The Cabin at the End of the World(43)
Andrew shouts over her, “So you’re admitting you knew about the earthquake before you got to the cabin!”
“Yes. I mean, no, no that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
Adriane says, “It doesn’t matter. You have another chance to stop more people from dying by making the choice. You and us and everyone on the fucking planet will run out of chances if you don’t choose to save us.” Her eyes are wide, incredulous. She can’t believe she isn’t being believed. “If you choose to sacrifice one of you, then the world doesn’t end. That’s it. It’s that simple. I can’t tell you any other way. Fuck—”
Leonard says, “Easy . . .”
Adriane continues on ranting. “No charts and graphs or PowerPoints or, what, a fucking puppet show—” She cuts out and holds pleading hands out toward Eric.
He feels all the eyes of the room on him, including Andrew’s and Wen’s. He says, “There is no choice. We will never choose to sacrifice one of ourselves, no matter what. Period. Look, I know this is hard to hear but you three are suffering from some kind of a shared delusion, and delusions are powerful things . . .”
Adriane says, “Oh, Christ, we’re fucked. We’re all fucked,” and throws her hands up.
Wen says from the couch, “Leonard told me it’s God making them do this.” Her speaking for the first time that morning freezes all the adults in place, like they were playing a game of Red Light Green Light.
Andrew asks, “When did he tell you that?”
“In the middle of the night. I woke up and he was awake, too.”
Andrew says, “Well, he’s wrong. They’re doing this. No one and nothing else but them, and I know Leonard likes to act like your friend but if he really was, he’d let us all go.” Andrew glowers at Leonard, who doesn’t rebut.
Wen doesn’t say anything else. She opens and closes her legs under the blanket, flapping them like butterfly wings.
“God wouldn’t do this.” Less confident in the declarative than his words would indicate, Eric says it hurriedly, as one might when uttering a perceived truth about a future event while simultaneously worrying about being a jinx. In the same mental breath, he silently prays to God that they be freed from this ordeal unharmed. If pressed, Eric would identify himself as Catholic; he once said to a coworker that he was a “cautious Catholic.” He goes to church once or twice a month. Sometimes he attends Mass on Sundays, and sometimes, when he is feeling particularly stressed, he’ll go early on a weekday before work. Although he often struggles with the message and the messenger, the rote prayers and songs memorized so long ago as to have their own elaborately decorated memory palaces, the waxy cardboard taste of the host, and even the smell of dust, candles, and incense are a comfort, a balm. No Christmas Catholic—only attending church for the big holidays—is he, and he would stop going to church altogether before becoming one. In the weeks preceding Wen’s adoption, Eric reluctantly agreed (though the avowed agnostic Andrew doesn’t know how reluctantly) with Andrew that they would not have Wen baptized and not force her to adhere to any religion. Wen would be able to choose a religion when she was older and when the choice was hers alone. Eric knew that was the same as saying that Wen would be brought up without any religion at all. It nags at him on occasion, as he feels like he’s keeping an important part of himself from Wen, but he hasn’t once protested the family decision, nor has he secretly proselytized.
A warm breeze flows into the cabin through the screen slider, which wobbles and vibrates in its track, bringing with it the stronger-by-the-minute garbage smell that isn’t really garbage. Andrew catches Eric’s eye and nods at him. Is he telling him he did a good job? Does he know something? Are Andrew’s ropes even looser than his and he’s telling him to be ready? The sunlight flashes and Eric turns away, fearful of being exposed to the light again when he might not be ready.
Adriane walks to Sabrina and asks what are they going to do? Sabrina whispers something out of earshot. Adriane drops her head and covers her face with her hands.
Leonard fills himself up with air. He says, “Sacrifices are required and will be made, one way or another, whether we like it or—”
Andrew jolts and spasms like he is stung by a bee. He shouts, “Jesus Christ! Holy shit—” spewing a mess of profanities.
Eric asks, “What? What happened? Are you okay?” Is Andrew acting? Is this part of a plan to get one of them over to his chair so he can do . . . Do what?
Andrew is wild-eyed and breathing deeply, like he’s fighting off the urge to throw up. “Oh, fucking hell, Eric, it was him. Fucking Redmond! It was him! It was him! I knew these guys were nothing but a fringe group of homophobic nutbags here to . . . Oh, shit, Eric. Shit, shit . . .”
Leonard, Sabrina, and Adriane back away from Andrew and share confused, what-now? looks.
“Slow down, slow down. Talk to me.” Eric, momentarily forgetting about the chair and the ropes, tries to stand and walk to Andrew. He full-body flexes against his restraints and rebounds heavily back into the chair, which sends a dagger of pain through the center of his head. The rope binding his hands is looser than it was minutes ago with the bulk of the wound knot having slid lower down his wrists, almost to the tops of his palms. He’s confident he can squirm his hands free but he isn’t sure how long it would take and how obvious the effort would be to his captors.