Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

Clemency and Cigarettes

The lookout rotation resumed normally that night. I took the early shift. Instead of my customary spot on the side porch, I sat on the railing of the back porch in the dark, listening to the cicadas. The apocalypse hadn't done anything to lessen the insect population.

I decided to take a couple extra hours so Devin didn't take the bulk of the evening himself. He usually took midnight to three o'clock, Haden took three to six, and August was up early. Most nights though, Devin didn't wake Haden and did a full six-hour shift. This in turn prompted August to wake a little earlier to compensate. Haden always griped at him for not waking her, but it was obvious she appreciated it.

Well before two, Devin pulled himself off the couch where he had been napping and joined me. "Hey," he said, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What are you doing? I told you I'd wake you."

He leaned on the railing beside me and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He offered me one and I took it. Smoking wasn't really my thing, but it was something to do, and nobody cared about cancer anymore. Slow suicide was back in style.

He lit mine first, as any gentleman would. I sipped a drag off it that made my lungs want to crawl out of my throat and slap me in the face. I managed to only cough a little. He chuckled quietly to himself as he enjoyed a few long drags of his cigarette. He sucked them in like a veteran beer drinker might chug his first can of beer to quench his thirst.

"You okay?" Devin asked, but before I could give him the cliché fine, he asked again. "For real, are you okay?"

I flicked my cigarette a few times to make the embers glow before answering. "I'm mad." I looked up at him to see if he was going to hightail and run at the honesty.

"At all of us?" he asked. His face was barely visible, but I knew he could see mine. I could almost picture the worry etched in his beautiful eyes. He wasn't a fighter—at least not socially—he was a lover, and it would grieve him desperately to be the cause of my pain.

"No," I said in all honesty. "For once I'm mad at August."

"She's a hard woman to be mad at."

"I know." I took a drag of my cigarette so it didn't look like I had wasted it. The second time wasn't nearly as bad, but it did bring to mind what it might feel like to suffocate in a burning building.

"Was it tough, the last three months?" he asked.

"Yes." He didn't seem to like that answer. He was probably hoping I would say that it got easier each day, or I learned fast, but since the stakes kept getting raised, I didn't really know how far I'd come, until I was there. "The stupid thing is, I spent the last three months learning to be independent from you guys, and I think the only thing I accomplished was becoming dependent on Garrett."

Devin looked away, suddenly preoccupied with something else. It was probably just his reservations against prying, but it might have been a tinge of jealousy. When he finally turned back, he stepped closer to me and I could see the anger on his face. "He didn't take advantage of you, did he—out here, alone?"

I almost smiled, but decided that I needed to take Devin's concerns seriously. "Garrett put me through a lot, but he didn't hurt me like that."

Devin seemed content with that. "I have to tell you about the tournaments." I could hear the excitement in his voice. He was nearly giddy.

I crushed out my cigarette and touched his arm. "Tell me tomorrow, okay?" I gave him a smile that hopefully apologized for not being attentive to the ten-year-old boy inside of him. "Don't stay up all night. The point of a rotation is to share the burden."

I started to climb off the railing, but he grabbed me and lifted me off. After my feet were down, he kept me in a close embrace. "I know you're supposed to be our new secret weapon, but don't change, okay? I liked you just the way you were."

I was tempted to ask if that included being his kitchen slave, but I decided not to ruin the generous compliment. "Okay." He pulled me forward and kissed me. It was a long, firm lip press that seemed to express his gratitude, remorse, and relief all in one.

When he let me go, I smiled at him. He didn't smile back, but I got the sense he was still worried about me, despite my agreement not to change. It was probably warranted, but my anger would either dissipate or curdle into something else. In this case, it was probably going to be bitterness.