Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(17)
“But what if ‘they’ can’t handle this? What if it’s too big and they don’t find us before—”
“Mostar, enough!” Carmen again, followed by an “I know, please!” from Bobbi and a groaning “Mosty…” from Reinhardt.
“No, it’s okay.” Tony raised his arms gently. “Mosty’s got a right to feel what she feels, and she’s right about us all needing to take care of each other. That’s the”—he paused, licked his lips—“that’s the unspoken social contract,” he emphasized the last three words, “that every community agrees to. People helping people when times are tough because it’s the right thing to do. Right?”
If he was expecting support or maybe gratitude from Mostar, he didn’t get it. Mostar just glared at him before examining the rest of us. Her face was placid, her head nodded almost imperceptibly. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it kind of reminded me of our first session, when you just listened with this expression like you were getting the lay of the land. That’s how I felt with Mostar, like she was thinking, So this is how it’s going to be, this is what I’m dealing with.
She was still silently sizing us up when Yvette spoke. Standing next to her husband and taking his hand, she said, “Tony just made such a good point about being free to feel the way we feel.” She smiled at him lovingly. “I don’t want to speak for anyone else, but, right now, I can feel the stress hormones flooding my body because I’m just so worried about all the people I know will worry about me.”
Nods from Bobbi, Effie, Carmen. Reinhardt gave a long contemplative “Mmmm…”
“Family, friends, people out of state and even in other countries who are going to wake up tomorrow to this terrible news. Maybe some are already awake and trying to reach us.” Her voice, the concern, the empathy. “And some are probably calling the authorities right now, making sure we’re not forgotten.”
From my interview with Frank McCray, Jr.
“Please stay on the line, your call will be answered as soon as possible.” And I did. With FEMA, the USGS, the federal and state park services, the governor’s office, state and county cops. I don’t even want to think about how many hours I spent in that goddamn Chinese hotel room, forgetting to shower, or eat, or sleep as I texted and Skyped and email blasted anyone I could think of who might know anything about what might be happening to Greenloop, all with CNN in the background, the newsfeed on my laptop constantly updating, and my phone remaining “on the line” for a human voice that never came.
JOURNAL ENTRY #4 [CONT.]
Yvette made sure to address the room as a whole, but I could see her eyes linger on Mostar for just an extra beat. “I know it’s hard to wait, feeling helpless, thinking about our loved ones, and”—she turned to the window—“those poor people out there who might really need help.” She sniffed hard, dropped her head slightly as Tony slid a muscular arm around her shoulders.
“We can’t be there for them, so we need to be here for each other.” Yvette rested her head on his shoulder. “We can’t let ourselves be destroyed by survivor’s guilt, or what we hear on the news, or what we think our loved ones might be thinking about us.” Another glance at Mostar. “We’ve got a lot to process, and we need to pool our emotional resources.” The two smiled down at her, and Yvette said, “We need to keep our minds occupied, so tomorrow morning I’ll be doing a meditation class here for anyone who needs it.”
Tony hugged her again and said, “And my door’s always open, if anyone needs to vent or share news or partake of some emergency single-malt scotch.” Amid the chuckles, he finished with, “We’re gonna keep calm and care for everyone’s heart and soul. That”—he gave a confident glance to Mostar—“is our social contract.”
Applause.
The Boothes, Reinhardt, the Perkins-Forster family. And me.
I couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have them as our leaders. Silly term, simplistic, but what else can I call them? I felt so relieved, so secure, walking a few steps behind them as we all filed out. I did see something weird though, or maybe just thought I saw it. As they stepped out the door, Yvette glanced up at Tony with a look I’d never seen on her. Just a slight widening of the eyes, a subtle narrowing of the lips. They didn’t say anything, sauntering home arm in arm. Just before they got to their door, I saw Yvette’s head whip back over her shoulder. What was she looking for? To see if we were looking at them? Why?
I didn’t get much chance to wonder. Soon as we closed the door, Dan turned and asked me, “What do you think?” It’s been a while since he’s asked my opinion, about anything. At first, I was going to answer honestly, telling him how happy I was that Tony had put everything in perspective. What stopped me was the look on his face. Lost, searching. Genuinely open. It was the same look he’d shown at the meeting, specifically when Mostar spoke. Did he disagree with Tony? Did he really think, or at least wonder, if she might be right?
“Maybe…” Dan hesitated. “Maybe we should just drive down to the bridge…or maybe a little farther to the main road, just, you know…just to see what’s going on?”
Before I could answer, loud sharp knocks sounded from our back door. We headed for the kitchen just as Mostar came tramping in. No apologizing, or even waiting for a response. Did I mention nobody here locks their doors at night?