down the road, I think I see something in the middle, figures in a tiny shape waving their arms. “Slow down,” I say, sitting up and trying to see at a better angle.
You stop the van ten feet from a tall blond boy, a teenage by the looks of it, and a tiny girl clutching to his side, her face buried in his t-shirt. He lowers his arms. They both shake, their bodies entwined like trees.
The engine still runs and I reach over to turn down the keys. I open the door and slowly step out. They flinch and stand back, as if startled by the notion that someone has actually stopped for them. As I approach, the girl ducks behind the boy.
“Are you sick?” he asks, trying to sound brave. His face is pink with dried blood.
“No,” I tell him. “No, none of us are sick. Are you okay?”
He nods. “It’s okay, Rue.” He pulls his sister forward, but keeps his hand on her arm.
“Are you sick?” I find myself asking. I have to ask.
“No.”
Thank God. I didn’t want to have to abandon them. I look past them to the woods they must have stumbled from. “Is there anyone else with you?”
He shakes his head and Rue starts to cry.
“Want to come with us?”
:::
o
“All I packed were clothes and food.”
After about three hours, you drive and for the first time, I start to relax, leaning against the door. Ziggy watches out the window, sometimes sticking his head between us for attention. You pet him and it’s like you two are best friends all ready. You sasid you didn’t have dogs, “Angelica was allergic,” You say. Your eyes get misty and you stop talking. I assume that she died, why else would you be alone.
“I’m sorry,” I say, offering a limp smile.
“It’s okay.” You stretch your shoulders and tighten your grip on the wheel.
I decide to take a nap. When I wake up you’re talking to Ziggy. I can tell that you’ve been crying, but you don’t say anything about it. Just offer to pull over so we can all have a bathroom break.
:::
I get used to it just being the two of us, and it’s kind of eerie. When there isn’t anyone else around, as if the whole purpose of the sickness was so the two of us could meet and hang out. We slow down a bit. Start having bon fires in fields where we drive the car. You tell me stories about Texas, about your struggles getting a gig moving out to LA. It was a few years before you were able to do anything besides wait tables and do some pretty good roles at the community theater down the street from your first apartment. You thought about quitting a thousand times. “But my daddy told me to keep tryin’.” You remember fondly.
I tell you about the little herb shop I worked at. How I knew what plants could help with what maladies. About my mother dying in the accident, my father of the sickness. I cry a little bit and you reach over to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. I cry against your chest, and drape my arm over your stomach. “I’m sorry,” I say.
You kind of laugh, I feel it deep in your chest, your whole body vibrating. “Sweetheart, we’ve both got’alota cry about.” And you kiss the top of my head.
The small fire that we made flickers out with the wind as we hold each other. Ziggy lays is head in my lap. We’re leaning against the car, I hear your head bump against it as you look up to the sky. Eventually I look up to, wiping under my eyes. Indigo is the color of the sky, and the stars are like little pinpricks. We can see the edge of the Milky Way. And for a second, I’m glad that we’re able to see it.
:::
We’ve been getting our supplies at gas stations that smell of rot and decay. I always hold my breath when you pull back the door for me-always the gentleman-and we duck in. I grab the granola bars and trail mix. Boxes of cereal and canned stuff. Some of the gas stations are empty, and most of the ones we come across don’t have much at all. We’re good for now, but eventually we’ll run out, and I don’t know what to do.
Just when I think we’re the only two left, and he’s talking about maybe starting to go through houses for stuff, we find two other people. Like when I met you, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. It’s my turn to drive and you have the seat pushed back almost the whole way. Ziggy is sticking his nose in the wedge between the seat and door so he can smell the air.
A small car, shiny and the color of the ocean, sits diagonal on the road. Like someone coming out of a parallel park. The closer we get, I see that there is a woman in the front seat, her face buried in her hands, jet black hair curtaining her face. She’s crying. A small arm is over her shoulders, and then is pointing. It’s a little boy.
She lifts her head and looks at us. I slow down the car and she steps out of hers. The little boy scrambles over his seat and out the door. She’s Korean and strikingly beautiful. The jet black hair blows in the wind, she wears a long skirt and a green t-shirt. She holds tight to the boy’s hand while the other twists a gem on her necklace.
“Are you sick?” the boy asks.
“No,” you answer. “Are you guys okay?”
He nods. “We were trying to turn around when the car stopped.” The mother tugs on his arm and asks him something in Korean while keeping her eyes on you and me. He answers back. “Mom wants to know where you’re going.”
“We don’t know,” I say. “Just trying to make it through.”
He translates to his mother who speaks back. “We were going to Washington. There’s a camp up there that me and Dad used to go to during the summer. There are cabins and a lake. We were going to eat fish.”
The mother speaks some more. “Do you know anything about cars?”
I don’t, you do a little bit and you look under the hood and fiddle. I stand with Ziggy, clutching to the leash. The boy, who’s name is Joey, pets Ziggy. His mother, Hyeon doesn’t move from her spot against the car.
“Mom doesn’t speak a lot of English,” Joey says.
You slam shut the lid and Hyeon jumps a bit, but calms herself by clutching to that gem.
“I’m sorry,” you tell Joey. “But the radiator is busted. It’s been leaking. Can’t fix that without taking it to a shop.” You wipe your greased hands on your jeans. Joey tells Hyeon.
Her mouth stays tight-lip. She touches her son’s face and hair, then puts her attention on you. “Thank you,” she says.
“We can drive you,” you say, almost panicked. My grip on Ziggy’s leash tightens. “I mean, we all gotta go some where.” You smile at her, an award-winning smile, all teeth (that you said you suffered five years of braces for) and eyes. I like your eyes. They’re gray, the color of mist and you have long and dark eyelashes. I haven’t said any of this to you of course, but I think about it sometimes while I’m tying to sleep.
“Really?” Joey’s face lights up like the sun. He translates to Hyeon who looks with disbelief, holding tight to her charm.
“Yeah,” you answer. Hyeon looks as if she’s going to cry, and she does a bit when she wraps her little arms around you. You’re almost a giant compared to her. She lets go and speaks with Joey and they start to get things out of the trunk. We go back to my car and you start rearranging the car. The things we had been keeping on the floor in the back seat to the trunk. I don’t know where you learned how to organize, but everything seem to fit nicely.
I folded my arms and leaned against the side.
“Are you mad?” You ask me, pausing to look at me.
“No.” I touch your chin. “No, it’s a good thing.”
I drive now, with you sitting next to me, and Hyeon and Joey in the back seat. Joey talks a mile a minute and happily lets Ziggy lick his face.
:::
You like the sound of running water, you tell me one afternoon when we have the car pulled over the side of the road and it’s raining so hard that I think we might float away. Hyeon is working on something in her lap, knitting or something. Joey is taking a nap.
We have the windows rolled down and the heavy wet air moves through the car. I feel it in my lungs. You’re in the driver’s seat and I’m stretched out, my legs in your lap. You run a hand over my ankle, your thumb caressing the bone there.
“Rain reminds me of home,” you say, dipping your head a bit out the window.
“In Texas?”
“It rains in Texas.” Your voice is soft and you lean back in the seat.
:::
Sleeping has become slightly more difficult with four people. Hyeon lets Joey have the length of the back seat that he shares with Ziggy and she sleeps on the floor with blankets and pillows. Normally you and I sleep reclined in the front seats, but sometimes we camp outside the car in sleeping bags. A tiny fire between us and the open field.
I’m not stupid; I know that not everyone we come across, if we come across anyone else, will be kind. Humans are a terrible breed of animal. Greedy, forced to do unthinkable things when the unthinkable happens. I still carry my gun on me at all times, but I don’t let Joey see it. Your shotgun is under all the crap in the trunk and we both keep bullets in the glove compartment.
Tonight it’s warm out, the weather has been changing. Flowers blooming and leaves coming out of their buds light and shiny green. The tree frogs make an overwhelming sound and I’m surprised anyone can sleep.
“Here.” You pass me a bottle. I read the label. Jack Daniels.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I say with a grin.
You shrug. “Seems like a gooda time as any.”
We drink out of the plastic cups we lifted from a gas station in Oregon. I’m on my third shot and my head is spinning, but you seem to be doing fine, a little wobbly though. Your eyes sort of gleam in the fire light.
The silence of the outdoors starts to get to me; the wind whipping of the tree branches, the songs of those stupid frogs and crickets. It drives me mad that I can’t hear past them, hear for other survivors and cars. I still haven’t ruled out the possibility of zombies.
You give me another shot. “Trying to get me drunk?” I knock back.
“Can’t think of a better time and place.” You start drinking from the bottle.
When it’s half-way empty you start talking, telling me about how you waited out the sickness in the basement of your home with your wife. It was kind of cool for a while, until she got sick. She lasted a week, she always had a terrible immune system. You buried her in the back yard, next to the flower bed of purple irises. I want to cry, but I don’t. Suddenly I’m glad that I was alone, that Mom was gone and I had no siblings. That Daddy was so far away.
“I’m sorry,” I say and roll a stone between my palms. You shrug and we both take another shot. I feel heavy and warm with tingling fingers. My skin hums in tune with those damn frogs.
You touch my cheek and tuck hair behind my ear. It falls right back against my face. You’re looking at me, but past me at the same time. I know you’re going to kiss me, and you do, a little sloppy at first, and I think maybe I should stop you, we’ve both had too much to drink, but your hands are quick to pop the buttons of my shirt, the naked feeling of your fingertips on my skin makes me shiver and I’m on my back, shifting my legs to make room for your frame.
There’s not much foreplay, your fingers play a quick tune inside of me while I struggle with your belt and jeans; the pants and boxers get as far as your thighs and you’re inside of me, jerky snapping hips, your hands tangled in the curls of my hair.
The next morning, there are leaves in my hair and my hip hurts from lying on the one side all night.
Hyeon is sitting on the other side of me. A new fire has been built and she’s boiling water. Her smiles are always tight-lipped, but she is smiling at me and says, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” I sit up. Joey is to our side with Ziggy’s leash.
You come to sit next to me and hand me a mug of coffee, that instant stuff from a can that we picked up back in Nevada. Some of the grounds stick in my back teeth as I sip. The water is warm though.
It’s decided that you need a map to finish getting to the camp. Hyeon knows the city. She had driving the boys up there a few times.
Everyone pees and I feed Ziggy half a can of food. There isn’t much left and I’m panicking at that thought. I write dog food in marker in my hand. When we get into the car I pass out the bags of dry cereal for breakfast. You start the car and we’re back on the interstate. As the sun rises from behind us (I’m not used to driving west) you reach over and take my hand, glance at the writing and then kiss my knuckles.
:::
Forty miles stretch on the highway, yellow hot sun and dry wind licking through the car. We won’t turn on the A/C anymore, it uses too much gas and we never know when the next gas pump will work.
You’re still at the wheel, strumming your fingers against your thigh. Down the road, I think I see something in the middle, figures in a tiny shape waving their arms. “Slow down,” I say, sitting up and trying to see at a better angle.
You stop the van ten feet from a tall blond boy, a teenage by the looks of it, and a tiny girl clutching to his side, her face buried in his t-shirt. He lowers his arms. They both shake, their bodies entwined like trees.
The engine still runs and I reach over to turn down the keys. I open the door and slowly step out. They flinch and stand back, as if startled by the notion that someone has actually stopped for them. As I approach, the girl ducks behind the boy.
“Are you sick?” he asks, trying to sound brave. His face is pink with dried blood.
“No,” I tell him. “No, none of us are sick. Are you okay?”
He nods. “It’s okay, Rue.” He pulls his sister forward, but keeps his hand on her arm.
“Are you sick?” I find myself asking. I have to ask.
“No.”
Thank God. I didn’t want to have to abandon them. I look past them to the woods they must have stumbled from. “Is there anyone else with you?”
He shakes his head and Rue starts to cry.
“Want to come with us?”
:::
o