Afterland (19 page)

“We’re back!” Someone shouts
—
my mind is too overwhelmed with relief to tell who.

“And we brought alcohol!” A cheering comes up from the rest of the Rebellion at that. The three men park the snowmobiles and hop off. My feet unstick themselves from the ground and I run towards the three of them, hugging them violently, one by one. Mike laughs a little at my enthusiasm, but returns the hug, Matt smiles wholeheartedly and says, “Nice to see you, Molly”. Nathan seems slightly surprised but nevertheless pleased that I am so happy to see him. I bury my head in his shoulder and he wraps his arms around me in response.

“I missed you,” I say.

“I missed you too.”

“Don’t do this again.”

“Um…”

I let go, several seconds after the hug becomes awkward.

“I, uh, brought tequila,” he says, holding out a small bottle. His cheeks have turned red. I step back in embarrassment.

“Sorry. I mean, good. Tequila is good.”

“We could go down to the oak tree and, um, drink.”

“I, uh, don’t drink.”

“Oh.”

“But we could still go to the oak tree and talk.”

“Yeah, of course, that would be great,” Nathan smiles. “Did you guys already have dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we have nothing to wait for. Let’s go.”

I smile and we head off toward to the oak tree. I watch Nathan as he walks half a step in front of me. He seems nervous. Or maybe it’s just me.

“Did you guys cut the power lines?” I ask along the way.

“Yes.”

“Did anything unexpected happen?”

“No.”

“And you? Are you all right? Are you tired? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, no, and no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why are you so on edge?”

“I’m not on edge, I’m just-” I stop at the slight smile on Nathan’s face. “I was really worried,” I admit.

“Don’t be. We’re all fine. The raid went well. There’s nothing to be worried about. Really. What about you? How have you been the whole day? What did you do?”

“Worry.”

“For the entire day?”

“Yes.”

“About the raid?”

“Yes.” Then I add, as an experimental afterthought, “And about you.”

The ends of Nathan’s mouth crease into a light smile.

“You were worried about me?” He asks.

“Yes.”

I can tell by the way he smiles that my statement produced its desired effect.

“Oh.”

We follow the usual routine, Nathan crossing the stream first and helping me over it, both of us jumping down the hill alone. We sit under the oak tree, facing each other.

“You don’t mind if I drink, do you?”

“No, no, of course not.” I look down at my feet. I hear Nathan pop out the cork from the bottle and take a long swig of the contents.

“Why don’t you drink, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I, uh, I used to work in a bar. And I guess it just...I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“I might as well have worked in a morgue,” I mutter.

“Molly, hey. That life is over now.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I know. Thank you.” I cover his hand with mine and look away into the night.

“Are you happy here, Molly?” Nathan asks.

“Yes, of course.”

“You seem so sure.”

“Well, I am. I was so miserable in Hopetown, and this is just so...Everything fits together right.”

“Like a puzzle.”

“Right. A puzzle.” Nathan takes another swig of tequila. “What about you? Are you happy here?”

“I wish the Blast hadn’t happened,” is all he says.

“Oh, well. Yeah, I guess me too.” We sit and look at the night sky. “I’m very happy that I’m here with you.”

“Me too. I’d rather be here with you than I would anywhere else. One hundred times over.”

I blush.

“That’s not true, but…I’m happy you thinks so.” Nathan only smiles and puts his arm around me. He drinks and I look at the stars in the sky.

“Have you ever tried counting the stars, Nathan?”

“No.”

“I did. I used to do it every night until I fell asleep as a child.”

“I always knew that they were infinite. So I never bothered.”

“I think I knew too. But I thought, maybe, if I counted long enough, I’d reach a number.”

“But you can’t count infinity, no matter how hard you try.”

“I guess not.”

“We need a toast,” he decides. “To infinity,” he raises his bottle and takes a swig. “May every one be greater than the last.”

“Indeed.” I mime raising a glass

“There are so many infinities, so many spaces to fill, so many things to do. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?

“And terrifying.”

“You can’t have one without the other.”

Neither of us says anything after that, and I try to count the stars again, like I used to. Natha drains three quarters of the bottle. I wonder what alcohol is like. I’ve always avoided it because I’ve seen what it can do to people, but seeing Nathan drink it so carelessly and so lightheartedly makes me wonder if there are alternative uses to it than only drowning out the pain.

Suddenly, Nathan laughs.

“What?”

“I meant this for the two of us,” he explains, taking another swig, “but this will have to do.”

I smile guiltily. Nathan stands and pulls me to my feet.

“I propose a dance,” he says.

“A dance? Why?”

“Do you hear the music?”

“No.”

“Listen carefully.” I do, but the Earth is silent. I listen to it spinning, with all of the forests and mountains and river on it, and for a second, I think I know what Nathan means.

“Maybe I do hear it. 

              “Maybe we should dance,”

              “I don’t know how to dance.”

“It’s okay. Neither do I.”

“Well, alright then.” I put my hand on Nathan’s shoulder. He puts his arm around my waist, and begins twirling me around as if he really can hear music. I laugh as we spin in circles, our feet messily finding placement on the sprouting ground. We trip over our own feet perhaps more than could be considered decent, and the fact that neither of us knows how to dance is blatantly obvious. But all that matters is that somehow, we both move to the same rhythm. Both of us laugh. I am dizzy from moving in circles and my head spins. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be drunk. I can feel the Earth spinning beneath my feet and the stars jumping over my head, but that only makes the dancing more vivid.

              Slowly, I allow myself to forget everything I’ve ever wanted to forget. Everything I was ever worried about, any pain I ever felt, all the fears I ever had cease to exist. In these moments, they never did exist and never will exist. I stare into Nathan’s eyes and laugh because I have never felt so free.

              It is impossible to count an eternity, but it is possible to fill one.

We dance for what must be eternity. It is the most wonderful eternity of my life. It is an eternity of happiness and dancing and silent music that, completely inexplicably, and equally as wonderfully, both of us are able to hear.

CHAPTER 10

We continue tracing wobbly steps around the oak tree until one of us - I’m not sure who - trips, and we end up on the ground. I laugh.

              “That was a lot of fun,” I say, helping Nathan up from the ground. “Thank you for that.”

              “Of course,” Nathan says. “I think this deserves one last toast.” He goes to pick up the tequila, but the bottle is lying empty on its side. We must have knocked it over while we were dancing.

              “Well, we’ll just have to use our imaginations. This toast is to tonight.”

“To tonight,” I agree. “And to you always coming back.”

“I always will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Let’s go back to camp?”

“Okay.”

We head back in the direction we came from.

“Do you really think that we can’t count infinities?” Nathan asks.

“Not yet.”

“You mean eventually we’ll be able to?”

“I don’t know, Nathan. Who knows? The human race is so strange and infinity is so strange. Why wouldn’t things change enough for us to be compatible?”

“Things don’t change.”

“Come on. That’s not true.”

“Change is an illusion, just like everything else. We’re just vehicles for some greater plan. None of the choices we make are our own. I would say to pretend that they are, but that implies free will. None of that is real. Free will, change, maybe even reality. All of it is an illusion.”

“Woah,” I say. “Where did that come from?”

“I think it might be the alcohol,” Nathan says glumly.

“If you think that change is an illusion, then what are you fighting for?”

“For the illusion, Molly. What else is there to fight for?”

__              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __             

              I wake up to a breeze carrying in unfamiliar scents. The usually woody smell of camp has been replaced with a strange mixture of smoke, the sweet, intoxicating smell of something unfamiliar, the sickening scent of liquor, and quiet tinges of sweat. I hear the occasional hungover groan that is much too familiar, but aside from that, it is quiet. I pull on my boots and walk outside. Only Big Sal is out, at her customary spot near the fire. She’s sipping something steaming from a thermos.

              “Ah, good morning, dear,” she says cheerfully when she notices us. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“
Good
? What did you do yesterday?”

“Um…”

“Did you not get drunk?”

“I don’t drink.”

“And right you are to do so.

“Where is everyone?”

“Hungover.”

“Do you not drink either?”

“Me?” She laughs heartily. “What are you talking about? I’ve been getting drunk since before the blast, and back then, it wasn’t even legal.”

              “Then why are you not hungover?”

              “Oh, I’m just as hungover as the rest of them. I’m just better at hiding it. Somebody in this camp has to pretend to be sober. You know. Just in case we do have a rebellion to run,” she grins.

              “Right,” I chuckle.

              “Anyway, you probably won’t be doing much today. Mike’s out cold, and Emily isn’t doing anything after a night like this.”

“That’s okay. It’s my shift at the lookout post anyway.”

“Well, then, enjoy watching over this lousy bunch of losers.”

I smile and roll my eyes.

“I will. See you later.”

I head off into the woods. Most of the snow has melted, with only the occasional stubborn patch still lying around the trunk of a tree. Most of it is running in streams away from the camp. The Earth is moist and fertile and smells of new beginnings. I start to walk into the woods. After several seconds, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and Mike falls into step beside me.

              “Hello,” he says, lighting a cigarette.

“Mike? Hi.”

“You seem surprised to see me.”

“Oh, no, no, just, um…”

“What? Did someone tell you I was passed out drunk?” The shadow of a smile touches his lips.

“Um...Maybe.”

“I was. But this is important.”

              “What? Okay.”

              “You have been training well recently.”

              “Um...thanks?” I say doubtfully. I can’t really see where this conversation is going and Mike’s facial expression is unreadable. He isn’t one to dish out compliments, although perhaps alcohol could weed that out of even him.