The Rain (21 page)

Chapter 11

I pull the pull the flap of blanket aside to enter the little hut at the center of the boat. Immediately a rush of warmth hits me. With the roof overhead, the floor is almost empty of water. Marvolo is curled up right in front of the primer stove, his eyes closed, dead asleep. Exhausted or just cozy, I can’t tell. And Russell is lying near him, his own eyes closed. I look him over once and then find my spot on the opposite side. He’s not really asleep though, because he asks me a question as soon as I lie down. You think he’s going to turn us around? he asks. I listen to the beating rain hit the roof over our heads. I think about his question because it hadn’t occurred to me until now. I almost want to check that we have the guns safely away, because he could try to kill us both this time while we sleep. But something about how Russell asks me, his voice, makes it seem like it wasn’t a real question. Like it was almost a joke. And that Dusty would never think of it somehow, despite what he tried to do just a little bit ago. I don’t think so, I say. It must be the answer Russell wanted because he doesn’t say anything more. We lie in silence and my body melts with the warmth of the primer stove. I keep my hands right on it for about five minutes, moving my fingers back and forth. Then I give my feet a turn. Everything is coming back to life.

            I turn onto my back and look up at the blanket above, the tiny hole where rain is dripping in and the primer stove smoke is escaping up. I see lines of rain running down the sides of the roof, little veins of light and dark, reminding me that it’s daytime again because I can see them. The boat rocks a little bit, up then down, and the swells are so gentle now that they’re rocking me to sleep instead of terrifying me. Something about having Dusty out there guiding us makes me feel safe. I don’t want to say anything about that to Russell, because I know he must at least feel the same way. He saved him, after all, when Dusty had tried to kill him. And he’d sent him out to steer instead of getting me. For a moment I wonder if it was out of pity he’d done all this, but I remember that he says pity is gone. It’s a relic. You can’t feel sorry for people or you’ll get yourself killed. Not anymore, not anymore can you pity the bad guys. That message has been pretty clear ever since leaving the
Sea Queen Marie
. Don’t have feelings for anyone. Feelings are liabilities. Worthless as they concern survival. Yet my mind wrestles against some of Russell’s truths, like it always has. I’ve always felt feelings for Russell. And they seem to drive me on, especially since he’s been weak. They’ve actually helped me act stronger. And so my mind plays with the idea of feelings being important to survival, and maybe I still do have feelings for Dusty too. Even after what he tried to do. And I know I have feelings for Marvolo, I can’t even pretend I don’t. But still, I understand Russell’s attitude about feelings—if we started getting too attached to people, even on the
Sea Queen,
we would have done more to help others when it couldn’t have been done. We’d have gotten ourselves killed twenty times over since Indianapolis doing that. And finally, as I drift off at last into needed sleep, I think that maybe it’s not so bad to be out and moving on the canvas brown again. It feels like we’re back on track on some level. Even though it was beautiful in Blue City, it was an illusion. A mirage of the veneer, not the actual thing. We’d seen the proof with our own eyes.

“Hey,” says a voice from some kind of heated womb. It comes again and again, trying to raise me from my peacefulness. Back into some harsh reality. I open my eyes and there’s Dusty. He’s sitting up under the blanket across from me. I’m awake again. We’re under the blanket together. The stove’s still going. It’s still light out above the roof. How long have I been sleeping? I ask. A couple hours. Russell took over again. Says he’ll come to get you in a few more. You can go back to sleep. I wonder why he woke me up then, just to tell me I can go back to sleep? But I can tell from his face he wants say more.

            “What is it?” I ask, purposely trying to keep my voice empty of emotion. Voley is gone I realize. He must have crept out into the rain to take in the sea from the edge of the rail again. I almost want to poke my head out to see that Dusty isn’t lying, that Russell really is out there steering us still, that Voley is with us still.

            Dusty takes a long time to say something, and when he does, it doesn’t mean much. Can’t get back, you know? he says. I almost sympathize with him. He just wants to see his dad again. He’s probably known that place for a long time. It’s his home. They moved from Salt Lake City, but he hasn’t moved nearly as much as Russell and me. At least I don’t think he has. He has a concept of home in the first place. I feel my sympathy slip away. I’ve never had that. Russell and I are each others’ moving homes. I remember he pointed the gun at Russell’s head and I can’t say anything.

            He moves closer to the primer stove, but he gets closer to me too. I know it’s intentional, but he doesn’t act that way. I want to ask him what he’s doing. What he’s trying to pull now. Then he just pushes right into me. His legs are right against mine. A flash of electricity runs through my body, and I’m wide alert. And then alarmed. I think about Russell right outside. And whether or not he can make out our silhouettes. And if he’s checking at all. I almost draw back, intentionally move away from his touch, but I can’t. I can’t bring myself to. He finally starts to answer my question. He looks into my eyes and I have to look away because I’m afraid my anger at him will melt away instantly. I have to keep my feelings dead. Forget what happened between us on the hill, in the shower. It was all a slip, and it almost cost us our lives. I sit up, moving my legs off of his.

            It’s—I know you’re not telling me something. You
won’t
tell me something, he says. He’s fishing for information that I can’t provide. Maybe if we reach land again, or maybe not until Leadville. But on the sea, I know it’s too unpredictable. If he knows the truth, he’ll get too upset. I almost follow through on a kneejerk reaction to ask him if he eats people. If that’s okay to him the way the tarpers do it—frozen in small pieces, so you can’t tell what it really is. Does the change in appearance somehow make it okay? But I don’t ask him anything. I tell him he knows everything there is to know. And that I need to get some more sleep because it’s probably over four hundred miles to Leadville. I pull that number out of my ass.

            He gets the hint and moves back to the other side of the primer stove. I hear a rustling, then see a bulge press against the edge of the blanket wall. It’s a nose. Voley wants to come in. Dusty opens the blanket and lets him in. He comes over to me for some reason instead of Dusty and circles around and then drops down right on top of my arm. I holler in pain and bolt up. There’s nothing covering the stitches now. And the skin is bright pink all around the bullet hole. A bit of blood is still seeping out. Are you okay? asks Dusty. He looks really concerned, but it’s hard to care because the pain’s shooting. I hear Russell walking across the boat floor fast. The flap opens again and it’s him. He asks, What’s going on? Voley sat on my arm, I tell him. His face is washed in relief and he leaves for the wheel. Get sleep. You’re up soon, he says as he heads back to the wheel.

            Voley moves away, sad that he hurt me. He finds a spot by Dusty and lies down. Can you tell me what Leadville is like? asks Dusty after a minute of silence. I almost thought he’d gone back to sleep. Sure, I tell him. It’s a whole city. But a normal city, working just like they used to work. Before the rain. The highest elevation in America. And they have electricity still. Hot water just like you had. But everything else you’d ever want too. And there’s something more about it but I’m not sure if I buy it.

            What? asks Dusty. I can tell he’s curious now. It’s a distraction for him. It’s like he has to believe in Leadville because what’s happened to him is so awful that he can’t
not
have hope for something. I tell him the bit that Russell tells about it not raining there. Dusty laughs. It’s the only thing he doesn’t seem to be able to hope for. You don’t buy it either? I say. It’s raining everywhere, he says. Maybe in Europe, or China, or Australia, it’s not raining. But in America, it’s raining everywhere. We got hit the hardest.

            Hit? I ask. He tells me this whole story about a comet, and how it came too close, and dumped all this ice that turned into rain. I say I’ve heard that one before with a snicker. So what do you think it is? he shoots back at me, upset I’m taunting his idea. Easy, I say. Solar flare. It moved the axis of the earth. Now the Pacific is evaporating and flying up into the sky like a great big vacuum. And it gets slung across the sky and dumped on the land here. Dusty laughs again. It’s the first time he’s heard Russell’s favorite theory. And it just confirms for me a gut feeling that I’ve had my whole life—that believing you know the real reason behind the rain is like believing in hokey pokey religion stories about angels and gods and prophets and devils. Because the truth is that no one knows. And everyone has a theory. But what it all boils down to is eating, staying warm, and staying dry. The rest is an afterthought. I tell Dusty this, hoping it’s as profound for him as it is for me, since Russell has pounded it into my head for as long as I can remember. The impact isn’t quite the same though. Dusty just nods a little bit and acts like he understands, but I don’t think he gets it. Then Russell shouts “boats!” He shouts it again, and Dusty and I run out to see. We rush into the rain and there are seven dots. They’re all boats, and they’re moving toward us.

I edge under the tarp, right against Russell, and Dusty is left in the rain watching the horizon. All of us look at the tiny fleet moving over the brown sea toward us. Are they face eaters? I ask. Dusty says they can’t be, since they’re coming from the east. Doesn’t matter, Russell says. We came from the east. They dogged us all the way to your tarp town.

            None of us say anything and we just wait. Marvolo lets out a bark because none of us are doing anything. Shut him up, Russell says. Dusty gets down on his knees and tries to lead Voley back under the canopy with the primer stove but he’s not having it. They both return to the bow. Gun? Russell asks me. I tell him yea, it’s under the seat compartment so it won’t get any more wet than it already is. He tells me I’d better go get it. I run off and leave them, duck under the blanket, feel for a moment a wind of warm air, lift the door under the bench seat, grab the pistol and return. They’re talking when I get back. Trying to plan out what to do.

            If it is face eaters, there’re too many of them, Dusty says anxiously. I don’t even have a gun. Those aren’t motor boats, Russell says. They look like whale boats. No engines. Why aren’t the sails up? I ask. They’re heading into the wind, says Dusty. But something strange is going on out there on the foggy sea. And we all seem to feel it together. Russell finally says it out loud.

            “This isn’t right,” he says. He explains that we’re close enough now that we should be able to see something, someone, standing on the decks, moving, even sitting. But there’s nobody. No one moving. No one steering. No oars hitting the water. It’s like the seven boats are ghost ships. But I don’t say that. I just crowd in under the sliver of tarp and start to shiver, no longer used to the permanent cold because I’ve been spoiled for hours by the primer stove. Russell wraps his arm around me and draws me into his chest. We need to move away from them, says Dusty. The boats are getting close, and with the direction we’re going, we’ll run right by the southern edge of the group. But Russell doesn’t listen to Dusty’s idea. Dusty starts to fidget, used to having way more control than he has over our boat. Russell, he says. Russell tells him he’d better be quiet, because they could all be sleeping. And if they wake up, and they have guns, we’re dead. And if they’re face eaters, it’s worse than dead. We’re eaten alive. He cuts off the engine and we’re drifting now. Then turn us away, Dusty whispers. This time Russell doesn’t reply at all. There’s a cold steel silence. The only thing breaking it is the rain pattering the swells, so constant that it’s almost as if there’s no sound at all. And I know now that Russell plans for us to just slip past all seven. Because somehow, he’s convinced they’re no threat to us. But I get the feeling something went terribly wrong on those boats.

            We glide slowly up a swell, then down. The two closest boats of the seven come right alongside us. I feel a jolt of fear strike through my body as Russell turns the engine back on. He does this so he can drive us right up to the nearest boat. I get my gun up in the air, despite the nagging pain in my arm. Russell has his half-raised, almost like he thinks it’s pointless to keep it at the ready because he’s already convinced there’s no one there.

            Then he suddenly climbs the rail without warning us and jumps into the boat. It’s a long wooden whale boat with three long benches and two oars. I lean over the rail and look in. There really is no one on board. From the boat he’s in, Russell can see the next one. All empty, he calls back. Then he starts scouring the floor of the boat for supplies. Anything of use. The oars are better than ours. Catch, he says, and he throws one at me. I grab it midair and set it down, then repeat for the second. It’s good wood, he says. Dusty comes under the tarp sliver with me, Voley pushing through our feet to get a glimpse. Russell starts to paddle himself from one whale boat to the next. He calls out for us to bring her around. I sit down in the driver’s seat and steer.

            “What happened to them?” asks Dusty. He’s no longer frightened. He’s mystified. He hasn’t been on the road as much as Russell and me. Not nearly as much. Things still surprise him. I’ve seen mile-long bodyjams and schools of empty boats. I don’t really care what happened to them. But I know something probably killed them, so that’s what I tell Dusty. He seems more alarmed, like he’s completely out of his element on the sea. He can’t take the mystery of it. How much have you traveled? I ask him. He tells me he’s been around Salt Lake City. Grandview Peak and then to King Mountain. And I know for sure now that he hasn’t seen anything. I pull up alongside Russell and he gets back in with a plastic duffel bag and a gun. It looks like an automatic rifle. Don’t know if it’ll still work, he says. Then he tells me to steer us around to the other five boats. He wants to check each one, get whatever’s left in them. Dusty can’t help but ask Russell now. He asks what happened to the people that were on these boats. I pull up to the third boat, rocking it away from us by pulling in too fast. Russell turns to look at Dusty, maybe just to make sure he’s serious. He sees Dusty is serious. All he says is that they’re somewhere, dead or alive he doesn’t care, but that they’re not here on their boats. And he jumps onto the next whale boat to look for anything more we can take. We go through every boat and get another bag of supplies and we take another two oars, barely getting them to fit by sliding them under the primer stove canopy.