I snort. “Oh? Well, they killed off a third of us in one morning. A week shouldn’t be too hard. ”
51: AMY
I try to look interested.
I try to care.
I should care.
I was prepared to say goodbye to my parents. I did say goodbye to Mom. And when I did, I never expected to see her again. She’d go to the space station and from there back to Earth. It was a forever sort of goodbye.
But there’s a difference, isn’t there? Between saying goodbye and death.
Dad and Chris and Elder argue about something. The weapon on the space station, the Hail Mary that’s supposed to be able to wipe out the aliens and save us all. Elder and Chris don’t want to use it. They say we don’t know what it is, how much damage it will cause. If it kills the aliens, couldn’t it kill us too?
But I don’t think Dad cares about that sort of thing anymore. About casualties. Not now that Mom’s become one.
At one point, Elder brings up our idea that there’s something still on Godspeed, some sort of clue that will tell us what the aliens are and how to defeat them.
“I don’t need any damn clues,” Dad growls at him. “I don’t care what the aliens are. All I need is a big enough gun to kill them all. And that’s what I’ve got on the space station. ”
“You would commit genocide?” Chris asks softly.
“They would do the same to us. ”
Elder tries to bring me into the conversation. Maybe I could soften Dad, make him listen.
But I just stare at the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Chris tells me as Dad dismisses him and Elder.
I look right through him.
Sorry? It’s just a word.
Elder doesn’t use words. He just wraps his hand around mine and pulls me until I stand. He keeps pulling, and I stagger behind him. At the doorway, he stops.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he says softly, not letting go of my hand.
Like I lost my mother.
“Amy,” he says, and then he waits until I meet his eyes. “I can’t lose you. I can’t ever . . . ”
But death doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t care if someone loves you, doesn’t want you to go. It just takes. It takes and it takes until eventually you have nothing left.
Elder seems to realize that nothing he says can penetrate the darkness that has wrapped around me. He just tugs me closer to him, and he wraps his arms around me, and he holds me up while I sag against him, biting my lip as hard as I can to keep from crying because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never ever stop.
After a long time, Elder says, “Do you want me to stay?” He glances past me, at Dad. “I will, no matter what he says. ”
I shake my head and step back from him. Elder squeezes my hand one last time, then disappears into the night.
Then it’s just me and Dad in this cold, stone building, made by people long dead.
Dad hugs me, and we stand together like this for a long time. And even though we hold each other tightly, it still feels as if there’s something between us, something that makes us unable to really reach each other. And I realize there is something between us, something that will always be between us: the ghost of Mom’s memory, reminding us of what we’ve lost.
Dad goes to talk with the military. About guns, and how many remain. And how to arm the big one on the space station.
And then it’s just me.