I nod in sympathy. “Yeah, I know.”
The back patio is quickly cleared and I’m standing in front of fifty of my classmates. The group sits on the grass, holding plastic red party cups. Once the group quiets I take a deep breath and begin.
“This isn’t my valedictorian speech. This is more like a manifesto I wrote last week while watching the idiots on cable news discuss the future of society and the crumbling of our systems the minute the E-TR virus reared its ugly, cannibalizing head. They sit behind these desks, analyzing the fractures in our medical, emergency, and governmental systems yet do absolutely nothing about it. I just sort of snapped.
“So right,” I say pulling up the document on my phone. “This is just something I wrote. Hope you like it.”
“I’m sitting on my couch, the one I spilled juice on when I was four. The one that I take naps on when I’m sick. The couch my mother tries to replace every year and my father refuses because it’s so comfortable, soft…so ours. It’s the one I sit on now, perched on the edge of the cushion watching the news. The never ending updates that never update anything at all. Watching the never ending panel of politicians, doctors, experts, journalists discuss our fate. I listen to the fighter jets fly overhead. I read the scrolling information at the bottom of the screen. I do all this with my paper and pen in my lap writing this speech. The one for the students. My students—classmates. Friends. The one to inspire us to the next stage of life.
As valedictorian my job is to propel us forward. Convince you all that I, at eighteen, know what is best for us, help you all rally around the idea that we will be the ones to change the world. We will end poverty. Stop racism. We will be the generation, the class that grabs the world by the balls and squeezes so tight that all the assholes will stop being assholes in the name of religion, self-righteousness, and greed.
Yet the man on the television is telling me something different. Or at least the way the shadows under his eyes imply he isn’t sleeping. The tremor in his voice betrays his nerves. For a brief moment his voice is overpowered by the announcement that we must stay inside. Take shelter. Stay calm.
If your neighbor tries to murder you, well, just make sure he doesn’t make a flesh wound, alright?
We are so very, very screwed.
I look out over my classmates, the ones that have made it to the party and am shocked to find every one of them listening, eyes glued to me on my makeshift podium. I have their attention better now than I ever would in a crowded auditorium. Matt has a small smile on his face. Olivia looks like she’s about to break down and cry. Their hands are linked. Good.
I continue, “Maybe though, for once the speech is right. Maybe we are the class that will make a difference. The generation that will change things. Maybe we will be the only ones left—the ones on the cusp of it all. The old life and the new. The before and the after. Those who succumb to the end of the world and those who survive it.
Maybe we will be the ones who will rebuild society in a better way. A way without greed and desperation or sexual exploitation and religious persecution. “
I take a deep breath because my last line is a lie. At least I tell myself it is. “Or maybe, we’re the group without one single fuck left to give and the world figured it out just in time.”
Chapter Seventeen
~Now~
Half a day later Wyatt and I stop at a small convenience store at the corner of Nowhere and Nowhere Else, North Carolina. We’re nearing the reservoir, so this one is a bit more like a bait shack than anything else. Combing through the tiny aisles with the truck parked outside feels incredibly exposed but the area seems safe enough.
I spot the bathroom door, well two, behind the drink machine. The men’s room has an “Out of Order” sign taped to the front. Quietly—matching the obscene silence of the shop, I say, “I’m gonna see if they’ve got any clean water in the faucet.”
Wyatt nods, shoving stuff in his pack. It’s already clear he’s not a huge talker. That works for me. I’ve already promised myself not to connect to anyone else out here. It seems like the smart thing to do.
I tap on the bathroom door before opening it but hear nothing inside. I swing it open and to my surprise it’s not that bad. I close the door and test the faucet. Water gushes out, clear and clean. I fill my bottles and then run my hands under the water, splashing some over my face.
The mirror over the sink is one of those metal, wavy kinds that make my face look distorted, like a funhouse mirror. I find my hairbrush and drag it through the matted tangles before bunching it into two pigtails.
I glance down and almost cry when I see toilet paper hanging from the roll. No I do cry. I sit down and cry but it isn’t over the toilet paper or the water. It’s my mom and the image of her back in that barn. The way the gun recoiled, vibrating down my arm. I should have buried her. No, I should have saved her. I should have never left her alone.
I allow myself to cry it out in the tiny moment of privacy I’ve had since it happened. Then I wash my face off again, eyes visibly red and puffy even in the crappy mirror. Whatever, I tell myself. No really. What.Ever. I killed my mom. I deserve a momentary breakdown.
Back in the shop, I join Wyatt, who is rummaging through the tiny auto parts section. Smart since we have the truck.
I feel his eyes on me. Quick glances. I swallow and fill my hands with aspirin packets and soap.
“How long were you and your mom on the road alone?”
“Long enough. You?”
“Since they locked down the borders. I packed a bag and headed to the mountains. Decided I would camp until it was over. No reason to hang around waiting to get sick.”
“So you just camped?”
“Yeah and hiked. There are a lot of people out there. Up on the trails. More were coming when I left.
”