Savage Drift

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE} DEAN

Now I was without a gun.

And that made me feel just fine.

Maybe you’ll think I was stupid to give it away, when we were still in danger. In danger at every moment. But, see, you get used to the danger. You never get used to killing.

I guess I reached the point where I’d rather die than take a life.

If you’re still thinking I’m dumb, then I ask you—would you have gone to retrieve it?

Would you have gone down into that dank, bloody hole and pried it out of a dead man’s hand?

I didn’t think so.

We moved into Rinée’s house. It was pretty messy, from her mother’s strange and desperate packing effort. But there was a lot of food. They were a Costco kind of family and had a very well-stocked pantry.

“Anyone feel like beans?” Jake said, holding up a can that must have been two gallons big.

He was in better spirits now.

The idea of being in an actual house was pretty uplifting, I have to say. And Rinée was delighted to be home.

She wriggled to get out of Astrid’s arms and went toddling through the house.

“Yook! Yook!” Rinée said, bringing Astrid item after item. A sock, a sippy cup, a stuffed Chihuahua. And Astrid would say, “Yeah, a sock.” “Nice sippy cup.” “Uh-huh. A doggie.”

Astrid looked totally exhausted. The added task of taking care of Rinée seemed to be draining her last reserves of energy. She sat down on the couch and let her head roll back.

Then Rinée came back into the living room. I was starting to put away the items strewn across the floor. Rinée held up her two hands and said, “Mama?”

“Oh,” Astrid said. “Sweetie… Mommy’s not coming home for a while. She’s not coming home.”

“Awesome!” Jake said, coming in from the kitchen, holding a box of ice cream sandwiches. “Who wants a Fat Boy?”

“Mama?” Rinée asked again.

“She’s not coming home. I’m sorry,” Astrid said, then she broke into tears.

“Hey, you okay?” I went to her.

“I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “I hate girls who cry and here I am, a breakdown an hour.”

“You need some rest.”

“I’m having those cramps again.”

“How bad?” I asked.

“Like before.” She wiped her tears away. She tried a half of a smile, but looked miserable. “Maybe a little worse.”

“You should go lay down,” Jake said. “Me and Dean will watch Rinée for a while.”

“Yup. We’ll get the place cleaned up, too. And make some lunch.”

“Yunch?” Rinée asked. “Yunch?” And she marched off into the kitchen. Jake followed her, asking her if she’d like a Fat Boy ice cream sandwich.

“The pace has been too much,” I said, rubbing her shoulders. “You need rest. We’re somewhere safe now. When Rinée’s dad comes back, let’s ask him if we can stay here for a few days so you can get your strength back.”

“And if he doesn’t come back?” Astrid asked, saying what we both were thinking.

“Then we stay as long as we like. And we’ll find you a doctor. Make sure everything is okay. Get those vitamins.”

Astrid went up and took a shower, put on some of the dead mom’s stretchiest clothes, got into her bed—the whole thing. I encouraged her to do it. Surely the dad wouldn’t mind.

By the way, Jake?—not so helpful with Rinée.

The moment I entered the kitchen he said to me, “Dude, she’s got a mess in her pants.”

The diaper did smell—horrible.

And as I changed her (there was a changing table in the downstairs bathroom), he stood at the door saying, “Oh Lord, I’m gonna be sick!” and, “That is FOUL.”

It was pretty disgusting, but I didn’t want her to get a complex about her body. I mean, it’s all natural, right? So I held my breath and wiped her down and got a clean diaper on her. It was possibly on backward, but it was on.

After I scrubbed my hands with antibacterial soap (twice), Rinée took me into the playroom, a little room to the side of the kitchen. There was a little wooden pretend kitchen in there with tin cups and plates and some food made out of painted wood.

I sat down on a tiny chair next to a tiny table and Rinée went about bringing me different things to “eat.”

Jake was kind enough to make a stack of tuna sandwiches.

He and I wolfed down two each while we watched the TV.

No. News. Of. Drifts.

It was crazy. All we saw was more footage from the East Coast about the falling temperatures and the makeshift transportation system and more rioting at the gas lines. All old news.

Rinée had a quarter of a sandwich and some apple slices.

She kept asking for more apple and saying, “Moy ean? Moy ean?” “Ean” was her word for either apple or eat.

Astrid was conked out upstairs, so Jake and I divided her sandwich between us and ate it, along with the rest of Rinée’s. There were four more large tins of tuna in the pantry, so I thought it was okay to eat Astrid’s food. I planned to cook her something warm, anyway, when she woke up. There was some chicken in the freezer I set on the counter to defrost. If only I had Batiste here, he’d have prepared a feast. But I would do okay on my own. Maybe chicken with rice and cream of mushroom soup. There was some in the pantry and it was really hearty meal—comfort food and also hard to screw up.

We washed down lunch with a half gallon of Grovestand orange juice.

It felt so good to sit at a kitchen table with sunlight streaming in through a window and open up a fridge and take something out and eat it.

Rinée started yawning and literally rubbing her eyes—I didn’t know kids actually did that. I thought that was just from overacting in the movies.

I carried her up to her room.

It was lavender colored, with a crib in it and one of those glider chairs. The room had a poorly painted unicorn on one wall. It looked sort of like a pastel-colored mule balancing an ice-cream cone on its nose.

Rinée reached out toward her crib—that’s how tired she was.

I placed her in it and covered her up with a soft crib blanket that had sheep on it.

I went to leave and she said, “Tay. Tay, ean.”

“Have a good nap, Rinée,” I told her and started to close the door.

“Tay!” she demanded, starting to cry. “Tay, ean.”

And I realized she was saying my name.

“Ean” was Dean and she wanted me to stay.

I sat right down on that glider and started to glide. She lay back down.

Odds are even as to which one of us fell asleep first.