Bird Box (17 page)

“What’s going on, Tom?”

“Hey, Gary,” Tom says, “tell us a little more about yourself?”

The birds are cooing.

“Who is this?” Felix asks.

“My name is Gary, and I’m forty-six years old. I have a brown beard. I haven’t opened my eyes in a long time.”

“I don’t like the sound of his voice,” Cheryl says.

Olympia is here now.

Tom calls, “Why are you outside?”

Gary says, “I had to leave the house I was staying in. The people there were no good. A situation arose.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Don calls.

Gary pauses. Then, “They got violent.”

“That’s not good enough,” Don says to the others. “Don’t open this door.”

“Gary,” Tom calls, “how long have you been out there?”

“Two days, I think. Could be closer to three.”

“Where have you been staying?”

“Staying? On lawns. Beneath bushes.”

“Fuck,” Cheryl says.

“Listen,” Gary says. “I’m hungry. I’m alone. And I’m very afraid. I understand your caution but I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“You’ve tried other houses?” Tom says.

“Yes! I’ve been knocking on doors for hours. You are the first to answer.”

“How did he know we were here?” Malorie asks the others.

“Maybe he didn’t,” Tom says.

“He knocked for a long time. He
knew
we were here.”

Tom turns to Don. His expression is asking Don what he thinks.

“No way.”

Tom is sweating now.

“I’m sure
you
want to,” Don continues angrily. “You’re hoping he has information.”

“That’s right,” Tom says. “I am hoping he has ideas. I’m also thinking he needs our help.”

“Right. Well, I’m thinking there could be seven men out there, ready to slit all our throats.”

“
God
,” Olympia says.

“Jules and I were out there two days ago,” Tom says. “He’s right that the other houses are empty.”

“So why doesn’t he sleep in one of those?”

“I don’t know, Don. Food?”

“And you guys were outside at the same time. And he didn’t hear you?”

“Damn it,” Tom says. “I have no idea how to answer that. He could have been a street over.”

“You guys didn’t try those houses. How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Let him in,” Jules says.

Don faces him.

“That’s not how it works in here, man.”

“Then let’s vote.”

“Come the fuck on,” Don says, fuming. “If one of us doesn’t want to open the fucking door, we shouldn’t open the fucking door.”

Malorie thinks of the man on the porch. In her imagination, his eyes are closed. He is trembling.

The birds still coo.

“Hello?” Gary says again. He sounds strained, impatient.

“Yeah,” Tom says. “I’m sorry, Gary. We’re still talking this over.” Then he turns to the others. “Vote,” he says.

“Yes,” Felix says.

Jules nods.

“I’m sorry,” Cheryl says. “No.”

Tom looks to Olympia. She shakes her head no.

“I hate to do this to you, Malorie,” he says, “but it’s a tie. What are we going to do?”

Malorie doesn’t want to answer. She doesn’t want this power. This stranger’s fate has been dumped at her feet.

“Maybe he needs help,” she says. Yet, the moment after saying it, she wishes she didn’t.

Tom turns to the door. Don reaches across and grabs his wrist.

“I don’t want that door opened,” he hisses.

“Don,” Tom says, slowly pulling his wrist from Don’s hand, “we voted. We’re going to let him in. Just like we let Olympia and Malorie in. Just like George let you and me in.”

Don stares at Tom for what feels to Malorie like a very long time. Will it come to blows this time?

“Listen to me,” Don says. “If something bad comes from this, if my life is put in danger because of a fucking vote, I’m not going to stop to help you guys on my way out of this house.”

“Don,” Tom says.

“Hello?” Gary calls.

“Keep your eyes closed!” Tom yells. “We’re letting you in.”

Tom’s hand is on the doorknob.

“Jules, Felix,” Tom says, “use the broomsticks. Cheryl, Malorie, you’ll need to get up close to him, feel him. Okay? Now, everybody, close your eyes.”

In the darkness, Malorie hears the door open.

There is silence. Then Gary speaks.

“Is the door open?” he says eagerly.

“
Hurry
,” Tom says.

Malorie hears shuffling. The front door closes. She steps forward.

“Keep your eyes closed, Gary,” she says.

She reaches for him, finds him, and brings her fingers to his face. She feels his nose, his cheeks, the sockets of his eyes. She touches his shoulders and asks for one of his hands.

“This is new to me,” he says. “What are you searching—”

“
Shhh!
”

She feels his hands and counts his fingers. She feels the fingernails and the light hair on the knuckles.

“Okay,” Felix says. “I think he’s alone.”

“Yes,” Jules says. “He’s alone.”

Malorie opens her eyes.

She sees a man, much older than herself, with a brown beard and a tweed blazer over a black sweater. He smells like he’s been outside for weeks.

“Thank you,” he says, breathless.

At first, nobody responds. They only watch him.

His brown hair, combed over to the side, is unruly. He is both older and heavier-set than any of the housemates. In his hand is a brown briefcase.

“What’s in there?” Don asks.

Gary looks to the case as though he’d forgotten he carried it.

“My things,” he says. “What things I grabbed on my way out.”

“What things?” Don asks.

Gary, looking both surprised and sympathetic, opens the case. He turns it toward the housemates. Papers. A toothbrush. A shirt. A watch.

Don nods.

As Gary closes the case he notices Malorie’s belly. “Oh my,” he says. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she says coolly, not knowing yet if they can trust this man.

“What are the birds for?” he asks.

“Warning,” Tom says.

“Of course,” Gary says. “Canaries in the mines. That’s very clever of you. I heard them as I approached.”

Then Tom invites Gary farther into the house. The dogs smell him. In the living room, Tom points to the easy chair.

“You can sleep there tonight,” he says. “It reclines. Do you need something to eat?”

“Yes,” Gary says, relieved.

Tom leads him through the kitchen and into the dining room.

“We keep the canned goods in the cellar. I’ll get you something.”

Tom quietly motions for Malorie to follow him into the kitchen. She does.

“I’m going to stay awake with him for a while,” Tom says. “Get some sleep if you want to. Everybody’s exhausted. It’s okay. I’ll get him some food, some water, and we’ll talk to him tomorrow. All of us.”

“There’s no way I’m going to bed right now,” Malorie says.

Tom smiles, tired.

“Okay.”

He heads for the cellar. Malorie joins the others in the dining room. When Tom returns, he brings canned peaches.

“I never would have thought,” Gary says, “that one day the world’s most valuable tool would be a can opener.”

Everybody is at the dining room table together. Tom asks Gary questions. How did he survive out there? Where did he sleep? It’s clear that Gary is exhausted. Eventually, one by one, and beginning with Don, the housemates go to their bedrooms. As Tom walks Gary back into the living room, Malorie and Olympia rise from the table. On the stairs, Olympia puts her hand over Malorie’s.

“Malorie,” she says, “do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?”

Malorie turns to her.

“No,” she says. “I don’t mind at all.”

twenty-eight

I
t is the next morning. Malorie gets up and gets dressed. It sounds like everyone is downstairs.

“Did you have electricity as well?” Felix is asking as Malorie enters the living room.

Gary is sitting on the couch. Seeing Malorie, he smiles.

“This,” Gary says, fanning a hand toward her, “is the angel who felt my features when I entered. I have to admit, the human contact nearly made me cry.”

Malorie thinks Gary talks a little like an actor. Theatrical flourishes.

“And so did a vote really decide my fate?” Gary asks.

“Yes,” Tom says.

Gary nods.

“In the house I came from, no such courtesies were extended. If someone had an idea, they went with it, rather vigorously, whether or not everybody approved. It’s refreshing to meet people who have retained some of the civility of our former lives.”

“I voted against it,” Don says abruptly.

“Did you?” Gary asks.

“Yes. I did. Seven people under one roof is enough.”

“I understand.”

One of the huskies gets up and goes to Gary. Gary rubs the fur behind its ears.

Tom begins explaining to him the same things he once explained to Malorie. Hydroelectricity. The supplies in the cellar. The lack of a phone book. How George died. After a while, Gary begins talking about a former housemate of his. A “troubled man” who didn’t believe the creatures were harmful at all.

“He believed that the people’s reaction to them was psychosomatic. In other words, all this insanity fuss isn’t caused by the creatures at all, but rather by the dramatic people who see them.”

Insanity fuss
, Malorie thinks. Do these two dismissive words belong to Gary’s former housemate?

Or are they Gary’s?

“I’d like to tell you guys about my experience at my former place,” Gary continues. “But I warn you, it’s a dark one.”

Malorie wants to hear this. They all do. Gary runs his fingers through his hair. Then he begins.

“There was no ad that we answered and we weren’t as young as you all. We had no communal sensibility, no group effort. My brother Duncan has a friend who took the Russia Report very seriously. He was one of the early believers. It went well with his conspiracy theories and paranoia that the government or
somebody
is out to get us all. As goes myself, I
still
have moments where I can’t believe it’s happening. And who can blame me? I’m over forty years old. So used to the life I was living, I never fathomed one like this. I resisted it. But Kirk, my brother’s friend, was certain of it from the very start. And nothing, it seemed, would sway him. One afternoon Duncan called and told me Kirk suggested we gather at his place for a few days, or until we learned more about this ‘thing.’

“‘What thing?’ I asked.

“‘Gary, it’s all over the television.’

“‘What thing, Duncan? The thing that happened in Russia? You can’t be serious.’

“‘C’mon,’ Duncan said. ‘We’ll throw back some beers, eat some pizza, and humor him. You’ve got nothing to lose.’

“I told him no thank you. Hanging out with crazy Kirk as he analyzed sensational stories didn’t sound like a good time to me. But I showed up soon enough.

“I’d heard the reports just like everybody in the country did. They started to worry me. There were just so many of them. Still, I foolishly attempted to maintain my disbelief. These kinds of things just don’t happen. But then came a report that forced me to take action. It was the one about the sisters in Alaska. You might be wondering why it took me so long to be convinced. Alaska was relatively late, but Alaska was also an American report and I’m just provincial enough not to worry until it happens close to home. Even the reporter was clearly scared of what he was saying. Yes, even the man delivering the news did so trembling.

“You know the story. A woman saw her two elderly neighbors, sisters, leaving the house. She assumed they had gone for their daily walk. Three hours later, she heard on the radio that the sisters were in front of the hospital, crouched on the stone steps, trying to bite people as they passed. The woman drove to the hospital, fancying herself closer to the sisters than anyone else and likely able to help. But that wasn’t the case. And the photos on CNN showed the woman with her face removed, literally on the sidewalk beside her bloody skull. Beyond her were the two old ladies, dead, shot by the police. That image chilled me. Such normal people. Such everyday environs.

“For Kirk, the Alaskan incident validated all paranoid fantasies. Despite my own growing fear, I wasn’t ready to exchange the life I’d known for this new, militia-like existence he was espousing. I was prepared to drape the windows, lock the doors, and hide, but Kirk was already coming up with plans to combat what he believed was an ‘invasion’—whether that be alien or otherwise was never clear. He talked about weapons, gear, and guns like a veteran soldier. Of course he wasn’t one; he’d never enlisted in anything in his life.”

Gary pauses. He seems to ponder.

“Soon the house was crowded with quasi-militant males. Kirk was enjoying his newfound position of general, and I watched a lot of the buffoonery from the sidelines. I made a habit of letting Duncan know he ought to keep his distance. A man like Kirk was liable to send his friends into harm’s way. The men grew increasingly contentious, juiced with the fantasy of overthrowing the villains of Kirk’s ‘invasion.’ Days passed, and yet nothing came of their boisterous claims that they would protect the city, eliminate the cause of this global madness, and secure their place in history as the band who fixed the ‘big problem.’ Yet, there was one man in the house who took action for what he believed. His name was Frank, and Frank believed that the creatures Kirk prepared for were no threat at all. Still, he came to the house, fearful, he admitted, of the inevitable lawlessness that could sweep the country.

“As Kirk planned useless daily drills, Frank became something of a shut-in, hardly leaving the bedroom on the second floor. And in there, he wrote. Day and night Frank wrote with pencil, pen, marker, and makeup. One day, walking the upstairs hall, I heard something behind his closed door. It was a furious sound, laborious, angry, unflagging in its pace. I eased the door open a crack and saw him hunched over a desk, whispering about the ‘cultish, overreactive’ society he loathed as he scribbled. I had no way of knowing what he was writing. But I wanted to find out.