Sunrise (11 page)

“It should be,” Jamie smiled. He turned his eyes on Dakota. “What about you, sir?”

“Me?” Dakota said.

“Yes, you.”

Dakota smiled at his stupidity. “I don’t know. I was still in school when this happened.”

“He can grow shit,” Steve said.

“You mean like vegetables?”

“He’d been growing tomatoes before we ran out of water.”

“I didn’t have the right stuff,” Dakota replied. “I was growing plants out of makeshift terrariums.”

“The sergeant would like to hear that,” Jamie said, reaching up to brush the hairs on his chin. “Mr. Shaw, sir. Private Roberts has asked me to tell you that he would like to take a look at your arm after dinner tonight.”

“He gonna fix me up?” Ian asked.

“Yup. He sure will.”

“My arm’s been killing me.”

“I can imagine. Getting shot isn’t much fun.”

“No,” Ian sighed. “It isn’t.”

A guilty twang of hurt strummed across Dakota’s heart. It hurt to think that they had been on opposite sides little more than two days ago.

Oh well. Not much we can do about it now.

“I guess that’ll be all,” Jamie said, stepping back toward the threshold. “Mr. Earnest, if you think of anything that might be useful, please, don’t hesitate to talk to me or the sergeant.”

“I’d prefer to talk to you,” Steve chuckled. “Your sergeant seems like a bit of a hardass.”

“He is, but it’s good for us, especially in times like these. Thank you for your time. Dinner will be at six, just out the door and to your left.” Jamie gave one last nod and closed the door behind him.

“Why did you mention that?” Dakota whispered.

“What?” Steve asked. “That you’ve got a green thumb? It’s fucking good, Dakota. We wanna get on their good side.”

“We don’t have to worry about him. He’s not going to do anything.”

“I wasn’t saying that.”

Dakota could barely hide the blush that crossed his cheeks. Steve raised an eyebrow, but quickly brushed it aside by standing and turning the doorknob. “Either of you want to take a look around?” he asked.

“Not me,” Ian said.

“Koda?”

“Gladly,” Dakota said.

He was more than willing to get out of the room.

Six o’clock arrived with a stream of rain and a flash of lightning. With the lights on and the curtains drawn, the place looked wholesome, even inviting in a strange, tragic sense. The smell of fresh food drifted down the hallway and the sound of voices echoed across the walls, welcoming Dakota, Steve and Ian as they made their way toward the lobby.

“I didn’t expect this,” Dakota said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Neither did I,” Steve replied. Ian grunted and raised his hands to cough. “You ok, big guy?”

“The rain’s a killer on my sinuses.”

“The pressure?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea.”

“Not much you can do about it.”

“Not really.”

Dakota looked up. Seated around the table were the two deputies, the sergeant, and two other men that looked to be civilians, one a near white-blonde and the other a brown-haired man with a thin beard and glasses. Neither Jamie nor Private Roberts were anywhere to be seen.

I hope they weren’t reprimanded for what they did.

Who was he kidding? Of
course
they’d be reprimanded—if not already, then soon, most possibly at dinner. Like Steve had said earlier, the sergeant struck Dakota not only as a mean person, but a vindictively manipulative one at that. This afternoon, when he tried to make them feel guilty for seeking shelter, then earlier, when he was yelling at someone at the top of his lungs—his voice spoke of needles, whips and lashes, of pain and cruelty reserved only for those he felt he could conquer with his presence alone.

I can barely stand to look at him.

“Dakota,” Steve whispered.

“What?”

“Stand ready.”

Dakota shook his head, nodding at the sergeant when they approached the table. “Gentlemen,” the sergeant said. “Please, seat yourselves. Dinner is being made as we speak.”

“You must be the new ones,” the white-blonde man said, stirring his companion’s eyes away from the deputies across from them. “My name’s Michael. This here is my friend Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dakota smiled. “I’m Dakota. This is Steve and Ian.”

“Pleasure.” Michael smiled, reaching out to shake their hands. “You gentlemen came from the highway, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “The bus out front is ours.”

“It’s a nice piece of work,” the man named Dustin said. “Smart move substituting the metal meshing for the rubber one on the windshield.”

“I sure as hell didn’t want that to come through the window if something had happened,” Steve said, seating himself beside Michael.

“No one would.”

A gust of air and the sound of a door being slammed shut echoed up the stairs. Moments later, both Corporal Marks and Private Roberts came up the stairs, soaking wet and looking paler than ever.

He put them in the rain?

Dakota grimaced at the sight of the corporal’s bloodshot eyes. Jamie offered a smile when he caught Dakota’s wandering gaze. “Evening,” he said.

“Evening,” Dakota replied.

“Nice to see you,” the sergeant smiled. “Please, sit.”

“Sir,” Private Roberts said. “We’re wet.”

“I insist. Please,
sit.”

Jamie and the private did as asked. Another dagger pierced the tension in the air.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” the sergeant said, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. “Although before we start, I think it’s in our best interest to discuss the breach of protocol that occurred this afternoon.”

All conversation in the room stopped. Were it not for the lights and the warm draft of air coming from the kitchen, Dakota could have sworn the room had just chilled ten degrees.

“Sir?” Jamie said.

“Both you and Private Roberts were under strict orders to leave the gate shut no matter the circumstance. Now, don’t get me wrong—I do appreciate the fact that these men are alive, especially given the current circumstances, but you jeopardized our safety and put all of us at risk.”

“Excuse me, sir. Private Roberts had nothing to do with this. I was the one who opened the gate.”

“Your humility is perhaps the most disgusting thing about you, Marks.” No one spoke. Jamie remained composed, lips pursed and jaw set. “You’re under house arrest for one week.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go. Now.”

“But sir—”

“I said
go
Corporal Marks. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

Jamie stood, saluted the sergeant, then turned and made his way toward the stairs. Desmond came out carrying a pot of mashed potatoes and a tub of green beans a moment later. He looked around the table, took notice of the corporal’s departure, then frowned. “Sir?” he asked, looking to the sergeant.

“Don’t worry yourself over anything, son. Thank you for cooking again tonight.”

Dakota swallowed. Deep down, a lump began to form in his gut. No food for a whole night. That had to be a horrible feeling.

“You shouldn’t do it Dakota,” Steve whispered, taking hold of his arm. “Seriously. Don’t.”

“Steve’s right,” Ian said. “You get caught, you’re screwed. We’re all screwed.”

“I can’t let him go hungry, guys.”

“Whatever,” Steve sighed. “Just don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” Dakota assured him.

He opened the door, looked out both ways, t
hen took off into the darkness.

He listened for the fragile whispers behind closed doors. Kirn and Wills, cigarettes and porn; Michael and Dustin, a dead wife and a somber condition; Desmond in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. The walls seemed alive, and if they could talk, they would tell everyone that they were too loud, that others could hear every word they were saying.

Pressed against the wall in the hopes that the shadows would aid him well, Dakota held the two rolls and the plastic cup full of cold, mashed potatoes against his abdomen, silently praying that no one would come out of their room and catch him. So far, he hadn’t found any indication as to where Jamie would be sleeping. The only thing he knew was that he was somewhere on the first floor, alone and hungry in a dark room.

Press your ear to the door,
his inner voice whispered,
you’ve always had good hearing.

“That’s not going to help me.”

The creak of a cot stopped him in place.

Hairs on end, Dakota prepared to run for the stairway and duck under the small spot beneath it.

A short moment later, a sigh escaped someone’s lips, followed by a low murmur under their breath.

Should I?

“Jamie?” Dakota whispered. “Is that you?”

The door opened. Dakota pushed his way inside before Jamie could say a word.

“What’re you doing here?” Jamie asked, closing and locking the door.

“I brought you food.”

“What?”

Dakota lifted his hands, revealing the rolls and mashed potatoes. “I didn’t want you to go hungry.”

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“I did it for you.”

The sparkle that overwhelmed Jamie’s eyes lifted Dakota’s heart. The knife in his gut loosened and the tight pain in his stomach ceased to exist, now replaced by butterflies dancing about his chest like fanatic clowns at a carnival.

He’s straight,
he thought.
You know it.

The tension gone from the air, Jamie stepped forward and took both rolls and the cup of mashed potatoes from his hands. He ate ravenously, like a dog chained in a courtyard who’d just been given a bloody bone, then made his way into a small bathroom and ducked his head to drink from the faucet. The whole while, Dakota simply watched, mystified by Jamie’s behavior and unnerved at the sight of potato in his beard.

“Thanks,” Jamie said, lifting his head to look at Dakota in the mirror. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dakota said. “I was happy to do it.”

“I haven’t had someone do something this nice for me since my mom threw me my twenty-fifth birthday party.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-six.”

Dakota couldn’t help when a tear slid down his face.

Please don’t let him have seen that.

“You ok, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s…not you. Only Steve calls me kid.”

“I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”

“No. You didn’t.”

“It was my mom, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“That made you cry.”

“Yeah,” Dakota said. “It was.”

Jamie returned to the bedroom. He seated himself on his cot and patted the spot next to him, but Dakota shook his head, reaching up to brush away the stain on his face with his thumb. He couldn’t imagine the idea of not knowing what had happened to his family, especially the person who seemed to care about him so much. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“I have faith that she’s still alive. She was on base by the time the shit went down.”

“That’s good.”

“Are your parents ok?”

“No.” Dakota shook his head. “Mom…she died when I was eleven. Dad ran off on me.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You couldn’t have known. You shouldn’t feel guilty for the way I’m feeling.”

“I know. It just hurts to see someone cry.”

Dakota nodded. “I should go,” he said.

“Thank you for the food, Dakota.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dakota slid the chain off the door and left without saying goodbye.

The following morning, Dakota stood in the lobby looking over an array of plastic bottles, fertilizers and vegetable seeds. His heart still hurt from yesterday afternoon, he busied himself with his work in the hopes that giving life to something new would help relieve the ache in his chest. First he set the fertilizer inside a plastic bottle, the soil from which life would grow, then sowed the seed with a press of his thumb and a brush of his hand. Once the world was made, he made its Heaven and its Earth, the head of a bottle taped to the top. Then he gave it a sun by placing it in the bay window, and thus the universe was made by the hands of a creator.

Am I really though?
he thought.
Am I really?

He was not a practical God. Given the task of making life in such a bleak situation, he could easily fail. With so few seeds and so many people to feed, the odds seemed stacked against him. There was no Atlas to carry the world, no Iris to offer the rain, no Gaia to protect the innocent. There was nothing, he knew. He was all alone.