BY CAMAY ROBISON
Copyright is held by the author.
THE CRACKLING of the bonfire is deafening, even over the crashing of the waves behind us. We parked on a pretty isolated beach and the moon is out in full force tonight. Honestly, if we weren’t using the fire for cooking, we could’ve lived without it.
“So,” Marshall says from across the fire. He swallows the mouthful of Chef Boyardee in his mouth before pointing his fork at me. I don’t actually see the food disappear because the fire highlights his face weirdly. “Where’d you say you were from?”
“Wichita.” The lemonade in my cup tastes like it’s been sitting in a metal can. I still drink it anyways, the distinct twang of wet metal left behind in my mouth. “It’s a city in the southern part of Kansas”
“How’d you end up in California?”
“Uh, I walked until I got to Colorado.” Someone tosses a log onto the fire and I watch as embers shoot into the sky. I can smell the thick scent of cologne, so I know it was Lee who tossed the log. He’s the twin with the trucker cap and the beer bottles in his hands — Wayne is the one with the nicotine addiction. “Made my way up through Arizona with my car.”
That seems to satisfy whatever Marshall wanted to know and he goes back to eating his bowl of mini ravioli.
The group is small: Me, Marshall, Lee and Wayne, and another woman named Evelin. She doesn’t talk very often, but we all have our quirks considering we all lost our families.
It’s been a long six months since the Rapture. I’ve been with the group for two. We still don’t really know what entirely happened.
The preachers on the corners of busy streets and the missionaries that posed for
pictures with the children in Africa were wrong about the Rapture. I mean, they were right about the fact that it would happen — they were just wrong about who it would take.
They were also wrong in the fact that it was one big event that happened all at once — I mean, even three months out people were still disappearing.
A lot of Christians had a hard time coping with the fact that their families were now gone, and they weren’t. You could always tell who was “picked” and who wasn’t.
I hated when I would break into a place and could see the rotting bodies of people next to empty, unbothered piles of clothes.
I stopped after I managed to get into a Catholic daycare a few weeks after the Rapture. On the quietest nights when not even the stars are out, I always wonder if those poor toddlers got into Heaven, or if the desperation of another forced them into Hell.
I try not to think about it too often.
“Thanks for cooking,” says a twin wearing a trucker hat — Wayne. “Think I’m gonna head onto the cliff and watch for any wanderin’ folks.” He pats his knees and pushes himself up with a groan, tossing one last stick into the dying fire.
Once he leaves the ring of warmth and light, the spell is broken and everyone starts heading back to their cars, waving to everyone. It’s just warm enough that I can get away with leaving my windows open a little. I still keep my blanket pulled up to my chin and tucked under my feet though.
The night is quiet. Even the water is unusually serene. I’m not used to the sudden silence of absolutely nothing going on around me, and I truthfully don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.
I can see the bob of the flashlight as Lee treks up and down the cliff, checking on his brother every hour or so. When it’s about midnight, the light stops but I can still see the faint red glow of a cigarette in the distance. I curl up in the back seat of this Toyota Corolla I stole back somewhere in Tempe and try to fall asleep to the distant smell of smoke and the sound of the ocean.
***
I’m the first one up when the sun starts dancing across the ocean. We’ve been here for about 9 days, so now it’s about time we leave — Marshall says it’s just in case there’s anybody that’s following us, but Evelin says he just gets antsy when he stays somewhere for too long.
I’m stuck on trash duty with Lee. Marshall thinks he can catch some fish for dinner so he’s parked himself in front of the water. Evelin’s cleaning out the sand pit we use for the fire while Wayne’s off fixing her car’s engine or something — don’t ask me, I don’t know shit about cars.
The sun rises higher and finally the sand warms up enough that it’s slightly uncomfortable considering all the layers we’re wearing. Dropping a half empty bag in the bed of the truck, Lee opens my passenger door. The hinges squeak as he pulls off his red flannel. I stop, watching him toss the piece of clothing onto my seat.
“Whatcha doin’ Lee?”
“Hm? Just cleaning.”
“No,” I gesture towards my still open door. “I mean with the flannel.”
“Ah, it’s just getting a little too thin for me,” he confesses, gesturing for me to give him my full bag of trash. I hand it over and shut my car door when he turns to toss the bag into his truck bed. “Besides, I figured it be comfy for ya’ — layers for the cooler weather.”
“Thanks Lee.” He nods and swipes his hair back from his forehead.
“I’m thinkin’ about heading back up to San Francisco with Wayne.” When he sees my confused look he leans against the side of his truck. “Well, we grew up in Oakland. Our sister lives there and we’re worried about her.”
“When’re you leaving?” I let the fading autumn sun bake into my bones as I sit on the
hood of my car. He sighs and scratches his chin.
“Probably tomorrow morning.”
“Long enough to say goodbye to us.”
We turn to look at Evelin. She’s carrying a small plastic shopping bag of ash from the campfires.
“You and Wayne — y’all are really leavin’?” Her soft accent is nice — like a dialled down version of someone making fun of Southerners. “Were you even gonna tell us?” “I was gonna tell everyone at dinner tonight.”
She scoffs. “What if you’d been picked?” It’s a sore spot for Evelin considering her
entire family was taken but she was left. I think it’s even harder for her since she’s a devout Christian — or was.
Shit, maybe I should talk to her later about that — her faith, I mean. I want to make sure she’s still doing OK, considering her entire religion was just flipped on its head one random Tuesday morning.
“I’ve made it this long, surely I would’ve made it to one more night.” Lee’s voice brings me back from daydreaming. I tune back in just in time to see Evelin roll her eyes like an angsty teen instead of the 50-year-old woman she is.
“Whatever. Just make sure you get me another bag after you dump the trash.”
I wipe a stray bead of sweat that rolls into my eyes and watch as Lee gives Evelin a soft smile. The metal of the car burns hot when I slide off the hood and I have to roll my windows down a bit to let some of the midmorning heat out. All the trash from around the campsite is gone, so now I’ve got some downtime to kill — starting with the shit hole I’ve been calling my car.
I sigh and start pulling out whatever got left in the trunk by the previous owner.
Dinner that night is quiet — comfortable, but like we’re waiting for someone to say something. Marshall takes a sip of water from his canteen. With the sun long gone and the breeze coming off the ocean water, I’m glad that Lee handed his flannel off to me — the chill of the West coast doesn’t compare to Midwest winters, but it’s still uncomfortable. The cuffs of the flannel sleeves fall over my hands and I eventually set my can of chicken noodle soup down in the sand so I can move the sleeves out of the way. My one-handed struggle with the cuff catches the attention of everyone and I glance up to see if anyone will help me. I see something shine in the twins’ eyes when they recognize what I’m wearing.
“You’re wearin’ my flannel,” Lee says with a grin. He leans over to help me with rolling the sleeves to a manageable length. Wayne glances up at me and then glances at his brother’s hands, stirring his spoon in his can of beef stew.
“Used to be our dad’s.” Wayne sniffs as the smoke of the fire blows his way. “Wore that thing every winter.” He keeps his gaze on the worn fabric and the lull that falls is awkward. The fire crackles and highlights the silence further.
“Got the old Corolla cleaned today,” I say to nobody. Maybe they’ll get the hint to fill the thick air with conversation.
Marshall clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, help you with any maintenance.”
“Does he know?” Evelin blurts out. “He knows y’all are leavin’, right?” We all stay silent — almost sheepishly — like kids being caught doing something stupid. If Marshall is upset, he doesn’t say anything. The twins just shake their heads and toss sticks onto the small campfire we have going.
Everyone agrees on skipping guard duty. We’ve picked a pretty isolated spot so we can take the risk of anybody coming around to steal anything.
Nobody says anything about how we might be the only people left in the world. I. make sure I hug Lee and Wayne tight before I head to my car.
“Tell me when you guys leave,” I whisper, my face shoved into their chests. The scent of the bonfire smoke, Wayne’s cologne, and the mint gum Lee is chewing swirl into my nose. I ache at the thought of them leaving.
“Of course, sweetheart.” Wayne’s voice rumbles in my bones, and I feel his arms tighten around me again. “We’d never leave you without telling.”
***
The morning is grey and foggy. Everything feels ominous — like the entire world has gone and left you without saying anything. The condensation on my window makes me not want to leave, so I wipe it away with the sleeve of my flannel, squinting to look at the figures lingering by — Evelin and Marshall are standing near Lee and Wayne’s truck and I nearly fall face first into the sand when I fling the door open. They glance over at me when I reach the truck.
“Well shit,” Marshall sighs. His breath comes out misty in the cold morning air. Evelin peers into the truck window, and I almost want to yank her back. It feels intrusive.
“I think they’re a little too old to go streakin’,” she awkwardly laughs, pointedly ignoring my stare. “I mean, they’re from Northern California, so . . .”
Her laugh dies off and then the heavy silence is back. She clears her throat.
“We’ll, uh, let you say your goodbyes.”
Marshall and Evelin give me a look before they head back towards their cars, their footprints cutting through Lee and Wayne’s from last night. I take a deep breath before I open the passenger side door.
The dingy white shirt that Wayne was wearing last night falls onto the sand before I can catch it. I can still faintly smell his sweat and cigarette smoke embedded in the very fibre of the cloth when I pick it up. The inside of the truck is clean. There’s two bottles of beer and an unopened pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes sitting on what I assume was Wayne’s lap.
The realization that they’re gone hits me. The quiet in the truck is so thick that I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. My breath hitches.
“You comin’ kiddo?” Evelin calls from a couple of feet away. I blink, take a deep breath, then give her a thumbs up. I can hear the door of her car slam shut.
It’s not fair to leave them here like this, especially when I knew they were going back to San Francisco. I hesitate for a second before I grab Wayne’s hat off the console from where it fell. It gives me some solace to know that he slept with his head tipped all the way to the side — maybe he leaned far enough that he could lay his head on his brother’s shoulder.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the clouds starting to split through the windshield. They had a perfect view of the sunrise.
I gently close the door and watch the sun start to slide onto where their faces should be. I hate that there’s nothing left of them other than just their trash from last night, and only a few footsteps in the sand. Careful not to mess up all that’s left of them I turn back to my car, passing Marshall standing by his Camaro. He tips his head at the hat in my hand.
“That’s Wayne’s.”
“Yeah.” My voice trembles and I hate it. I try to swallow the lump in my throat before I speak again. “Where we headin?”
“Not sure yet.” He pulls a map out of his back pocket and trails a finger up a path. “Always wanted to visit the northern part of California.” The paper is loud when he shoves it back into his pocket. He doesn’t say anything about my watery eyes when I realize he means we’re heading up to San Francisco. “Think we can make the 3-hour drive before we run out of gas?”
“I think so, yeah.”
I wipe my runny nose and Marshall pulls me into a gentle but firm hug. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything when I pull away and leave a wet spot on his chest.
“I’ll let Evelin know we’re ready to go,” he says, patting my back. I nod and watch him head over to Evelin’s car, speaking to her. When he steps away from the window and heads back my way, I know it’s time to go.
I slide into the driver’s seat and pull off Lee’s flannel, folding it and setting it beside me. After a second, I set Wayne’s hat on top. Evelin pulls out of the spot first, then Marshall. When I pull onto the main road, I catch one last glimpse of their red pick-up truck sitting in the sand, facing the sun. I can imagine them waking up to the sun in their eyes and my heart hurts when I think about Wayne’s head resting on his brother’s shoulder.
Marshall sticks his hand out the window to wave me on and I turn onto the highway, watching as the beach their truck sits on disappears in my rear-view mirror.
***
Camay Robison is currently a college freshman majoring in English at the University of Missouri – Columbia. When she’s not crying over declension charts in her Latin class, she can be found wandering her campus in search of characters to put into her next story.