Here at the things that I know to be true:
My name is Heather Lisinski. I'm a survivor of the war (so far), and some other things. I'm from Jericho, Kansas. If there is a Jericho. If not, I'll have to figure something else out, I guess.
It's been three weeks since I left. Not Jericho, that was earlier. Three weeks since I left New Bern, which is my actual hometown though I'm no longer proud to say that (and that hurts more than almost anything because I still miss it). One town attacked another, and I found myself in the middle of it, until I escaped and headed north.
They say I was in a crash, but I don't remember very much of it.
The strange new world is this refugee camp. It's a good one, as far as refugee camps go, so I'm told. There's food available – mostly the sort of army surplus type stuff my dad used to make on camping trips. Shelters are Spartan (mine is in a converted storage unit) but we’re connected to a military base and they keep everything secure so things seem mostly safe. I never feel safe, but that's because of the things in my head.
I have roommates, three other women assigned to the same unit. Two are from South Dakota, one from Nebraska. We don’t really talk. We just sort of exist in this space, trying not to annoy each other too much. It’s clear they’ve all seen horrible things too, but no one wants to relive them with strangers. It’s understandable, and yet…it’s more than that. No one talks here, in this whole camp. The people here are strange.
I can't really explain it. Things were bad back home, before the smaller war in the midst of this big war, but it was never quite like this. Sometimes in New Bern, you'd see it on someone's face, this complete look of defeat. No more fight. Here, it's everywhere. I should be glad, right? It might mean I'm safer here. If everyone in New Bern felt like that, they wouldn't have been making plans and attacking Jericho. But it creeps me out. It's so quiet. Even in this room.
I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, and though I’m not really good at talking about some things, this strange silent existence is getting scary in of itself. I’ve started to worry about losing myself. Some moments, I start to wonder if anything – the things I see, things I hear, and the things I remember – if any of it is real. So, I’ve decided to keep a record. If I write these things down, they’ll be real, to me. Until the day I can share them with someone else, this journal (this piece of paper from my last trip to the clinic, but I’m sure I can scrounge more as time goes on), will have to be my sounding board.
What else am I sure of? I’m still here, and so are Jericho and New Bern both, from what I’ve been able to glean. The military intervened and stopped the fight. This is a relief, but also not. The part of me that needs to know feels like I should be pushing for other information. Where was the damage and how bad is it? More importantly (terrifyingly), what were their names?
It seems unlikely that everyone I care about will have survived. Stuff doesn't work out like that, does it? I only lived there three years, but that's three years' worth of students, whoever's left of my old co-workers, my friends, neighbours, people I picked corn with, said hi to at the bar, survived with in a shelter during nuclear rain.
And then my other home, even more people. People who probably didn't choose this. I want even less to think of them because there's that added bonus, wondering if they were shooting at my new friends. But still, I see them in my dreams. I see them all.
When I first got here they gave me meds to help me sleep, but these days I'm just down to the vitamins they give everyone here (there's a lot of disease and malnutrition is wreaking havoc they say). So now they're with me all the time.
Okay, my hand is cramping (it's been so long since I've written this much) and it's getting dark out. I better sign off for now. Beam me up, Scotty. If someone from the future reads this (if my journal survives some battle that finally wipes us humans out for good), look up Star Trek. We hoped we'd be better people in the future, once.
May 8
My dreams seem to be getting worse instead of better. I woke up today thinking this would be the day I'd write them down, try to exorcise my demons or something, but now that I try it's hard to pin down the details. I think sometimes I dream of the crash – there's a loud noise and so much cold, and feeling of falling. And I dream of the fire we set. I dream about it all in close up. My hands reaching for levers, the feel of my feet pounding on the hallway floor. The breaths I took as we leaned against the wall, waiting.
And Eric. I can barely say his name out loud (and the times I have they haven't told me anything about him), but there it is. Co-conspirator. Random person lost in space. No, not random. He's my friend and I don't know what happened. I heard his screams. I don't know what I could have done – probably nothing – but I still see him in my dreams, watching as I run away. Now that I know the town is still standing, I hope he escaped somehow. But that's too much, isn't it? Maybe I should hope I don't find out.
The other dreams, the ones that don't repeat memories, are more easily explained away. The ones where everyone chases me like zombies. The river overflowing, carrying away all my things. School buses falling into endless rabbit holes. People have always dreamed these sorts of things, right?
So I walk around here, trying to fill my head with different pictures. People here sometimes meet your eyes for a few seconds, and I try to imagine what we'd say if we could really talk. If they'd tell me they dream about these things too.
I ran into Major Beck today. He meets my eyes for longer than a few seconds. He remembered my name. I was introduced to him a week ago by Colonel Hoffman. We talked about...well, not much, but I must've said something about reading because he told me today about a library they've set up in one of the buildings here. Nothing special, he says, but maybe I'd find something to pass the time. I hope I didn't look too deer-in-the-headlights. There's something about the way he looks at you, when you're talking. It's like he's really taking it all in. Not that that's so weird or different or anything but...it kind of is. Here. Now. I hope I didn't look too out-of-it. I think I might've stared a bit.
I went to the library after lunch. It did seem kind of “bottom of a bunch of high school lockers at the end of the year,” but I picked up a few things. They had a little sci fi section and I found Day of the Triffids. I hope it'll make me laugh. I was scared of it as a kid, when my dad read it to me at night, but now, evil plants. Gotta put things in perspective right?
May 9
Finished Day of the Triffids last night so I went back to the library today. I looked through the kids' section for a few minutes and it's not bad. Got a bunch of the old standards. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Borrowers, Charlotte's Web. I picked that one up and looked through it for a while. We were reading in it my class, back before. I felt so homesick, for a few minutes, holding onto these books, kind of like old friends but not. I know they're not really friends. Besides, the kids here need them more than me. Though I feel bad for whatever girl reads Are you There God? It's me Margaret looking for comfort. She'll be jealous of all the privacy and easy access to supplies. Anyway, I got some more books from the adults' section. Northanger Abbey. Some crappy looking romance novel. Watership Down. Nothing much else exciting is happening, but since these books still exist, it feels like something of my old life is still going. Not much else feels real here so, small victories right?
May 11
I'm going through these books so fast (I read them every time I can't keep my mind off everything else) but that's okay because on my trip to the library today I made a new...maybe a friend? Sort of. She works for the company in charge, J&R, and her name is Trish. I don't know exactly what she does (stocking the library is not her main gig, obviously), but she happened to be in dropping something off and she saw I was bringing back Watership Down and we got to talking. She suggested stopping at the canteen for a tea so we did that and we swapped origin stories (sort of – there's a lot I didn't say but she seemed okay with that). There's something different about her, compared to almost everyone else here. She has this calmness, this energy, and when she smiles, it seems real. I think she still believes good things are coming, in the future.
She told me about a kids' group they're going to have in the library. Nothing big, she said, but since I'm a teacher (she doesn't even say “used to be”), I might want to check it out. I thought it would be too hard, imagining myself doing that again (so many of them still haunt my dreams after all) but it seems so easy when she says it. “Just drop by, if you like.” Maybe it won't be so bad. If not I can always just grab another book (and some more writing paper, they have lots) and leave. Maybe not another dumb romance though (I tried to hide it when we were talking. I'm not used to people noticing what I do, but Trish notices everything).
I hope I run into her again, sometime. I forgot enthusiasm was contagious.
May 14
Today I was pronounced recovered from the accident. At least as far as they can tell here (no word on anything it could’ve done to my brain, since we’re pretty far from the time and place of CAT scans and MRIs), but my outward physical injuries have healed. Dr. Benson asked about my sleep habits and mental state, a bit. I'm pretty sure most people must be similar to me in this so I tried to keep things simple. He didn't seem worried anyway. From what I could pick up at the clinic, there are bigger things for them to worry about. I saw two people in scrubs trying to restrain someone who was screaming about aliens and I overheard another group of nurses muttering something about a virus, though when I asked Dr. Benson if something was going around he said there wasn’t anything to worry about.
He didn't seem concerned about how tired I am, at least. I was expecting to feel stronger, the more I recovered physically, but I guess with the way I've been sleeping, it's no surprise. Some nights I can barely stand it. I miss my room and my house so much I try to convince myself I'm back there when I close my eyes, but then I'm surrounded by ghosts. And all this reading helps, a bit, but it also makes the dreams even more cracked out. Like now Eric stares at me all dead eyed as man-eating plants try to strangle us both. And Jake and Emily scream for help but I can't get to them to save them from the rabbit snares they're caught in.
All I can do is keep going, right? Page by page. When my roommates go to bed and I have to turn the overhead light off, I try to remember the scenes in my head like a movie. Moment by moment. What else is there?
May 15
Kids here are funny. Not funny funny, though they do make me laugh a bit, but mostly strange funny. I stopped by the first library group session today. Old favourite, Where the Wild Things Are. One kid did his best impression of Max, hopping all around the place, when the librarian asked for a demo. The others just stared. Maybe they're tired too. I found myself yawning. Hard to sleep here, even for someone little. Maybe especially for someone little.
They had free activity time after, to do a colouring page or look at more of the books. I got pressed into service, doing some one-on-one reading with this little boy named Luis. He's a cutie, all big eyes and round face, completely serious. I kept picking up other things to read to him, but he wanted to look at the Where the Wild Things Are again and again. He'd point to the different monsters and stare back at me. I'd ask him questions about them, trying to figure out what he wanted me to see, but mostly he'd just say “monsters.” I get it, the confusion, I guess. Monsters? Not like the kind we've seen.
I think being around kids again, something so familiar but so changed, broke some kind of floodgate in me, or cracked it a little anyway. I don't know, maybe not sleeping just makes it harder to hold back. I stopped outside the canteen, trying to catch my breath, and Major Beck came over to ask if I was okay. I'm so embarrassed, but I found myself crying and everything just came out. Not everything, but the big thing. I told him about sabotaging the machines. I know I was right, it was the right thing to do, but it's still hard to explain without feeling like I did something wrong. He just nodded, just looked at me, and I kept talking. Telling him how they caught Eric. Kept him, tried to get rid of me. I ran away from the screams, not looking back, past the walls and street corners where I'd seen them beat people, terrorize people, punish them horribly for much lesser offences. I never looked back but I feel them looking back at me, in my dreams.
Beck was really nice. Said he'd look into it for me. Gave me a kleenex. Didn't say much else. Called me “Miss Lisinski.” Somehow when he says my name like that, I find myself letting go. I don't know if it's about feeling safe or being too tired to keep all those horrible things in. Don't know if I like it. He walked me home, took time out of his major schedule and everything to make sure I got in to my tiny temporary home okay. Said he liked what I'd done with the place. I'm sure it looks the same as all the others, but nice of him to pretend.
My roommates, so impossible to rattle with most things, all noticed. Janet made a big deal, like “what’s Major tall, dark, and handsome doing walking you home?” I didn’t really know how to answer that – what is he doing walking me home? – but I didn’t want to defend myself against her teasing either. Lydia and Charlene were more…suspicious, I guess. They don’t trust anyone, especially the men in charge here. “He’s not so bad, it’s okay,” I told them.
I don’t know anything for real, it’s true. I don’t trust my own instinct very much. I didn’t believe the men in charge of my hometown would destroy another group of people just for some land, after all. So I nodded politely at all of them, pulled my pieced-together journal (if only they sold staplers at the canteen! But for now I tie it together) out from under my bunk, and they went back to their activities – staring at the ceiling and obsessively organizing their corners of the room. Business as usual.
May 16
This morning when I tried to think back on the little bit of dreaming I'd done when I finally fell asleep, I kept getting this weird feeling. Like I'd had a different kind of dream. Like outside of everything else, words and images and everything, this one feeling – a touch on my arm. I can't shake it, it's like a memory of sensation that I know didn't happen but my arm still remembers. Maybe it's like a phantom limb or something. I haven't touched anyone in so long, my body wants to remember. A survival mechanism.
I took it for granted, I think. The little ways people touch and how normal it makes everything. Not to sound all weird or anything (though let's be real, this whole journal is about all the weird things). My friends used to hug me, put their hands on my arm or shoulder, and strangers might even pat my back as they try to get by in a crowded room or bump into me accidentally. I guess that part, the stranger thing, happens here to a certain extent, but I miss friends.
Back to the library to trade books again. Pickings are getting slim so I took another romance book. Put it in the middle of the stack so it'd be inconspicuous. Luis was there again with his aunt (she seems to be his guardian). Couldn't get a smile out of him but at least he remembered me and said hi back. Such a tiny kid to look so scared all the time, but aren't they all?
May 19
This is the best day yet! One piece of good news, finally! Beck sent me a message and I met him in his office, and he told me Eric Green's name has been included in recent documents coming out of Jericho, Kansas. He’s alive! He seems to be helping with whatever reconstruction stuff is going on at their end, so he can't be too badly damaged right? Of all the things I've imagined, at least on this count my brain can ease up a bit. We both made it and we're okay. Relatively.
I've always hated anyone seeing me cry but I'm sure a friend and co-conspirator turning up alive is fair cause for anyone to let the waterworks go just a bit. And then Beck, I guess he was trying to comfort me or whatever, he put his hand on my arm and everything just sorta – I got chills and just sorta froze. It's nothing, I guess he just touched my arm in the exact place I'd been focusing on the other day. Sorta normal right? I'm getting goose bumps now, remembering, how familiar and strange it all was at the same time. Oh my god, going on about someone touching my arm. If Emily were here she'd make some kind of joke. It's easier to think of her now. It's easier to think of all of them, just a little.
Also, ran into Trish again later. We're going to “get coffee” (it'll be tea though, that's all they ever seem to have) again tomorrow. Things continue to look up.
May 20
Luis talks! I went back to the library today and he was there and I offered to read to him again. He finally picked another book and then when I asked him his favourite song to sing, he told me, after a few tries, “Monday.” I think he means the days of the week song, but who knows, maybe he's into complaining about manic Mondays. And then he asked me where my home is. I told him Jericho, that's in Kansas, but turns out he wanted to know where in the camp I live, so I pointed in the direction.
He also told me that the bad things come out at night. Poor kid. He's five years old. I wasn't sure how to answer – probably good for him to talk about it, so I just sort of nodded. And I told him he's safe here now. He didn't seem that convinced. You and me both, kid.
But I'm not convinced it's all bad. Know who else talks? Trish, and she sure talks a lot. There's something so familiar about her but I'm not quite sure what it is. I wondered for a bit if she reminds me of Emily. They look a little bit alike, I guess. They both have a certain kind of confidence. It's not quite the same – I've seen Em in a crisis and she's not all that calm. But I guess, they've both seen some tough things.
Trish has been to four different camps since the bombs. She's seen thousands of people after their worst days and she's still looking forward to things getting back to normal, or the “new normal” as she says. Reminds me a little of the times Em's talked about some of things she went through growing up. She can be really matter of fact, like telling me about the time she climbed out on the roof to get away from her folks staging a battle royale in the living room ‘til someone called the cops. And she still looks forward to a new kind of household, with Roger, one where she's confident no one will be climbing out on the roof.
Maybe it's like that, with Trish. Thinking about this makes me miss Emily more, but it's nice to have a friend in the brave new world. Talking with her makes me feel a little better about that eventual new kind of normal, the one that'll happen when I get back home and see everyone again. Whenever that is.
May 22
I think I'm sleepwalking. That sounds weird, since I keep complaining about not sleeping, but it's the only thing I can think of. I woke up on the other side of the room. Just sort of on the floor. I asked the roomies, but no one remembered seeing me leave, or anything. I barely remember sleeping, but I feel like I can remember walking the halls of the medical unit. Footsteps, and someone breathing maybe. Nearby, loudly. Another patient?
I'm getting chills now. It's gotta be from the sleep deprivation right? I know that does all kinds of weird things to people. I'll try to find out.
May 23
The doctor here isn't much help. He had a few questions but he kept telling me nothing to worry about. Lock your door, he says. Try meditating.
The library has failed me for the first time too. The non-fiction section is pretty sparse. Unless you need to know about frogs of the Amazon or Mozart, you’re out of luck.
I ran into Trish (okay, maybe I went by the office I know she's stationed in, it's not like I have many friends here) and we got coffee (powdered juice in water really) and somehow I told her about it. Last night it was even weirder. I remembered passing someone else in the hall, someone trying to sneak away, and then a lot of footsteps following me. It's New Bern, isn't it? Eric (you're alive you're alive I keep saying to myself), and the men from the factory?
Somehow she gets me to spill my guts. She looks like Em and no one else here even notices the people around them. She tilts her head, like she's just got it, a read on the situation, cool as a cucumber. She says it is normal and the doctors know it, but they don't have the resources to actually treat people, try the things they might've in the old days. There is no post-apocalyptic refugee camp mental health plan. Maybe in a few years, those of us who survive that long will talk about our experiences with trained aid workers and documentary crews.
I felt better just hearing from her. That's the other thing we're all missing here. The people who usually help us get through the tough times. I asked her if she has it too. The dark cloud of bad mojo hanging over the rest of us, keeping us up all night. She said everyone has something keeping them up. Asked her how she deals with it. She said she's trying to figure it out too.
I'm trying, but I wish I could figure it out faster. I might have to sleep with my shoes on tonight.
May 23
So I'm just paranoid, I think. I woke up today with the weirdest feeling, like someone had been watching me. I've got walls all around me, don't I?
Speaking of paranoid, poor little Luis. We were reading together after library group again today (Ferdinand, the one with the pacifist bull) and kid suddenly turns into a ball of nerves. Full on grabs my arm in a vice grip, actually cowers behind my back. Major Beck had just come into the library and he came over to say hi. Luis wouldn't look up, wouldn't let go of me, and I'm pretty sure if he could have tunneled into the wall he would've. Beck took it in his stride – he seems good with kids – and said he'd come back later. I tried to explain to Luis who he was, what he does around here. Luis just kept whispering, calling him a bad man.
I explained to him that while there are some bad men out there, that I know of men in uniform who have done some bad things, the soldiers here are our friends. He didn't seem to believe me. In fact, he shut down and wouldn't talk to me anymore. Poor kid. I can't even imagine what he's seen to make him so afraid.
Beck did come back later and brought me an apple. Asked if I wanted to go for a walk. He seemed worried about how I was, after all that. Told him I'm not that easy to shake. I really hope it's true, but the thing is...Beck said he's going to be deploying to Jericho next week. Offered me a ride home. My heart should be jumping at this right?
I've totally been like Dorothy for so long, saying “I want to go home,” dreaming of Kansas. Did Dorothy ever get worried about how it'd be when she went back? If she could face the people in Kansas, or if she'd ever be able to describe what'd happened to her in the twister? Something inside me just wants to scream and run away.
But I can't do that. Sooner or later, better or worse, this is my path right?
Maybe not. Not necessarily anyway. Trish has told me there are job opportunities. Here, and elsewhere. People like us, young, unattached, making new lives for ourselves. I'm not sure about all that, but it's an interesting thing to consider.
May 24
Today's a terrible day. I
May 25
Okay I still don't really have the words to explain but I'm going to try to piece it together, here, for myself, before I get even more confused.
So yesterday started out normal enough. I was in the morning line for rations and I was feeling really lightheaded. It was going to be a while before I got to the front of the line so I stepped out to get some air. I started walking along the edge of the camp, this row of temporary housing units and tents, super quiet at that time of day because everyone's either in the ration line or not up yet. And then right at the edge, right by the fence, I saw her. This woman was there, lying on the ground. I freaked out – you'd think I'd be used to it, by now, but it was like going back. Like I was back in New Bern. I've seen people like that in New Bern, lying on the road, waiting to die, people walking by just stepping around them. I ran up to her and touched her shoulder – it was Luis' aunt! Worst thing of all (maybe not worst, she's dead and everything), I didn't even know her name. Her eyes were open, staring that same blank stare, and she didn't even look hurt. So pale and cold though.
I couldn't speak. I stood there frozen for a while. I barely remember walking back to the admin building but I must've. I know I started panicking, saying all kinds of nonsense, when I got in there. Somewhere in the midst of it, me freaking out, officials waving their arms, and all those people waiting for rations and staring in silence, Major Beck showed up and led me to his office. He did that thing, I don't know, that calm voice thing he does, sat just close enough but not so close I had to escape. He promised they'd look into it, that things would be okay. He didn't tell me her name either.
But things aren't okay. The strangest, strangest part. I remembered Luis, in the midst of it. “Where's the little boy?” I said. Beck looked confused, but patient. “What little boy?” he asked. “The scared kid, in the library,” I told him. “She was his aunt. Someone has to find him.” But Beck didn't remember him at all. Said he'd look into it, but I got the weirdest feeling, the way he was smiling at me, all gentle like, as if he was humouring me.
I went for a walk around to try to calm my nerves, clear my head, even though I feel I can barely lift my feet at times. I checked the library, the spot by the clinic where the kids play, the canteen, and rows and rows of housing. I don't know where Luis has hidden himself.
And I checked later, in the admin office. They said they have no record of a little boy named Luis. How can this be?
I've seen a lot of terrible things, but I know what they are. I know what things are real, and I’ve written about them. I’ve written about him. I haven't imagined that little face. Right?
May 26
Still no sign of Luis. I asked again at admin. Different people on duty, same blank look.
I came back in the afternoon when I knew Trish was on. “I heard what happened. How are you?” she asked. Touching my arm, tilting her head. I'd wanted this, comfort, someone not staring blankly, but it wasn't enough, somehow. She just looked annoyingly sympathetic when I asked about Luis. “I'm sorry,” she said.
“You have no record of him,” I said. I must've looked really upset because she offered to go for a walk with me. “I'm fine on my own,” I said.
I'm not fine on my own. This place isn't safe. I guess I always knew it, but for a while I was able to pretend otherwise.
I've been feeling a long time that something's wrong, but I've been pushing it back, trying to ignore. I have to wake up from that dream now. I know what I saw. A woman is dead and a little boy is missing, somewhere, and if no one else noticed or remembers him, it doesn't matter.
May 28
I've been looking for Luis the past two days. Zilch so far. How can one kid vanish completely?
At least I did get one piece of info from the admin desk. The woman I found was named Lana. She's already buried. Natural causes, they said. I don't understand it as she didn't seem any worse off than anyone else around here. Why would she have wandered off, abandoned him, to drop dead at the edge of camp?
I've gone up and down the rows of temporary homes, asking about Lana and the kid. Everyone here is so stuck! It's like they're all the same, giving me those same vacant stares, mumbling about keeping their heads down. Are we in some kind of body snatchers situation? (Come to think of it, body snatchers...Luis has been snatched, hasn't he?)
They won't talk to me anymore in the admin office. I can see it when they see me coming. Here comes the crazy again. I doubt myself, fifty times a day, but I remember Luis, laughing at Ferdinand the bull sniffing flowers, gripping my arm, staring up at me.
I don't want to stop. I've got this paranoid fear if I stop I'll somehow fall prey to whatever body snatcher weirdness has made everyone else so apathetic. I don't want to forget. I can't go home. Not back to that room with three vacant-eyed roommates, and not back to my mess of a pair of hometowns. Not while this little boy needs me to remember him. Beck and his convoy will have to wait on my answer until I get one.
May 30
I wonder if the body snatched people started with forgetting chunks of time.
I don't know where to start. Well, I was still walking around, looking I guess, last night. I couldn't figure out what to try next but I didn't want to stand still. It had gotten dark around the camp, and as I went by the barracks, where the soldiers live, this group of them started calling out to me.
“You're the girl who keeps getting up in everything at admin. Why don't you come over here?” one of them said.
“Come on man, she'll forget about it,” said another one. He looked weird. Like nervous maybe?
“Yeah, she will,” said the first one. “Come on, join us.”
He just stared at me. They were all staring at me. I didn't want to join them – a thousand red flags right? He kept talking, telling me come on over here, he's got something to take my mind off it, and I felt gross but I couldn't just walk away.
Then there was a hand grabbing mine, leading me away. But not one of theirs, this was Trish. “Come on,” she said, and she didn't even look back at them, just walked forward confidently.
I remember the feel of her hand, cool and steady, my feet stumbling along to keep up with her. I remember following her inside her quarters. Bigger, nicer than the basic refugee digs, but Spartan too. Just one little couch. That I promptly passed out on. I must have.
But today I woke up in my own room. I don't remember much of anything. Just that I woke up on my bed, in the clothes I wore yesterday, though without my jacket, as it was carefully folded and placed on the table. Roommates were already out so I couldn’t ask them, but I bet they’d say they didn’t see anything. After all my sleepless nights, I'm sleeping when I'm supposed to be awake and getting myself home. But I suppose it's nice to know someone's got my back. I feel safer when I remember Trish's face hovering over mine, looking down in concern. Just wish I remembered everything. I don't know how to trust my mind otherwise.
Okay, I went out, but I’m back and now I have to write more about this weird day. I went to the library, to calm my head a bit. It's not that calming a place anymore though. I feel the memory of Luis, like a ghost or something, every time I'm there, staring from behind the bookshelves, watching me and wondering why I haven't helped him yet.
They've got more books than ever but so little to choose from. I was trying to decide whether to reread Charlie and The Chocolate Factory or another romance novel when Major Beck came over. Surprised me actually – I dropped the book I was holding. We did the small talk thing for a bit, but then it got weird. He said he'd seen Trish leaving my place earlier. “Miss Merrick” he called her, though. I said sure, she helped me get home after I was tired and fell asleep at her place last night. He got this stiff look on his face and told me to be careful. I wanted to laugh – of all the people at this camp anyone would be worried about anyone else talking to, I couldn't imagine Trish raising any alarm bells, with her hair clips and nurse running shoes. “She's kind of been a friend to me,” I said, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
He nodded, looked like he was thinking it over, but then he said, “You seem like someone who takes your friendships seriously.”
Well, yeah, hard to argue with that. I said as much. He said, “Be careful. This isn't a good place to look for friendships. Miss Merrick hasn't been here long and she won't be staying long either. She'll be assigned somewhere else in the field soon. Best to remember where your real friends are.”
I felt a little bit like I was being lectured by a well-meaning dad to stay away from some bad news kid from the wrong side of the tracks. But he had such a serious look on his face, like he really wanted me to be okay. And then he was reminding me of Jericho, how he'd be going back there soon. We'd be going back soon. He thinks I'm going. I guess I am.
No matter what's happened while I've been gone, it can't be any stranger than this place.
May 31
Things can always get stranger. I noticed yesterday that I'd started getting a rash or something on my arm. Today the whole arm was blotchy and weird looking. It might be nothing, disappear in a day, but living in a time of radiation poisoning and other strange ailments, I figured it'd be good to check in at the clinic.
I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, or if the nurse looked a bit panicked when I first showed it to her. She examined it, even swabbed it with a cotton ball, and she had so many questions for something that's probably nothing. I told her I had no history of allergies. Hadn't been in contact with any cleaning products or new clothes the past few days. She wanted to know everyone I’ve been in contact with, even the…if I'd been with anyone recently. She really kept prying on that one. All this for an arm rash? I tried to not look rattled.
The thing is, the scary thing, I had a moment of wondering. I could suddenly see them again, that group of soldiers circling around me, my feet frozen to the ground. And then a night I couldn't remember. But Trish was there to make sure I got home safely.
Things happened a lot, back in New Bern. I know things have happened to the people here. Not only women – they're not the only ones, but a lot of times it's women. When I went to Black Jack, they were practically open about it. Beck is right; you have to be careful, just to live here. Things are dangerous and I can't forget that, just because I've been friendly with a few people. And I don't live here, do I?
June 1
I woke up in the middle of the night because Luis was looking at me. I sat right up in bed and he'd disappeared out the door. I got my shoes and a sweater and went out myself. I followed his laugh, turning corners and going around the camp.
I ended up at the edge, staring out through the fence. Wyoming, spreading out into the night. I haven't really thought much about it, isn't that strange? I've never been to Wyoming. I bet it was nicer before.
I came back here, taking a time out, but I can't sleep. I'm so wired. I had to write it down. Document document document right? My bio ethics prof used to say that. Or was it someone at the school, warning us about professional misconduct? Or was it Bill Nye the Science Guy?
He was hot. I'd hold his test tubes.
I tried to sleep but I'm not sure I ever did. It doesn't matter, I feel really awake. So, after another strange interlude out in camp weirdo land, I’m back to record the up-to-date situation.
In the light of day, my dream about Luis sounds silly. I made sure not to mention it to Major Beck when I spoke with him in the afternoon. Usual business, he's checking in and reminding me of the convoy headed back to the old homestead. Land of butter churns and Jake Green's chiseled jaw. I didn't mention Jake either.
I haven't mentioned Jake much at all, have I? Well, he'd take a bunch more pages and I'm sure they wouldn't come to any kind of conclusion. Maybe a few hypotheses, but barely enough experiments to test them. I used to dream about him sometimes. Now I don't really remember a lot. I'm not sure if any of the Jake Greens I've tried to piece together will be the one that's there in town when I get back.
But no big worries today, the sun is shining, there are strawberries in camp, and I'm going to see if Trish will eat some with me.
June 2
What the hell am I doing in this place?
I don't know who to trust. I don't want to say anything out loud. I probably shouldn't write it down either but I need to do something to prove to myself I'm not just losing it here.
Where to start? Last night. I was trying to sleep again. Mostly staring at the ceiling, thinking about things I'd read. Then I had the strange sense I had before, when I saw Luis. I went to open the door and I saw a little figure disappearing down the hallway. I called after him, but he didn't answer, so again, I grabbed my shoes and sweater.
I followed his running footsteps between buildings, past tents and temporary homes in storage units and bare bones trailers. Kept wondering if it was his voice I heard, giggling or whimpering up ahead, or just in my mind. Then I got interrupted.
These two guys – I think they were soldiers, I recognized one, but they weren't in uniform. Off duty. But they had this girl with them. She had to be a refugee, someone like me. Super skinny, like someone who used to be pretty thin but this war has just taken every reserve she had. She was in the middle of them, and like everyone else around here, barely awake it seemed, one of them was sorta supporting her. She looked like she had cuts on her arms, though it was hard to tell how bad they were in the dim light. And she looked at me, for a second, and the look in her eyes...one I've seen before. In New Bern. Fear.
I should've frozen. I mean, I actually should've gotten help, but I would think I would've frozen normally. It was Constantino's men all over again (didn't I see them, hurting people all the time, and I could never say anything? Don't their victims show up and accuse me of helping him, in all my dreams?) I can't say my heart wasn't pounding, but for some reason, I can't really understand it right now, in that moment I wasn't still.
I went right up to them. I said “Hey! That's my friend.” I'd never seen her before, but she was like all of them. I don't know what was happening to me but it was like something took me over, kept me staring back at them, all challenging.
They weren't happy about it. I got in their faces and they got in mine. They stood together like a wall, towering over me, and my heart was practically exploding in my chest, but I just kept stepping towards them, saying, “You’re not taking her anywhere!” And they stepped closer, started calling me bitch and...other things. I heard it all, part of me, somewhere up high or in a tiny corner of my mind, was freaking out, but the bigger part of me was yelling back, feeling a weird kind of thrill at pointing myself at them and glaring back.
Then one of them pushed me. Hard, I guess. I woke up in the hospital wing again. I didn't know where I was, what was going on, and you'd think my first thoughts would be about what had happened, if I was safe now, but for maybe the first time since I got here, I had this completely clear thought: I want to go home.
Everything started to come back to me and let me tell you, I didn't feel nearly as confident as I remembered. I sat up and looked around, trying to calm myself down, looking for clues in this empty room, but then I heard voices somewhere nearby.
They were familiar and at first I think I just wanted to see them, have them tell me things were okay now, but as I left the room and walked as quietly as I could down the hall, I realized they were in some kind of argument. I came close to the end of the hall and looked around the corner. Beck and Trish were standing at the admin desk, talking quickly in those hushed angry tones people use for arguments they don't want overheard. I hid in a broom closet close by and listened as carefully as I could.
I'm trying to remember exactly what they said. Beck was saying something like “What do you think you're doing?”
Trish was saying “What were they doing with an unsanctioned target? I'm not the bad guy here.”
Beck told her to stick to her job and follow protocol. She said maybe he should do the same. I could tell that was a risky jab to take, as they didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said “Careful. You don't stay in line here you could end up transferred. You don't want to find yourself in another Huntsville.”
“No,” said Trish. It was still quiet, but the loudest she'd spoken. I could just feel something angry, somewhere under the calm she's so good at.
“I'm looking out for you,” he said. His usual friendly tone again. I almost believed it, but there was something else under there too.
“Good at that, aren't you?” she asked. “That's what you're doing with Heather?”
I wish I'd managed to stay still, keep listening, but at the sound of my name I sorta jumped and I knocked into a bunch of mops. I closed my eyes, listening, and they'd stopped talking. Their footsteps started. I panicked, trying to figure out if I should run, try to hide, make up a story. I stared down at my blotchy red arm and in a few seconds they were there, at the door.
“Heather?” asked Trish, her face all concerned, not at all guilty.
“Are you alright?” asked Beck. The same, not worried at all I'd caught him, just worried about me.
It was now or never, right? I tried to think of what I should say, to confront them, but I have no idea what's really happening do I? So I just said, “What's going on?”
“We found you unconscious outside,” said Trish. “Were you sleepwalking again?”
“Must have been,” I said. I looked back and forth, between them, but if they were worried I'd heard them, they didn't show a sign. Didn't look mad at each other either. For some reason it gave me the chills and I just wanted to go back to my own room.
“You should get some rest. Walk you back to your room?” asked Beck.
“I can manage,” I said. “If I don't make it send out a search party.” We all sort of laughed a bit, awkwardly.
I started to go, but then I remembered something I had to ask. “What about the other woman?”
They looked at me, all politely confused. I said it again, told them I'd been trying to help her, that she looked like she was in trouble.
“No other women have been treated here tonight,” said Trish. “Don't worry.”
I said she must still be out there. Beck shook his head. “My men do regular patrols to make sure everyone's okay. We'd know if there was anyone needing help.”
“You might've been dreaming again?” Trish said. She and Beck looked at each other. For the quickest fraction of a second, I saw something pass between them. Something less than professional, friendly, the way they'd been acting for this whole conversation. But then they were smiling again, wishing me a good sleep.
I went back to my room, sat down on the bed, but didn't sleep. I went over everything I remembered, memorizing everything so I could write it down here when I got back. I'm tired of hospital rooms. I'm tired of this strange place. I don't think I'll ever find Luis (not when no one else agrees he exists), I don't think it's safe to walk around alone, and the friendliest people I've met are just doing their jobs (when they're not threatening each other vaguely).
The convoy leaves tomorrow. I'm going to go home. For better or worse. Whatever state I find my apartment in, whatever state I find my friends in, they're mine and I'm ready to find out. I'm ready to say goodbye to this place and not look back.