Bird Box

thirty-one

To Malorie, since the arrival of Gary, the house feels absolutely different, divided. It’s a small change, but under these circumstances, any change is a big one.

And it’s Don who worries her the most.

More often than not, when Tom, Jules, and Felix are talking in the living room, Don is in the dining room with Gary. He’s expressed a heavy interest in the story about the man who took down the drapes and unlocked the doors. While washing clothes in the kitchen sink, halfway through the second-to-last jug of detergent, Malorie listens to two conversations at once. While Tom and Jules are turning long-sleeved shirts into dog leashes, Gary is explaining to Don the way Frank thought. Always the way Frank thought. Never quite what Gary thinks himself.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of one man being better prepared than another,” Gary is saying. “I think of it more like a 3-D movie. At first, the audience thinks the objects are really coming at them. They hold their hands up for protection. But the intelligent ones, the ones who are very aware, know they were safe all along.”

Don has come full circle with Gary. Malorie thinks she saw it when it happened.

Hey, I don’t think that theory is any more cracked than ours, Don said to him once.

“It’s hard,” Don says now, “because we don’t get any new reports.”

“Exactly.”

Yes, Don has gone from voting against letting Gary in, to being the one housemate who sits with him and talks. And talks. And talks.

He’s skeptical, Malorie thinks. That’s his nature. And he’s needed someone to talk to. That’s all this means. He’s different than you are. Don’t you understand?

But these thoughts, just as they are, aren’t taking root. No matter how she perceives it, Gary and Don are talking about things like hysteria and the idea that the creatures can’t cause harm to someone who is prepared to see them. Don, she knows, has long espoused a greater fear of man than creatures. Yet, he closes his eyes when the front door opens and closes. He does not look out the window. He has never committed to the idea that the creatures cannot hurt us. Could someone like Gary convince him at last?

She wants to talk to Tom about it. She wants to pull him aside and ask him to make them stop. Or at least go and talk with them. Maybe his words will influence their conversation. Make it sound safer.

Yes, she wants to talk to Tom about Don.

Division.

With trepidation, she crosses the kitchen and looks into the living room. Tom and Felix are reading a map on the floor. They are measuring distances according to the map’s mileage scale. Jules is teaching the dogs commands.

Stop. Start again.

“We have to measure what is an average step for you,” Felix says.

“What are you guys planning?” Malorie asks.

Tom turns to her.

“Distance,” he says. “How many of my steps are in a mile.”

Felix is using the measuring tape at Tom’s feet.

“If I listen to music as I go,” Tom says, “I could walk in rhythm with it. That way the steps we measure in here would be close to the ones I take out there.”

“Like dancing,” Felix says.

Malorie turns to see Olympia is now at the kitchen sink. She washes utensils. Malorie joins her and continues washing the clothes. After being confined to this house for almost four months, Olympia has lost a little of her shine. Her skin is pale. Her eyes deeper set.

“Are you worried?” Olympia suddenly asks.

“About what?”

“About making it.”

“Making what?”

“Surviving our deliveries.”

Malorie wants to tell Olympia that it’s going to be okay but she struggles to locate the words. She is thinking about Don.

“I’ve always wanted a baby,” Olympia says. “I was so excited when I found out. I felt like my life was complete. You know?”

This is not how Malorie felt but she says yes, she knows.

“Oh, Malorie, who is going to deliver our babies?”

Malorie doesn’t know.

“Our housemates, I don’t see—”

“But Tom’s never done it before!”

“No. But he was a father.”

Olympia stares at her hands, submerged in the bucket.

“I’ll tell you what,” Malorie says facetiously, “we’ll deliver each other’s.”

“Deliver each other’s!” Olympia says, smiling at last. “Malorie, you’re too much!”

Gary enters the kitchen. He scoops a glass of water from a bucket on the counter. Then he scoops a second glass. Malorie knows it’s for Don. As he exits, music suddenly comes from the living room. Malorie leans back so she can see in there. Tom holds the small battery-operated radio. It’s one of George’s cassette tapes. Felix, on his hands and knees, measures Tom’s steps as he walks in rhythm to the song.

“What are they doing?” Olympia asks.

“I think they have somewhere specific in mind to go,” Malorie says. “They’re trying to come up with a better way of traveling outside.”

Malorie quietly steps to the dining room’s entrance. Peering in, she sees Don and Gary, their backs to her, sitting in dining room chairs. They are speaking quietly.

Again she crosses the kitchen. As she enters the living room, Tom is smiling. He has a leash in each hand. The huskies are playing with them, wagging their tails.

The discrepancy between the bright, progressive actions of those in the living room and the hushed conspiratorial tones of those in the dining room is all Malorie can think about.

She steps to the sink again and begins washing. Olympia is talking but Malorie is thinking of something else. She leans forward and is able to see Gary’s shoulder. Beyond him, propped against the wall, is the only item he brought in with him from the outside world.

His briefcase.

He showed them the contents when he entered the house. Don asked him to. But did she get a good look at them? Did any of the housemates?

“And stop!” Tom says. Malorie turns to see the dogs and he are in the entranceway to the kitchen. The huskies both sit. Tom rewards them with raw meat.

Malorie keeps washing. She is thinking of the briefcase.