When I was little, the sky was too. It existed in slices between buildings or hovering near the tops of school windows, but it did not register to me as the whole of the universe bearing down on Earth and our singular, unimpressive existence.
After the bombs fell, the sky changed - without competing light from the city or cars or cell phones, it swelled to touch everything, blue-bright and teeming with possibility. It's funny to think of how afraid I used to be of staying out after dark - never running after sunset, walking rigidly from class to my car with my keys threaded through my fingers. Nowadays I frequently walk from our camp all the way to the road, aided only by the night's living shimmer.
Maybe that's why, when Jesse Sorokin came prowling back into my life, he laid his trap in the middle of the afternoon.
That particular night, I stopped about forty feet back from the road. The motel was down a small private drive tucked far back enough from the highway that I hoped no one had scoped it in their travels, though I figured other locals must know its location. Still, I hadn't seen any signs of an encampment in all my exploratory trips, and since morale had been dwindling in our small group for a few weeks now, I figured the time was right for a little "fun run" to see if I could restock amenities.
I left my rolling cart at the tree line, obscured by some low hanging branches. The motel itself looked to be about twelve units give or take, stacked in an "L" shape around a slimy courtyard pool. I grabbed my backpack, which had another duffel bag rolled up inside it, and checked my list again:
-thumbtacks (nails OK)
-tampons!!!
-paperbacks - prefer mystery, romance
-nail polish - any color
-hair ties
-sunscreen
-art supplies (any)
-good boots size 8, but will take up to 10 NO HEEL
Most of the list had come from the other women in our group, who were more comfortable coming to me about their hygiene requests. The paperbacks were an ask from Perry, the older vet who'd joined our group around four months ago. The art supplies were for the kids.
There was no point in writing down things like food, water, or medicine. Everyone knew to grab those whenever and wherever you got the chance, even if it meant a fight. Anyway, this run was about wants, not needs.
The door to the lobby was padlocked; the window in the office was not. I shimmied my way through and landed as quietly as possible, pausing to listen once I was inside. My hand hovered next to the knife I kept on my hip, but all was quiet.
The office and lobby were a wash. There was a coffee bar opposite the front desk, but it had clearly been picked over long ago. I grabbed some clean printer paper and pens for the kids, and some rubber bands just in case I didn't find hair ties. I also found a heavy keyring, which was a boon - at least I wouldn't have to go around breaking windows.
I decided to start at the furthest corner on the top floor and work my way back to the lobby. The first two units were pristine, but as I was about to slip the key into the lock of the third room I heard a sound - not an animal rustle, but a click. Metal? Plastic? I paused, listening, but it didn't repeat.
Keep going,
I told myself.
They can't all be fruitless.
Heart pounding, I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. However, this room wasn't empty like the previous two. In fact, it looked like a bachelorette party had exploded in there. Dusty penises were taped to the walls and pink luggage had been left open on the beds. When the blast hit, the party staying here had clearly high-tailed it back home. Either that, or they never made it back to the motel to reclaim their stuff.
Regardless, it was a treasure trove for us. They had left behind a couple dog-eared paperbacks, plenty of hair accessories, and best of all, an entire box of hangover drink mix - basically emergency rehydration powder. That one room was enough to fill the remainder of my smaller backpack. I crept down the stairs and around the back to where my cart waited in the brush. After I was done depositing the goods I headed back, bringing the empty duffel bag with me to keep clearing.
It took another hour to reach the last room on the top floor. By this point I was locked into a rhythm, moving through the identical layouts to check drawers, cabinets, underneath bedskirts. I opened the door to find the same layout as the other rooms; double beds, single nightstand, one desk, two chairs, two men sitting in them.
My blood went icy. I almost stumbled back, then caught myself in the doorframe. They looked up at me in perfect unison, their expressions unchanging.
"Sorry," I said stupidly, making to back out.
"Wait, where are you going?" The one closest to me reached out his hand, closing it around my forearm. It felt like shackles. I dropped the duffel bag in the entryway, freeing my other hand in case I needed to reach for my knife.
"What's your name?"
I swallowed. "My name's Hazel."
"Well Hazel, I'm Matt, and this is Jesse." The man gestured to his friend without letting go of my arm.
Jesse eyed me up and down. He had these eyes that were so clear they looked colorless. "Don't I know you?"
"No," I lied, and looked away quickly. I nodded my head at Matt's hand, still locked around my skin.
"Sorry." He smiled sheepishly as he let go. Before I could back out of the room, Jesse spoke again.
"Stay. Hang out with us a bit."
My mind played this out; if they were just passing through, I shouldn't escalate by running or fighting. I could stay for a bit, learn more about them, and then slip away when I was sure they weren't following me.
But - something didn't feel right. I hadn't exactly been quiet moving from room to room, and if they did just happen to be stopped here at the same time, why hadn't they announced themselves? Or left before I saw them? I could have been armed with more than a knife. Instead, they just sat here...
Lying in wait.
Matt leaned over and patted the foot of the bed. I took my time sitting down opposite them, so I could size them up. Matt was burlier than Jesse, but also softer in the face and hands. I had a feeling he was so used to looking intimidating that he rarely had to prove his muscle. Jesse was wearing thick work pants and a denim jacket, but I remembered what used to be concealed beneath - the long lines of his body, corded muscles built for speed, infinitely stronger than they looked. I had no reason to believe he'd grown softer in the intervening years - no one who had survived this long hadn't been shaped by the experience. I angled away from him and hoped he couldn't get a good look at my face in the fading afternoon light.
Matt tapped his fingers against a spread of playing cards on the side table between their chairs. "We're playing Slapjack. Do you know the rules?"
"I think so. It's like Egyptian Ratscrew, right?"
Matt dealt me a hand at the same time Jesse passed me a bottle of cheap rum.
"Yeah, it's the same, except the only slaps that matter are jacks."
"So don't get slap happy," Jesse added, and nodded toward the bottle in my hand, urging me to drink. I took a small sip. It tasted sour, like if alcohol could turn.
"Aww, that's not a sip," he admonished. "Come on! This is a party now!" They both grinned at me, and it was clear the game would not continue until I complied. I took a longer pull, using a trick I'd learned in high school to block the opening with my tongue and fake a swallow. The illusion seemed to satisfy them enough to return to the game.
Matt started the stack, and we took turns putting down cards, waiting for the jack.
"So," Jesse began, perfectly casual. "Where are you staying?"
"Oh, a couple miles east from here," I answered, and focused on setting down my next card.
"Alone?"
"Of course not."
