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It wasn’t the first dream he’d had about that afternoon in the rotunda.
The gasoline scented air thick with dust and heat. Black cables snaked on the tiled marble.
“I never asked you for anything, not even to …”
"I felt the way you felt, Tess. I’ve always had.”
She arched her neck to the side, revealing a peach flesh tendril under the army green collar.
“You flinched.”
“I’m - I’m sorry.”
Tess shrugged.
He watched her thumb the silver wheel on the lighter again and again: flick, flick, flick.
“You should go."
“I saved Ellie,” he offered.
"Keep going, Joel. Save who you can save.”
Save who you can save. A plea, a promise.
Tess. Joel whispered her name like a prayer, a secret. Eyes shut, drool pooling on the corner of his partly open mouth, his right cheek pressed against the pillow.
__
Joel. Joel. Grace repeated his name three, four times. She’d already lightly run her fingers through the tufts of soft curls as she murmured into his left ear “Joel, you’re okay, you’re in Jackson, Wyoming. This is Grace.”
He jolted awake.
“You ok? Must’ve been some dream.”
__
Grace didn’t want to ask, she knew she shouldn’t, and that they don’t - not here, not now - but she wanted to know. She had those types of dreams about Before Jackson - the ones that made you sit bolt upright in sweat drenched sheets.
His name was Kian. Tall, dark brown eyes. A boisterous laugh that filled every room.
“How’d you predict it’d fall so quickly?” It was the month FEDRA had begun disappearing people in the Seattle QZ, mutilating corpses in the square. She figured he’d give some answer about being the son of parents who fled Tehran during the revolution, some intergenerational trauma or imprinting, a Spidey sense of recognizing fascist fuckers lurking on a street corner.
“History rhymes. You really thought our institutions were going to save us? Bush v. Gore didn’t prove to you that the courts were never going to save us?”
He looked down at her as their legs tangled on a twin bed narrower than the one she had in college, a thin mattress against a wooden frame, rumpled sheets, the comforter and clothes strewn on the floor.
Outside the sirens blared as he whispered, softly chuckling into her hair: “Grace, babe, we save ourselves.”
And she failed at that.
Grace never told a soul how ready she was that still-dark morning. She’d heard his screams from her cell. She was done. Grief turning into a death wish. A clean shot to the back of the head. She imagined dead-Lauren quipping: that would have been enough.
The FEDRA woman ripped off her blindfold and cut the zipties.
It was dawn and streaks of red orange hovered over the darkened trees on the horizon, the moon a faint sliver in the purple gray clouds that filled the rest of the sky.
“You came in the middle of the night to save my life at Harborview back in ’01. I remember you - Dr Yang, yeah?”
Grace swallowed and nodded, her head aching and dizzy, unable to recall how or what she’d done, whether she’d cauterized a bleeding stomach ulcer or merely fished out a bone lodged in the esophagus, how this officer must have mistaken her for someone else who’d done real heroic shit.
“This is what you’re going to do,” the FEDRA officer continued.
She rolled the body bag off the truck, a hard thump on the ground, and proceeded to throw Grace’s belongings at her feet, along with a revolver she removed from a holster, and pressed Kian’s cherry red Swiss army knife into her palm.
“You have one hour. Bury your boyfriend, then get out. Follow the train tracks. Go east. We’ll call this even.”
__
Ellie and Grace waited by the gate for Joel. The sun already hot by mid morning, Ellie took off her hoodie and tied it around her waist.
Against her better judgment, Grace blurted out: "Hey, may I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…
The fourteen-year-old eyed her skeptically. “Um, okaaay.”
“Who’s Tess?”
“Tess?” Ellie echoed in a lilt.
“Yeah, Tess.”
“Um,” Ellie’s eyes darted behind them, as if to make sure they were alone. “Um, Tess was Joel’s partner in the Boston QZ. She died on our way here. The Fireflies had paid her and Joel to take me to this a hospital in Salt Lake City where um, my condition was going to help create some vaccine.”
“Wait. What’s this about a vaccine? What do you mean, ‘condition?’”
Ellie pushed up a sleeve to reveal her forearm, the gnarled bite mark resembling a skin graft, a soft rubbery keloid.
Wide-eyed, Grace exclaimed: “Oh God. Was that a bite? You’re immune? What the hell happened in Salt Lake? Is that where you and Joel went last year? What’d they do? Did they run blood tests? Do a spinal tap? How did…?”
Grace was relentless in her line of interrogation. She asked Ellie a total of twenty plus questions about drugs, equipment, storage, procedures, doctors and nurses and staff, the Fireflies, how she originally got bit, who was with her, who found her, when she realized she was immune. She didn’t probe any further about Tess. Maybe it was that death had become so present, she felt no urge to dig for details, and imagined somewhere Tess and Kian and maybe Lauren were throwing back drinks, exchanging stories about those they left behind.
Ellie began to stammer: “Shhhhh. Stop. I don’t know. I don’t know! I mean, I’m immune, for sure. But I don’t remember much - I was drugged up. Joel had to get me out of there when the raiders attacked. He said they didn’t need me, that there were other kids immune, too.”
She looked down before continuing.
“I remember Marlene and then waking up in the back of a car in this paper hospital gown….” Glancing up, slightly panicked, Ellie pleaded: “You can’t tell anyone, Grace. I swear. About me. About all of this. We can’t talk about this anymore.”
__
“Joel, don’t freak out.” Grace drew in a deep breath. “I just thought you should know. That I know about Ellie and what happened in Salt Lake. And I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m just glad you both made it back … back safe.” She wanted to say “home,” but was unsure what that word may mean to him when she couldn’t figure out what it meant to her.
Joel looked at her, startled, and opened his mouth to reply before she interrupted and began peppering him manically with questions, her curiosity getting ahead of her.
“What did they have? What did they say? Was there a lab? Do you remember who you talked to?” She began gesticulating wildly, a habit she slipped into when excited and talking too rapidly. “There was this woman Abby I met when l left the Seattle QZ and she told me her dad was some doctor out in Utah or Colorado trying to do something with vaccines and I asked her how they had the technology or a way to operationalize it in the middle of all of this and it just sounded too good to be true. You know? And then Ellie said you said there were other kids like her? Were they all there? How…”
Joel waved his hand dismissively and shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it. I saw Marlene, but I don’t remember anyone else. Lots of clickers turned up. Last thing I know I grabbed Ellie and we got the hell out."
“Holy shit, raiders AND clickers? Ellie said raiders attacked.”
“Well, yeah, both,” Joel backtracked. “I can’t recall every detail…” He straightened his posture and squared his broad shoulders, crossing his arms defensively and she couldn’t help but spy the muscled forearms exposed below his rolled sleeves. ”How did you even start talkin’ to Ellie ‘bout this?”
“I dunno.” Grace mumbled, looking down at her boots and blushing. “I asked her who Tess was and then…”
“How did you hear about…?” His eyes darkened. “We don’t talk about Tess. We don’t ever bring up Tess.”
Staring back at his scowl, Grace felt her ears burning and heart pounding. She bit her lip trying not to say what she wanted to yell: you brought Tess up first. Said her name in my bed.
“Dude - what the fuck. It’s fine. We all have our histories. I’m just …”
“Well, we can keep our fucking histories to ourselves.” Joel snapped.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel. You love who you love. I’m just trying to…” Her fingers curled into fists on the frayed straps of her backpack, its bottom slack since she’d kept it half-empty to hold anything they’d find, the stitched-over seams loose for once.
“What do you want from me?” Joel growled.
Dead-Lauren would have warned Grace: You get really petty when you’re angry. Grace stomped ahead deliberately to his right, up the rolling incline swatting away the wildflowers brushing her knees, muttering under her breath Not this fucking bullshit.
“What did you say?” He turned to her.
“Nothing.” Bile in her throat, her voice rising into a shout. “Nothing, alright? I want nothing.” She quickened her pace as she looked back and spat out: “And don’t you dare fucking talk that way to me again.”
__
Ellie was stuck. Between Joel’s asshole voice and Grace’s resting bitch face, their fourteen days were painfully silent hikes interrupted by surprisingly successful scavenging: dilapidated convenience stores, an untouched mom-and-pop pharmacy, an abandoned vegetable garden overgrown with mint. Ellie launched her best puns and jokes, none of which landed, both Joel and Grace humoring her by letting out the occasional chuckle, and then marching quietly ahead up yellow grassy hills or down rocky pastures. They stole glances at one another when they thought they could, glimpses quickly turning into glares when Ellie caught them in the act, the teenager rolling her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation.
In the evenings around the campfire, a crackling flame pierced the silence as they ate wordlessly, pine and sage and forest moss wafting in the smoke.
__
“Grace.”
She shifted on the boulder and lifted her head at the sky, trying to find Orion, fiddling with the zipper on her fleece, pretending not to hear him.
Joel walked toward her and held out his worn bronze honey-colored jacket, “weighty and warm,” she had remarked when months ago he first draped it around her thin shoulders, both of them huddling under the stars, him pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Grace,” he tried again now with the jacket at arm’s length: “Here, take this. It’s freezing.”
“No thanks, I’m fine.” She replied evenly, a sharp breath of cold air rose into the dark.
He refused to plead. “Okay, suit yourself. But wake me up later, alright? Ellie’s exhausted and I’ll take her turn.”
“Whatever,” her eyes narrowing, “I’ll do the whole night.” She’d worked 100-hour call weeks for three years throughout a malignant residency program. She could survive the chill and long hard hours, even loneliness. She wasn’t ready to endure the nearness of Joel.
The following day they trekked back to Jackson and helped restock the community pantry and clinic stash, carefully lining the dusty jars and bottles on the shelves. Tommy and Maria greeted them, initially not noticing how Grace and Joel barely regarded one another.
“We’ve got dinner ready for y’all,” Maria said. “Grace - it’s the fancified top ramen recipe you shared - poached egg and chashu pork slices. Come over before you head back to your place. You must be starving.”
Grace winced. She was famished, but found herself more exhausted than hungry, and just wanted to be alone.
She smiled wanly at Maria: “Thanks so much, but I’m gonna head back. I’m sorry. I’ll see you around?” She turned on her heels to walk away before she could catch Tommy looking questioningly at his brother.
When she reached her house, she closed the door behind her, slumped to the floor, and sobbed.
__
Grace used to have a post-call ritual. Riding the post-call high before crashing into the post-call delirium, she’d take a luxurious hot shower so long the mirrors would steam and the fresh gardenia scented soap perfumed the bedroom. She’d pop in the Before Sunrise DVD and lounge with a Pinot from Walla Walla or Dundee. While the leftover spaghetti was reheating in the microwave, she’d momentarily debate calling the nurses station to make sure she’d placed that PRN order for trazodone.
That was then. Now it was midnight. She did indulge in a warm shower and scrubbed away the grime from the terrible-no-good-two-week expedition. She even allowed herself a bigger dollop of shampoo than usual, and a squirt of travel-sized conditioner she’d saved for rare occasions. She combed her wet hair and let it air dry and pulled the oversized Lollapalooza t-shirt over her head, the hardwood floors creaking beneath her bare feet. This tee - thinned over multiple washes with red block letters now a pale pink - was one of three items she still possessed from Before.
1992, Shoreline. Converse sneakers indented the muddy grass. Amps blaring as a chord from an electric guitar revved up the crowd, two teens yelling at each other.
LAUREN! This is way too big!
That’s all they had left! Just take one - it can be a pajama top!
Grace decided to make herself an old-fashioned. The range in her kitchen was temperamental. After repeatedly turning the knob click click click and click click click and click click click with no burst of a purple flame, she finally resorted to striking a match against the black grate to light her stove.
She prepared simple syrup to mix with the whiskey she borrowed from Tommy. Equal parts sugar and water, foam swirling in liquid amber in a pot. She wished she’d had Angostura bitters, but the unspoiled orange would have to do. She was pressing a blade against the pebbled skin to peel the rind when she heard a loud knock at the front.
Wiping her hands quickly, she peered out the window and saw him standing on her porch. She imagined real-Lauren, the ultimate wingwoman, whistling at the sight of a broad-shouldered dark, handsome stranger showing up at Grace’s doorstep, his hair slicked back, the green flannel somehow bringing out the glint of grey in his scruffy beard. Almost resentful he cleaned up better than she did, Grace exhaled loudly and attempted a pep talk: Keep it together, don’t fucking cry.
She opened the door. She held his gaze and found his brown eyes softening.
“What is it, Joel?” She cleared her throat, trying not to let her voice tremble. “What do you want from me?”
He stepped forward and leaned down to kiss her, one hand cupping her cheek and the other around her waist, and only when he crossed the threshold did she finally pull her mouth from his, breathless. She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, her lips meeting his for a more urgent, bruising, hungry kiss. Tangled, they stumbled into the other room, she led him to the kitchen chair before climbing on top of him, his jeans scraping against the back of her bare thighs. It wasn’t until she nearly forgot about the concoction simmering on the stove, the syrup thickening into a caramel, that she realized that was the only answer he gave her.
__
“This used to be some old boyfriend’s?” Lying on the edge of her bed, Joel reached down to the floor with one arm to pick up the shirt to hand it to her.
“Um, no,” Grace replied, not meaning for the emphasis to sound so harsh, “It’s mine. I actually went, believe it or not.” She bunched up the tee before throwing it into the corner across the room.
“I don’t recall them letting little kids into Lollapalooza,” he teased.
“I was 15, Joel,” she bristled. “Definitely not little.”
“Figured you were younger.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” She plopped her head down onto a pillow and turned away from him.
“You don’t disappoint.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, interlocking his fingers with hers, squeezing her palm.
“Sure, whatever.” She pulled the covers over her breasts and nestled her back against his chest, closing her eyes. He kissed her neck and shoulder before shifting his weight and rolling onto his back. She heard him take a deep breath.
“What a lineup that year,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “Tess loved those bands.”
Surprised, Grace opened her eyes and laid still on her side, slowly smiling to herself: “Yeah? She had great taste.”