36 Hours (21 page)

36 Hours

131

beside me; Hannah hovered behind, saying nothing. We all just stared at the body. She was gone. A break in the silence – Hannah:

“She’s in heaven now.”

Is there a heaven?
“Yes. Of course.”

Les detected the shallow depravity in my voice. He said, “Hannah, why don’t you take Austin’s place?”

“No,” I said. “Let’s go.” Remarkably, I was the first to travel down the steps, working hard to tear my eyes from my mom’s body. Les followed behind, and I heard him close the door. A wave of rotten relief took over me, but didn’t hold. The pool table glowed dark, the pool balls scattered from me playing Dad the night before. Before he… Before he wasn’t Dad anymore. His stereo system was up against the wall; a Chris Tomlin CD was in the disc-changer. It seemed so farfetched and cut-off to listen to worship right then. Les, Drake, Chad and I used to always flip the breakers on and off to Ashlie and all her friends when they were in the showers, especial y at night time. They would always freak out. “So childish.”

Les pulled back the drapes; where a window should be was a silver metallic box. He undid the latch and swung it wide. We couldn’t see too well in the dark; Les ran his hands over the switches. “Which one?”

“I don’t know. Try one.”

He did. Nothing. He flipped it back and did another. And another.

“It’s not working.”

“I can see that.”

“I
told
you it wasn’t going to work.”

“Why do you always give up hope so fast?”

“Hope’s just not in the cards right now, is it?”

I think he gave me an angry glare, but I’m not sure. After all, it was very dark. I said, “I’m going upstairs.”

“I’ll mess around down here.”

As I left the bathroom, “Don’t break anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry.”

Thank God the door to the family room was shut.

Hannah was waiting for me in the foyer. “No power. Didn’t work?”

“No.” I rubbed my eyes. The cuckoo clock in the kitchen ticked, minute after minute, hour after hour. A breath of wind. Hot air. That’s what life is. Right there. No point. Just a candle in the dark, to be extinguished by either a blast of Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

132

cold air or a small puff from child’s lips. Hannah, futile, leaving no trace. All records gone. Heroes become legends and legends become fairy-tales. Nothing remains. So worthless, insignificant,
meaningless
. And as I stood in the foyer, I realized Hannah was talking to me; but I was seeing spots, and swaying on my feet, and so I just matter-of-factly told her, “I’m going to go sleep for a little while. Can you make sure Ashlie doesn’t do anything? Let’s keep her out of the loop.”

“We can’t keep her out of the loop forever. What if something happens to us?”

“Something? What do you mean, ‘Something,’ Hannah?”

“What if we die. And she’s left all alone.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You have no control over it.”

“If it’s inevitable, if this place is falling apart like the Alamo-“
Welcome to the
Alamo, Les!
“, then I’ll do it myself.”

“You’ll kill her?”

“It’s better than those things, those ‘people’ getting a hold of her, and you know it. Sound brutal? Too bad. Tough. The world’s changed, Hannah. Everything’s changed. We can’t just walk around being ‘nice’ and ‘nonconfrontational’ and ‘smooth-talking’ our way out of things anymore. We can’t dream big, because there aren’t any mistakes. This isn’t a game. It’s a life-anddeath struggle, Hannah, and if you question every move, every decision, you’re going to be
in
decisive,
un
moving, and you’re going to be dead. Or worse,
one of
them
. So don’t lecture me about right conduct or morality or any other thing that seems too distempered or hurtful or contrary to Miss Manners. Miss Manners is probably eating her husband and Mr. Rogers mutilating children. This isn’t the world we woke up in. It might’ve started in Hartford, but it’s here now. It’s everywhere. Global. It’s the End. We’re no special case. We can’t run around thinking that if we get to the countryside, then everything we’ll be fine. Because
guess what
, Hannah? In a week, we will be dead. How and when is our decision, but better later than sooner. And if I’m going to risk turning into one of
them
, I’ll kill myself, and I’ll kill Ashlie as wel .”

Hannah just stared, knowing not what to say. I turned to leave, then swung back around.

“One more thing. If I ever get bitten, do me in. Pierce my brain. Because the last thing I want to be is one of these freaks. If you get bitten, you’d better leave Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

133

or take the knife to your throat, because I swear I’ll kill you and Les and even Ashlie if needs be. This is no fairy-tale. This is no story or movie or passing dream. It’s reality. People are dying. Your brother is dead. Your mom is dead. All your friends –
dead
.”

Tears filled her eyes, and I felt so bad. My mouth had run; all the emotions, the anger and malice, but mostly the fear and desperation and depression and hopelessness had taken over, body and soul, controlled me like some feigned robot, and now I tried to remember
why
,
why
,
why had I spoken those words
?

But she turned and walked into the kitchen, head lowered; she raised a hand to her face and disappeared around the corner.

Guilt crept up in my throat, and I, too, wanted to cry, not for me, not for Les, not even for Ashlie or my parents, not for my friends or for humanity. I wanted to cry for
her
. Those feelings I had all but forgotten, those longings and pains, those unquenchable desires to be with her, to comfort her, all came tumbling down. The load could break and I would fall.

But I’m a coward. I couldn’t go in there and apologize.
She deserves it. You
need it. You’re such a jerk.
Cowardice is a demon. I crawled upstairs as Les emerged from below. He saw my befallen look, and he heard Hannah’s wails. He looked at me then tramped into the kitchen. I fumbled past Ashlie’s door and into my room, shutting it softly and locking it tight. Collapsing onto my bed, I felt the weariness and shame, a burden too heavy to bear, and I closed my eyes. Sleep overcame.

The walls are tan yellow. There is a rack of books and CDs, a CD player.
Outside, it is snowing, gentle and soft. The clock ticks. A fireplace roars in the
hearth, spreading seeds of warmth. On the mantle are pictures and statues, and
above the mantle is a picture of a light house with waves crashing all around it.
The sweater was soft and warm, and I could fall asleep. The smell of ginger and
spice and Christmas cookies. Hannah was in my arms; her own striped sweater
pressed against mine, and her arms wrapped around me. One of my arms lay on
her side, fingers dangling above her stomach; with each breath she took, the
tips of my fingers tingled. Her brown hair brushed against my cheek, and she
smiled and moaned, laying her head against my chest. The fire spread its breath
over us, and she leaned up; her skin so soft, eyes piercing jewels, the scent of
her body stirring emotions: joy, happiness, exhilaration, laughter, happiness.
Lips so tender, tongue so sweet; eyes closing; she kissed me. Electricity surged
through me, a broken wind on a broken surf, coming together in the heels of
Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

134

brilliance. A lightning storm tore through me, and my heart hammered, each
kiss so much more passionate, and at the same time so much more serene. She
gets up, grabs my hand. We run outside, into the snow. It rains down all around
us; it is so cold, but the heat from her hands touches my fingers and spreads
through me, a raging wildfire. A creek broken by ice caps, bubbling over and
bitten by snow, treads upon us. We drop down upon a rock, in the flurry of snow
and icy wind, and she draws me close, and holds on to me, and we watch the
rocks, the water, the ice. A voice, familiar; and she is taken away, stolen. I get
up. The snow blinds me, but somehow I am able to find my way through the
dense wood; the trees laden with snow become skeletons covered with ash.
Ravine walls become shells of buildings. And in the middle of it all, Les and
Hannah embrace, tongues entwined. Anger within me; I want to scream, to
burst out, to open up all avenues of rage and vengeance. In my hand, I look
down, and there is a gun. Two bullets. When I look up, the wasteland is gone;
now I stand in my bedroom, gun close. I go downstairs. The front door is open,
a soft April breeze blowing. Mom is spring-cleaning. I go outside. Birds are
singing and the sky is clear, a piercing blue like none other. Les and Hannah sit
two houses down, cuddling. I walk across the two lawns, through a sprinkler.
The grass is springy. They look up as I approach. They say nothing. I look at
Les: “Hello, friend.” I raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. Les gropes at his
stomach and falls to the grass, he is bleeding on the grass. Hannah shrieks. I
turn the gun on her and shoot her in the chest. She flails back and lands beside
her stolen lover. She looks at me, opens her mouth, a hideous
-

Jolting from my bed, I strangle myself from the covers and throw myself at the door. Screams are drenching the house, floating through the veins of my home. I wrestle with the door, unlock it, race down the steps, following the screaming. Hannah and Les are vanished. I wheel around at the foot of the steps, in the foyer, and rush downstairs two steps at a time. The door to the family room is open; Mom’s graying, stiff corpse stares at me with those lucid, unmoving eyes. I burst into the room.

Ashlie is on the floor, falling apart, writhing and screaming. Tears lace her face, stain her shoulders and the neck of her nightgown. Les fights to hold her steady; Hannah tells her to get quiet, to calm down, everything will be okay. She doesn’t stop. Ashlie sees me and screams – roars – maybe out of anger. She looks at me and the guilt and shame that sleep erased burst like a dam and the Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

135

waters gush. Her legs bash against the walls and floor; Mom’s body doesn’t move, cut off from everything, an object, no more a person. Les howls, “She’s making so much noise! Calm her down!”

I holler, “Let her go! Let her go!”

Les and Hannah release; Ashlie jumps up and rushes me. I lax my muscles; she hits me and I fall into the door, knocking it into the wall. She pounds me with her fists, in the chest and shoulders and face. I let the blows come, let them bruise and ache my bracken soul.

“Murderer!” she screeched between sobs. “You killed… murdered… you took her life!”

Les and Hannah did nothing, so shell-shocked. I didn’t react. She hit me harder and harder.

The corpse mocked.

Protect your sister… She doesn’t know…

She kept hitting me, but was growing weaker, weary. Her muscles fell apart and she fell on top of me. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her tight, and let the tears smother against my shirt. I let her sob and wail and howl and just let her lungs dry out. Blood-shot ears and strained face; the tears spun her around and she puked all over the floor, falling to her knees. I knelt down next to her, wrapped an arm around her, held her close, whispering in her ear, “It’s okay. We’re fine. Shhh. It’s okay.”

She sees the blood on my shirt. Not paint. And she rips away from me, her knee splashing in the puke; she falls against the far wall, gaping at the stained shirt
Amanda’s blood, it’s your best friend’s blood, Ashlie, all over me, look in
the bathroom! Haha!
and the motherly cadaver, brains and blood and skull fragments draping the wall like a Satanic Christmas tree. Les and Hannah stood beside the couch, frozen in time. I just looked deep into Ashlie’s eyes, searching. Searching for what, I don’t know. Hope, maybe? A forsaken word. A meaningless mutter.

Something intelligible came between the wails: “Why… Why… Why is she…”

I didn’t know why. I really didn’t. You just don’t
know
these things. They aren’t book facts or Bible verses you memorize. I just crawled up to her. She asked again, and I just embraced her, moving my body around so she wouldn’t see her. She coughed in my ear, “Where’s Daddy?”

I shook my head.

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

136

“Where is he?
Where is he Austin!!!”

“Dead,” I said. My mind took control; soul had parted. I was gone. It felt like my eyes looked down upon the scene, surveying; a wicked, twisted movie of some sort.

“How? How?”

“I killed him.”

She hurled me away, ripping to her feet. I fell back, head lolling, watching the ceiling. No cares.

Ashlie spun around in the middle of the room, staring at us all.
“What’s wrong
with you people! What’s wrong with you!”

“Ashlie…” Hannah tried. “Listen…”

“You killed my parents! You killed them both!”

Exasperated, Hannah stepped forward: “Ashlie…”

“Get away from me!”

Mom:
Get away from me!
The carcass laughed.

“Mom killed herself, Ash,” I said; the verity in my voice shocked me. Ashlie weakened her defense and cried, “Why?”

“To protect you.”

“To protect me from who?”

“From herself.”

“What about Daddy? Why did you kill Daddy?”

“To protect me. From him.”

“What did he try to do to you?”

“He tried… He tried to kill me. And he tried to kill you.”

Ashlie looked between us all. The tears flowed to a trickle, emptying. Her face burned bright red, a volcano of emotion. Suddenly she bolted from the room, running upstairs. Hannah and Les chased her; I wobbled to my feet and followed, closing the door behind me.

Ashlie grabbed at the front door.