I understand, but I don’t want to.
Dominick grabs my hand and places it on his chest. “I love you. I want you to come with us.” He tries to capture my gaze. “Please say yes.”
It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t promise him that. It’s too soon to decide my fate, leave my world. My family’s still waiting to see if the second part of the CORE project works. But I’m not ready to let him go, either.
“Dominick . . . ” I can’t say the words. I push my palm against his chest, holding him at a distance. I should’ve swallowed my whole bottle of pills when I had the chance.
He breaks my barrier and kisses me hard. It’s not a goodbye kiss. It’s a pledge.
I kiss back.
How can I choose?
I look into his eyes and remember last night.
“Yes.”
Dominick tries to
walk me all the way home, but I refuse to subject him to the wrath of my parents. I should be more worried about their reaction myself. I even took a pill before we left the seaside house to prepare. Instead, all I can think about is almost losing Dominick for the second time in months.
That was before we got serious. I let my guard down. Now I’m too steeped in love to see a path without him. I’m that annoying, needy girl I’ve tried never to become. I wanted to become strong, independent, everything my parents could never be. But I also don’t want to make another life decision I’ll regret.
He kisses me goodbye on the corner. “New Year’s Day.”
I nod. I can tell by his eyes he’s relieved. If only I had a way to stall for more decision-making time. As if time helps in this situation.
As soon as I step on my back porch, the door flies open. I’m ready for a fight.
“Oh, thank God.” Mom runs and embraces me. Not what I was expecting.
“Where were you?” Dad stands right behind her with a vicious gleam in his eyes. Exactly what I was expecting.
“I spent the night with Dominick.” Figure if Dominick can go with the truth, so can I.
“You what?” Dad yells.
I take off my gloves. “I spent the night with Dominick.”
“So you turn eighteen and you think that’s acceptable?” Dad says. “Making your mother worry all night. Calling the hospitals, police stations.”
Mom releases me and strokes my face gently, crying. “I thought you left.”
It takes me a minute. “The planet?”
“Yes.” She hugs me again. “I kept checking online to see if your name was added to the departed.”
Dad says nothing. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking we had sex and he doesn’t want to go there. Oh, we went there
.
“Dominick’s leaving with his family,” I say for clarity.
Silence. That did it. What can they say? He’s leaving the freaking planet. And apparently so am I. I’d love to believe that the tears that begin to fall are fake to help me get out of trouble, but saying the word
“
leaving” aloud splits me in half. How am I supposed to leave without my family? I’m not as strong as Rita.
“You could’ve at least called,” Dad says.
“I didn’t want you to say no,” I say, then wipe my nose on my jacket. “I needed time with him.”
Mom hugs me again. Dad looks annoyed.
“When are they going?” she asks.
“Next week.” I almost tell them he wants me to leave with him—and I said yes. But that’s enough truth for one day. I don’t know how I’m going to break it to them, but something inside me knows it’s time to pack.
Chapter 19
Day 147: December—902 hours to decide
Question: What are your laws?
Answer: That question is too long to answer. Our basic precept is that violent or negative behavior cannot infringe upon the rights of others.
Christmas Day, and
the media discusses the gas crisis sweeping the nation. Ten dollars a gallon. Lines around blocks at stations. President Lee has encouraged everyone to conserve gas by carpooling, walking, riding bikes.
Bikes? During winter in New England? Yeah, okay.
If cars were completely solar powered, it wouldn’t be an issue. We’d be driving fine all the way through a cosmic explosion, hologram invasion, or societal collapse. And then cars wouldn’t matter anyway.
While the world argues over gas conservation, I cannot stop checking the vertex countdown app on my phone. We are now down to triple digits. First Rita, then Penelope, now Dominick. And I guess me. Without my family.
How am I supposed to tell them?
My pills sit on my bureau, ready to take action for me. But they no longer hold my future. Funny how time brings unexpected meaning to our lives.
Besides, I’ve made my choice. Now I just have to live with it.
Benji and Marcus
visit for Christmas. They come bearing gifts, which is weird since we didn’t even give them anything for their wedding. Most stores have been either looted or closed, so Mom had made a rule that Christmas this year would be gift free. I guess Benji didn’t get the memo or chose not to follow it. Mom doesn’t seem to mind. She fawns over the gift bags like a cat on catnip.
Way to make me look bad again, Benji. Marriage hasn’t changed you one bit.
Looking around at my family members, all I can think about is Dominick and our night at the house on the ocean. That’s the life I want. Not this one.
But have I really become that girl, that weak girl who leaves when her boyfriend leaves? Am I the daughter who stays when her parents stay? Am I making an independent choice? Does it matter?
Does it really matter?
“Alex,” Mom interrupts my thought. “Hot chocolate?”
“Sure.” I take a steaming mug from her. Hot chocolate, pre-apocalypse. Thanks, Mom.
Across the room, Dad grins as he sips. Instant hot chocolate mix was his latest acquisition. He waited weeks for a shipment to come in just so he could put aside a few boxes for us. The five of us sip from colorful mugs in front of our forever Christmas tree as Dad tells random stories. I tune him out and focus on the carols playing in the background. I’ve heard his tales time and time again. He’s retelling them for Marcus, and Marcus is giving him his utmost attention. Now I understand why Benji and Marcus get along. They both know how to play Dad.
Benji and Marcus get center stage when they hand out the gift bags. Turns out that Marcus’ mother knitted each of us a scarf. Mom oohs and aahs and wraps her neck several times in wool jewel tones. I feel my neck closing in just watching her. Dad places his black one around the back of his neck and folds it once in the front like a Boy Scout. Inside my gift bag is a beautiful, bobble-knit red scarf. My favorite color. I’ll never wear it.
“Thank you,” I say to Marcus as I lay the scarf in my lap.
“Ooh, let’s see it. Put it on,” Mom says.
I want to throw it in her face.
Hello? Daughter who doesn’t wear things around her neck. Did you forget?
“Maybe later,” I stall.
Benji flips. “Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?”
Difficult?
He was there. He knows. He had to bite Dad to get him off me.
Marcus puts his hand out in front of Benji. “It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. She’s always exaggerating. She can never let anything go, and everyone has to placate her all the time.”
I open my mouth to protest, but what he says rings true. It’s how I used to feel around Dominick. Like a burden. Benji, always making me feel like crap, acting like my anxiety is a choice. I always thought Dad was the problem, but maybe my problem has been both of them.
“Leave her alone,” Dad says. “She said thank you.”
Everyone freezes.
Did Dad just stand up for me and not Benji? Has the world ended early?
“Well,” Mom steps in. “I think it’s time to spike up the drinks.” She runs around the room and pours Bailey’s into everyone’s hot chocolate. Everyone but mine.
Great, Mom. Give alcohol to volatile people. Fabulous idea.
“Let’s toast,” she adds, holding up her mug. “To lost family. To lost friends.” She looks at me. “To Christmas. Let’s make it a good one.”
“Exactly,” says Benji.
“Exactly,” says Dad.
I roll my eyes. Benji sips his drink. Marcus watches him.
“So how are things at the vertex site?” Dad asks Benji.
“Busy. People are trying to fight through lines, pay for access. It’s not like there’s a Disney World Fast Pass. I heard that the rich are paying for VIP treatment to fly out to special vertexes in reclusive locations. Whatever. It won’t matter soon, anyway. Even money’s becoming irrelevant when there’s nothing left to buy with it.”
Dad nods. “People don’t want material goods in times like these. They want food, basic supplies, fuel, shelter. Family. Important stuff. Using money becomes like trading paper for oxygen.”
“Benji and I have been discussing whether or not it’s time to leave,” Marcus says. “Like he said, it’s getting crowded at the vertexes.”
I sit up in the chair.
Dad keeps it together, moves in closer to Marcus’ face, and says, “Family stays together.”
Crap.
He’s back on that again. That’s not what he said to me after Penelope left.
Marcus is taken aback. Benji steps in, “Maybe you should start thinking about leaving, Dad.”
Now Dad looks scared. “The comet is still a month away. We still have time. Give CORE a chance.”
Mom sips from her hot chocolate.
“Time’s running out,” Benji says.
I think about Dominick, his family’s mutual decision to leave, and I respect their camaraderie. It’s what Dad wants but can’t have ‘cause he’s too stubborn to change his mind.
Dominick calls the
next morning, and I answer the phone grinning like I won a prize. I’m ready to jump into the abyss for him. Just thinking about it like that, however, makes my stomach sink.
“Hey, sexy,” I say, trying to be cute.
“Alex, I’m on my way to pick you up.”
I sit up from the sofa, still in my pajamas—sweats and a crappy T-shirt.
“For what? Who said I wanted you to pick me up?” I taunt. “You ready for another break-in?”
“This is serious. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
My stomach sinks further. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s another massive looting going on.”
I laugh nervously into the phone. “And you want us to join in? Need to get a new flat-screen TV before you leave the planet?”
He doesn’t laugh back.
“Alexandra, your father—”
He doesn’t need to say more. I drop the phone and run to my room for clothes. Dad’s the manager at the supermarket today.
What if he tries to be the hero?
Tries to fight?
I take a pill to calm my looping, spastic brainwaves. I call Dad’s phone as I wait for Dominick. No answer. Mom’s out visiting with a friend. I can’t call her until I know something. I call Benji’s phone to see if he knows anything. No answer. My hands can barely hold my phone steady since they are shaking so much.
Why don’t people ever answer their phones when something’s important?
Dominick beeps the horn instead of coming inside. I run out the back door and hop into his car.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I only know what my neighbor said. A large shipment is scheduled to arrive at the supermarket, and a group plans to riot.”
Dominick’s car races through the streets to the local supermarket, and I can only stare out the window and hope that we make it in time.
We don’t.
Outside the supermarket is sheer chaos. I can’t see Dad anywhere in the crowd. Dominick and I weave our way to the front where the police have set up a barrier of uniformed bodies and wooden partitions. As I make my way through the commotion, people bump and push and yell. From a distance, it looks like a bad concert scene. Up close, it becomes something primordial. I’ve never seen people so out of control in one location. Occasionally, I’ve witnessed someone turn red in the face and word vomit their anger and all its glory and ugliness at another person. But this is different.
This is the face of a mob.
Mostly young men and women in their twenties and thirties. Some older. All different shades of skin color, hair styles. Yet in the pushing and shoving, the ranting and raving, their faces blur until all I see is one furrowed, pained, spiteful brow of revenge,
a face stuck in time. Slow motion rage. Spitting and shrieking—anger fit to erupt ash and spew evil.
This is the face of freedom, the face of oppression, the face of the devil, the face of humanity, all in one.
It’s not a good versus evil fight. It’s people on people, screaming for survival. Through fear and determination, I somehow become part of it, somehow remain separate. I cannot escape the dichotomy.
No wonder Dad’s been slipping, dealing with this every day. He said food was running out, but I didn’t understand how bad it was. He was right. I didn’t listen to his worries. He has been protecting us all along.
I move close to the nearest officer and yell over the din, “I’m looking for my father, Ben Lucas.”
He doesn’t respond. I don’t think he can hear me.
Dominick touches my arm and yells into my ear, “This was a bad idea.”
I turn my attention back to the police officer.
“Sir? Hello? My father, he works inside. I just want to know if he’s okay.” I reach out to tap his shoulder since he doesn’t seem to notice me.
“Stay behind the line!” His body shakes as he bellows the command. He looks Benji’s age behind the riot helmet.
The crowd behind us reacts and pushes forward. Dominick loses his balance. His body is thrust at the police officer.
The officer pushes him back over the line and hits him once with his baton. Blood trickles in a line down Dominick’s forehead.
I feel the anger of the mob reach my veins. I can’t stop myself.
“No, someone pushed him! Stop!”
I jump between Dominick and the officer, pushing a little to create space. The officer shifts either to push me back or use the baton. It all happens so fast I can’t be sure. All I know is that I hear Dad’s voice over the crowd.
“Alexandra? That’s my daughter!”
Thank God.
My heart skips at the sight of him running out of the store behind the line of officers. Within seconds, however, my skin senses the tension in the air like thick, hostile humidity.
The officer pauses long enough for Dad to get closer. Just when I think that things might be okay, that things are over, things become unhinged.
The face of the mob sees my father, many heads acting as one. He’s wearing his supermarket manager shirt and BENJAMIN LUCAS, MANAGER name tag. He symbolizes their struggle, their hunger, their confusion. My dad is their enemy.
The mob attacks. Bats, fire extinguishers, crow bars, knives, bricks, broken bottles, fists, boots, elbows, anything and everything, in a mix of force and vengeance and righteousness and sinew.
In a flash, I am run down, my palms slapping frigid pavement and sending shock waves up both arms. People step on my legs and arms, oblivious that I’m beneath them on the ground as they rush past. The pain is sharp, stunning, stifling. I roll into fetal position and tuck my head to shield myself. Somehow Dominick and I have ended up at the line of scrimmage.
Dominick.
I can’t see anything but moving boots and sneakers. I can’t risk lifting my head to find him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray to a God that I’m not sure even exists.
“Please, please, please. Help.”
The popping sounds of gunfire. Then a loud, airy noise followed by a hollow thunk. Seconds later, my eyes and throat burn like the rage around me, and my nostrils and mouth start dripping with snot and saliva. I choke on my own spit. The fire in my throat makes my windpipe close. I hold my neck and gasp. Dad is in danger, and when I try to help him, try to reach out to him, I cannot breathe. It’s the attic all over again. Only this time, it’s not his fault. Not his fault.
My world collapses.