Boondocks

Chapter 26: Adrift

WILLOW

My fingers idly ran through Eve's hair. She was asleep on my chest, her breaths slow and even. Eric was the same, curled up in Croc's arms.

Neither of us slept. Neither of us spoke. We sat with it, reliving it, drowning in it.

Take me instead. Please, just undo this. This one time, let it be a bad dream.

I wasn't sure who I was praying to. I'd never believed in a higher being or power. Not that it mattered. Black pines swallowed the water; moonlight darkened the shadows. There was no one to barter with. There was nothing to trade. The world was a vast void, uncontrollable, and I was heading nowhere and everywhere at once. Powerless. I was powerless. It didn't matter how much I changed, if I could swim, or if I could climb. It didn't matter if I could fight. Julia was gone, and I was a kitten caught in the current, sniffling and pitiful, being whisked away on the debris of our broken home.

I took a deep breath and looked down at Eve's face. So young. So fragile. So dependent. With Julia gone, the weight of responsibility rested on my shoulders alone. All at once, I understood so much more about her. Julia hadn't been invincible; she just hadn't had a choice. It was either be strong or give up, and how could I give up when they needed me? How could I do anything other than everything? That's what it meant to be a mother. It was fear and worry and selflessness. Mothers weren't allowed to stop, and whether I was pregnant or not didn't matter. I was a mother. I was the closest thing they had.

"We have to find a better place to sleep," I whispered. While the boat wasn't exactly solitude, it was mainly full of supplies—the majority of the men with Tex on the other.

"I'll take care of it," Croc said.

He took Eric with him, balancing the sleeping boy on one shoulder. He grabbed a thin, yellow blanket and headed toward the stockpile of clothes. Whoever had grabbed them hadn't cared to keep them folded, and the mismatched mountain of colors, sizes, and styles told a story all its own. How many had worn them? How many were gone? And here we were, the survivors, settling down on the echo of what used to be.

Croc spread the blanket over top then lowered Eric onto the center of it before returning to collect Eve. I followed, watching as he placed her down beside her brother. I envied their exhaustion. What I wouldn't have given to sleep so soundly. We stretched out on either side of them, and Croc took my hand. Our eyes held in the darkness, expressing more than words could accomplish. There was nothing to say. There was only what came next, and neither of us had the answer. The world kept spinning. The sun rose like it always did. The birds woke with a song. And we kept going because we had to.

But weeks passed, and life on the water was Hell. There was nowhere to go to escape the suffering. Sickness set in on the other boat. All day and night, I could hear men moaning, coughing, retching. Fern moved like a wisp, weaving in and out on rounds as she fought to care for them all. Many cursed her efforts, too wrapped up in pain to show gratitude.

It was wrong not to help her, but the kids wouldn't let me out of their sight. They clung to me as if convinced I'd disappear if they didn't. I went through the motions, forcing as much normalcy into their days as I could. I smiled. I joked. I played with our food at meals. That's what it meant to be Julia—light in the darkness. That's what she'd been for me so many times before. But I was under no illusion it was working. The kids could tell it was an act. They saw right through me.

Tex, Merle, Cecil, and a group of uninjured constantly poured over the map, speaking in rough tones, planning. I could never hear what they were saying, but whatever it was set my teeth on edge. Uncertainty thickened like toxic fog, each moment more suffocating than the last. I didn't want to run toward the danger. I was sick of trying to change the world. All I wanted was to disappear, find somewhere we could live, or keep running until our legs went out. But I didn't dare say it out loud, not when every other person onboard was thirsting for blood.