Last Girl Ghosted(52)

I nodded, always eager to please, willing myself not to get sick again. “Okay. I will.”

As my father unlocked the bunker door, I recognized the look on Jay’s face. It was just like my father’s—a mask of buried rage, just waiting for a moment of ignition. Jay’s eyes were dark with hatred, but it was that terrible hatred undercut by fear and longing we can only feel for the parent who is abusing us.

“When they come, you bring those packs here. I’ll either be with you, or I’ll be waiting.”

“When who comes, Dad?” asked Jay, voice sizzling with anger. “Who’s coming? I mean really. Who is coming?”

But my father didn’t answer, just unlocked the door and pushed inside. We followed him down the staircase to the interior door.

“You lock the outer door behind you,” he said. “Then when you get to the bottom, you unlock this door.”

Inside my father shifted off his pack, and Jay did the same; they sagged heavy on the floor. What was in them? I didn’t even know. The orange lantern light flickered. I wanted to lie down on the old plaid couch and fall asleep, but I stood, pushing my body in close to my brother’s, taking his hand. I expected him to push me away. But he didn’t, squeezing my hand tight.

How would the world end? I wondered. Disease, my father said sometimes. Global financial collapse. Famine. Climate change. There were myriad ways, and we’d survive them all, isolated as we were, able to live off the grid.

“And this is where we’ll stay, all of us. Until it’s safe.”

“Safe from what?” I ventured.

He rubbed at the crown of his head, looked around wildly, and there was a shattering moment when I realized that he was scared. Scared and trying to figure out how to protect us against an unnamed threat that was on its way. One we couldn’t identify but had to prepare for just the same.

I think Jay had the same realization, but instead of feeling pity as I did, his face registered disgust.

“Dad,” Jay said, his voice holding a pleading quality. “Oh, my God. You’re fucking crazy. You’re completely nuts.”

The slap came so fast, it was like the strike of a snake. Jay reeled, stumbling back into the wall, knocking his head hard. He sank to the ground, my father moving in. I raced between them, standing in front of Jay and holding my arms out wide. Jay edged back, pushing himself against the wall. Head in his hands. My father took a big step toward us, arm raised. I raced over to him, pushing him backward with all my strength.

“Don’t! Don’t!” I yelled. “Stop!”

My father lowered his arm, stared at me, anger and sadness doing battle on his face.

“Stop,” I said again. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just—scared.”

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? We were all scared of different things.

My father took a step back, shaking his head.

“Man up, son,” he said, voice soft. “This is the world.”

The silence expanded, my brother softly crying behind me. When he rose, there was a big skein of blood from both nostrils down the front of his shirt.

“This is your world,” he said.

When my father moved toward him, I ran and wrapped my arms around his slim waist, holding him, holding him back. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

Jay left the cellar, footfalls echoing up the steps. I wanted to go after him, but something kept me rooted. My father, he never hit me. I wasn’t physically afraid of him, not really. That’s why it fell to me to protect Jay.

I stayed behind, still holding on to my father. I felt his arms drop around me. The air was silent, the energy taut.

“Women are always stronger,” my father said finally, pushing me back to look at me. “Survival won’t just be about might. It will be about endurance, fortitude, courage. Those are female qualities.”

He walked back to the weapons cache, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The dank of the cellar made my sinuses swell as I stood watching his light traveling over rows of weapons.

“Next week, I’m going to teach you to hunt with a crossbow.”

He put his hand on one; it was black and curved like a snake, a strange hybrid of bow and gun. It terrified and intrigued me.

“I don’t want to kill anything,” I said. He smiled, put a hand on my head.

“But you’ll eat a hamburger, right?” he said. “What about those chicken fingers you used to like? Where do you think they came from? Somebody killed the cow, the hen.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s not different at all except that you’ll understand what it means to eat meat.”

The logic of it was undeniable. I felt it in my nerve endings.

“Don’t worry. It will be a long time before your aim is any good. You’ll be lucky to hit the side of the barn.”

Back in the outer room, I stared in dismay at the packs. Jay had left his. I did not want to carry mine back.

“Why not just leave them here,” I suggested. “If this is where they need to be.”

Fatigue had seemed to settle on him, too. He nodded his agreement and we trudged home.

Outside, I followed him out into the dawn.

Even now I can see that strange golden light.