Bird Box

twenty-seven

Malorie wakes from dreams about babies. It is either early morning or very late at night, she guesses. The house is silent. The farther along in her pregnancy she gets, the more vivid her reality becomes. Both With Child and At Last… a Baby! briefly discuss home deliveries. It’s possible, of course, to do it without help from a professional, but the books are wary of this. Cleanliness, they say. Unforeseen circumstances. Olympia hates reading those parts, but Malorie knows they must.

One day, the pain your mother and the pain every mother speaks of will come to you in the same form: childbirth. Only a woman can experience it and because of this all women are bonded.

Now that moment is coming. Now. And who will be there when it does? In the old world, the answer was easy. Shannon, of course. Mom and Dad. Friends. A nurse who would assure her she was doing fine. There would be flowers on a table. The sheets would smell fresh. She’d be doted on by people who had delivered babies before; they’d act like it was like removing a pistachio from its shell. And the ease they’d express would be exactly what calmed her impossible nerves.

But this isn’t the answer anymore. Now the labor Malorie expects sounds like that of a mother wolf: brute, mean, inhuman. There will be no doctor. No nurse.

No medicine.

Oh how she imagined she’d know what to do! How prepared she thought she’d be! Magazines, websites, videos, advice from her obgyn, stories from other mothers. But none of this is available to her now. None! She’s not going to give birth in a hospital, it’s going to happen right here in this house. In one of the rooms of this house! And the most she can expect is Tom assisting while Olympia holds her hand and looks on in horror. Blankets will be covering the windows. Maybe a T-shirt will be under her ass. She’ll drink from a glass of murky well water.

And that’s it. That’s how it’s going to happen.

She shifts onto her back again. Breathing hard and slow, she stares at the ceiling. She closes her eyes, then opens them again. Can she do this? Can she?

She has to. And so she repeats mantras, words to get her ready.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if it happens in a hospital or on the kitchen floor. Your body knows what to do. Your body knows what to do. Your body knows what to do.

The baby-to-be is all and everything that matters.

Abruptly, as if they’re imitating the sound of the baby Malorie prepares for, she hears the birds cooing outside the front door. She withdraws from her thoughts and turns toward the sound. As she slowly sits up in bed, she hears a knock come from the first floor.

She freezes.

Was that the door? Is it Tom? Did somebody go outside?

She hears it again and, amazed, she sits up. She places a hand on her belly and listens.

It comes again.

Malorie slowly swings her feet to the floor and rises before crossing the room. She stops at the door, one hand on her belly, one on the wood of the frame, and listens.

Another knock. This time it’s louder.

She walks to the head of the stairs and stops again.

Who is it?

Beneath her pajamas, her body feels cold. The baby moves. Malorie feels a little faint. The birds are still making noise.

Is it one of the housemates?

She reenters her bedroom and grabs a flashlight. She walks to Olympia’s room and shines the beam on her bed. She is sleeping. In the room at the end of the hall, she sees Cheryl on the bed.

Malorie walks slowly down the stairs to the living room.

Tom.

Tom is asleep on the carpet. Felix is on the couch.

“Tom,” Malorie says, touching his shoulder. “Tom, wake up.”

Tom rolls to his stomach. Then he looks up, suddenly, at Malorie.

“Tom,” she says.

“Is everything okay?”

“Someone is knocking at the front door.”

“What? Now?”

“Right now.”

Another knock comes. Tom turns his face toward the hall.

“Holy shit. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Late.”

“Okay.”

Tom gets up quickly. He pauses, as if attempting to wake up entirely, leaving his sleep on the floor. He is fully clothed. Beside where he was sleeping, Malorie sees the crude beginnings of another helmet. Tom turns on the living room lamp.

Then the two are walking toward the front door. They pause in the hall. Another series of knocks come.

“Hello?” a man says.

Malorie grabs Tom’s arm. Tom turns on the hall light.

“Hello?” the man says again.

More knocks follow.

“I need to be let in!” the man says. “I have nowhere else to go. Hello?”

Finally, Tom steps toward the door. From the end of the hall, Malorie sees a shape move. It is Don.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Someone is at the door,” Tom says.

Don, hardly awake, looks confused. Then he snaps, “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

More knocks.

“I need a place to go,” the voice says. “I can’t handle being alone out here anymore.”

“I’m going to talk to him,” Tom says.

“We’re not a fucking hostel, Tom,” Don says.

“I’m just going to talk to him.”

Then Don is walking toward them. Malorie hears shuffling from upstairs.

“If anyone is there I could—”

“Who are you?” Tom finally calls.

There is a moment of silence. Then, “Oh, thank God someone is there! My name is Gary.”

“He could be bad,” Don says. “He could be mad.”

Felix and Cheryl appear at the end of the hall. They look exhausted. Jules is here now, too. The dogs are behind him.

“What’s going on, Tom?”

“Hey, Gary,” Tom says, “tell us a little more about yourself?”

The birds are cooing.

“Who is this?” Felix asks.

“My name is Gary, and I’m forty-six years old. I have a brown beard. I haven’t opened my eyes in a long time.”

“I don’t like the sound of his voice,” Cheryl says.

Olympia is here now.

Tom calls, “Why are you outside?”

Gary says, “I had to leave the house I was staying in. The people there were no good. A situation arose.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Don calls.

Gary pauses. Then, “They got violent.”

“That’s not good enough,” Don says to the others. “Don’t open this door.”

“Gary,” Tom calls, “how long have you been out there?”

“Two days, I think. Could be closer to three.”

“Where have you been staying?”

“Staying? On lawns. Beneath bushes.”

“Fuck,” Cheryl says.

“Listen,” Gary says. “I’m hungry. I’m alone. And I’m very afraid. I understand your caution but I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“You’ve tried other houses?” Tom says.

“Yes! I’ve been knocking on doors for hours. You are the first to answer.”

“How did he know we were here?” Malorie asks the others.

“Maybe he didn’t,” Tom says.

“He knocked for a long time. He knew we were here.”

Tom turns to Don. His expression is asking Don what he thinks.

“No way.”

Tom is sweating now.

“I’m sure you want to,” Don continues angrily. “You’re hoping he has information.”

“That’s right,” Tom says. “I am hoping he has ideas. I’m also thinking he needs our help.”

“Right. Well, I’m thinking there could be seven men out there, ready to slit all our throats.”

“God,” Olympia says.

“Jules and I were out there two days ago,” Tom says. “He’s right that the other houses are empty.”

“So why doesn’t he sleep in one of those?”

“I don’t know, Don. Food?”

“And you guys were outside at the same time. And he didn’t hear you?”

“Damn it,” Tom says. “I have no idea how to answer that. He could have been a street over.”

“You guys didn’t try those houses. How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Let him in,” Jules says.

Don faces him.

“That’s not how it works in here, man.”

“Then let’s vote.”

“Come the fuck on,” Don says, fuming. “If one of us doesn’t want to open the fucking door, we shouldn’t open the fucking door.”

Malorie thinks of the man on the porch. In her imagination, his eyes are closed. He is trembling.

The birds still coo.

“Hello?” Gary says again. He sounds strained, impatient.

“Yeah,” Tom says. “I’m sorry, Gary. We’re still talking this over.” Then he turns to the others. “Vote,” he says.

“Yes,” Felix says.

Jules nods.

“I’m sorry,” Cheryl says. “No.”

Tom looks to Olympia. She shakes her head no.

“I hate to do this to you, Malorie,” he says, “but it’s a tie. What are we going to do?”

Malorie doesn’t want to answer. She doesn’t want this power. This stranger’s fate has been dumped at her feet.

“Maybe he needs help,” she says. Yet, the moment after saying it, she wishes she didn’t.

Tom turns to the door. Don reaches across and grabs his wrist.

“I don’t want that door opened,” he hisses.

“Don,” Tom says, slowly pulling his wrist from Don’s hand, “we voted. We’re going to let him in. Just like we let Olympia and Malorie in. Just like George let you and me in.”

Don stares at Tom for what feels to Malorie like a very long time. Will it come to blows this time?

“Listen to me,” Don says. “If something bad comes from this, if my life is put in danger because of a fucking vote, I’m not going to stop to help you guys on my way out of this house.”

“Don,” Tom says.

“Hello?” Gary calls.

“Keep your eyes closed!” Tom yells. “We’re letting you in.”

Tom’s hand is on the doorknob.

“Jules, Felix,” Tom says, “use the broomsticks. Cheryl, Malorie, you’ll need to get up close to him, feel him. Okay? Now, everybody, close your eyes.”

In the darkness, Malorie hears the door open.

There is silence. Then Gary speaks.

“Is the door open?” he says eagerly.

“Hurry,” Tom says.

Malorie hears shuffling. The front door closes. She steps forward.

“Keep your eyes closed, Gary,” she says.

She reaches for him, finds him, and brings her fingers to his face. She feels his nose, his cheeks, the sockets of his eyes. She touches his shoulders and asks for one of his hands.

“This is new to me,” he says. “What are you searching—”

“Shhh!”

She feels his hands and counts his fingers. She feels the fingernails and the light hair on the knuckles.

“Okay,” Felix says. “I think he’s alone.”

“Yes,” Jules says. “He’s alone.”

Malorie opens her eyes.

She sees a man, much older than herself, with a brown beard and a tweed blazer over a black sweater. He smells like he’s been outside for weeks.

“Thank you,” he says, breathless.

At first, nobody responds. They only watch him.

His brown hair, combed over to the side, is unruly. He is both older and heavier-set than any of the housemates. In his hand is a brown briefcase.

“What’s in there?” Don asks.

Gary looks to the case as though he’d forgotten he carried it.

“My things,” he says. “What things I grabbed on my way out.”

“What things?” Don asks.

Gary, looking both surprised and sympathetic, opens the case. He turns it toward the housemates. Papers. A toothbrush. A shirt. A watch.

Don nods.

As Gary closes the case he notices Malorie’s belly. “Oh my,” he says. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she says coolly, not knowing yet if they can trust this man.

“What are the birds for?” he asks.

“Warning,” Tom says.

“Of course,” Gary says. “Canaries in the mines. That’s very clever of you. I heard them as I approached.”

Then Tom invites Gary farther into the house. The dogs smell him. In the living room, Tom points to the easy chair.

“You can sleep there tonight,” he says. “It reclines. Do you need something to eat?”

“Yes,” Gary says, relieved.

Tom leads him through the kitchen and into the dining room.

“We keep the canned goods in the cellar. I’ll get you something.”

Tom quietly motions for Malorie to follow him into the kitchen. She does.

“I’m going to stay awake with him for a while,” Tom says. “Get some sleep if you want to. Everybody’s exhausted. It’s okay. I’ll get him some food, some water, and we’ll talk to him tomorrow. All of us.”

“There’s no way I’m going to bed right now,” Malorie says.

Tom smiles, tired.

“Okay.”

He heads for the cellar. Malorie joins the others in the dining room. When Tom returns, he brings canned peaches.

“I never would have thought,” Gary says, “that one day the world’s most valuable tool would be a can opener.”

Everybody is at the dining room table together. Tom asks Gary questions. How did he survive out there? Where did he sleep? It’s clear that Gary is exhausted. Eventually, one by one, and beginning with Don, the housemates go to their bedrooms. As Tom walks Gary back into the living room, Malorie and Olympia rise from the table. On the stairs, Olympia puts her hand over Malorie’s.

“Malorie,” she says, “do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?”

Malorie turns to her.

“No,” she says. “I don’t mind at all.”