Rising (52 page)

Mel’s singing sound from her healing power
shook me from my daze.
 
I ran toward her
where she bent over Ben, shaking with sobbing cries.
 
No.
 
I
couldn’t bear the thought that we’d done it at the cost of my best friend.
 
He laid flat on his back, motionless, the
rain pouring down on top of him, cleansing him from the caked black
powder.
 
Mel was blocking his face from
view.
 
I almost didn’t want to see his
face, to see the lifeless, vacant look of death on such a dear friend.
 
Ben was the kind of person that brought life
into the room the moment he stepped into it.
 
I’d never thought I’d have to face the day when he wouldn’t be
there.
 
Mel’s shoulders still shook with
sobs.
 
I bent down to gently pull her
away, but when I did I realized she was only half crying—and half
laughing
.
 
She leaned back and looked up at me.
 
Ben was staring stupidly up at all five of us
standing over him.
  

“What’s up?” he asked.
 
“Did we do it?”

“Damn, Light Bulb,” said Jeremy, “I thought
you’d blinked out for good.”

Unbelievably, Jeremy actually looked relieved
to see that Ben hadn’t died after all.
 
Homer started laughing.
 
Ben sat
up, and then Melanie very uncharacteristically threw her arms around him.
 
I turned to Clara, who stood there smiling
sweetly.
 
She was looking at me.
 
The rain had plastered her long hair to her
face.
 
I wrapped myself around her and
looked up into the night that dropped sheets of wonderful rain down on us.
 
Gazing back into Clara’s hazel eyes, I
couldn’t think of much to say.
 
How could
you sum up what we had gone through, what we had managed to overcome and
survive?
 
So, I just stated the obvious.

“It’s raining,” I said.

“Yeah.
 
It’s raining,” she said with a giggle.
 
“Kind of a silly observation if—”

I stopped her mouth with a long kiss.
 
She didn’t seem to mind.
 
The others helped Ben limp back into the
house.
 
The rain poured down, drenching
the air, the earth, and us.
 
That feeling
of triumph leapt through me, racing through my blood.
 
I’d won many championship soccer games with
my teammates, but fighting for victory was a very different emotion than
fighting for the life of friends, of family and her.
 
Clara pulled back and gazed up at me with
that bizarre smile on her face that she wore when she observed my aura.

“What?”

“I wish you could see it,” she said, “The ropes
of light are braided now, weaving steadily around you.
 
It’s so amazing.”

I smiled, tucking a wet lock of hair behind her
ear and pulling her to me.
 
The rain
continued to fall, but it didn’t bother me.
 
Clara was close and I was warm.
 
The cypress trees were finally still, their moss falling in motionless
tendrils.
 
Their menacing appearance had
faded, now seeming like sentinels protecting us from further harm.
 
I didn’t know what lay ahead, but for now I
wasn’t worried.
 
I couldn’t think of
anything at all but the one in my arms, and just for that brief moment, all was
utterly and completely right with the world.

20

CLARA

The newborn kittens had just opened
their eyes.
 
Noah was cuddling a tiny
calico to his chest.
 
She mewed softly,
wobbling her head shakily.
 
We’d tried to
move Misty and her kittens to a blanketed box on Homer’s back porch, but the
next morning we found them all transported back out here to the shed.
 
Noah and Hunter had been visiting them every
day.

“What’s that one’s name?” I asked,
pointing to the one in Noah’s lap.

“This one is Princess Leia.”

“Really?
 
That’s a pretty name.”

I had remembered suddenly that Jeremy
had given Noah and Hunter his entire collection of Star Wars action figures
from his house two weeks ago.

“And this one?” I asked, picking up an
orange tabby that looked identical to its father, Newton.

“That’s Obi-Wan,” said Hunter, stroking
a fuzzy orange ball in his arms.

“What about those two?” I asked,
pointing to the smoky gray and the runt who were nursing on Misty.

“Luke Skywalker and Yoda.”

I giggled, seeing the roly-poly runt
named Yoda nuzzling up to Misty, unable to move its fat little self.

“And yours, Hunter?”

“Oh, this is Chewbacca.”

“So, no Darth Vader?” I asked.

“No,” said Noah, “we need Jedi
Knights.
 
We need good guys.”

These little boys had been through hell
on earth.
 
We all had.
 
It shouldn’t surprise me that they wouldn’t
think of naming any of their precious pets after a dark cloaked figure who
wielded evil power.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I
said, scratching behind Obi-
Wan’s
ears.

“Clara,” called Mel from the porch, “we
need you inside.”

“Okay.”

I gave the kitten to Noah, who was more
than happy to take him off my hands.

Walking across the yard, I glanced over
at my dad who was examining the exterior of the framed-up house on the edge of
the woods, one of several that would be built on Canebrake Island.
 
Zack was standing next to him, listening
attentively.
 
Ms. Goddard and Gram had
brought another truckload of vegetable plants from Gabe’s house and were
carrying them one by one into the greenhouse.
 
Ms. Goddard had all of us transport her greenhouse here, piece by piece
and pot by pot.
 
I heard her telling Gram
something about tomato plants and making it through the winter.

“Oh, they’ll last Esther, you mark my
words,” said Ms. Goddard.
 
“I’ve got the
best fertilizer in the world.”

“I believe you, Nancy.
 
I think we’ll do just fine.”

I walked on, observing how much we’d
done since that night we’d fought the reapers here on the island.
 
The first two weeks after we destroyed them
were the hardest.
 
My dad, being the most
logical of us all, wrote down a systematic plan to comb the town for
survivors.
 
By splitting up into teams,
we were able to find everyone left, which included the owner of the café in
town, Martha Mirabelle; seven terrified children under the age of ten from
three different homes, and a sugarcane farmer named Ed
Dugas
who lived on the outskirts of town.
 
Ms.
Mirabelle had moved in with Ben’s grandmother for the time being, helping to
feed and raise the seven orphans there until their new house could be built on
the island.
 
My dad suggested to all of
the survivors that we live in close proximity; thus, the new construction
taking place on Canebrake Island.
 
Dad’s
logic was that it was probably better if we live away from town since any stray
reapers would pass through looking for surviving humans.
 
Homer agreed, saying this secluded area would
probably be safest for all.
 
What I
hadn’t thought of, which I overheard my dad telling Gabe, was that he was also
worried about the surviving humans from other areas who might have ill intent.
 
Basically, he was concerned about the
breakdown of society now that there was no one policing the area against
criminals.
 
It made me think of Mrs.
Jaden and her lessons on
Lord of the
Flies
about how man often reverts to its primitive behavior when
civilization is lost.
 
I was really beginning
to wonder what was waiting for us out there.

It was Mrs. Jaden’s idea to have some
kind of memorial for those who passed away.
 
We knew that the reapers understood our language and would recognize
signs of survivors still living here, so it had to be something small and
inconspicuous.
 
Mrs. Jaden suggested a
simple sign on the gazebo in the center of the town’s plaza with a memorable
quote to signify our farewell to them.
 
So, one sunny morning at the end of September, we all gathered around
the gazebo, while Mrs. Jaden led the ceremony.
 
With the help of her husband who made the marker with carved words and a
whittled leafy border, they held it up for all to see.

“This plaque will mark this place in
remembrance of those we loved and lost.
 
It reminds us that they are not fully gone, that their memories live on
in us forever.
 
These words by the poet
William Shakespeare will serve as a memoriam to the Beau
Chêne
that was and to all of the wonderful people who lived and perished here,” she
said solemnly before reading the sign:

“That time of year thou
mayst
in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare
ruin’d
choirs, where
late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou
seest
the
twilight of such day

As after sunset
fadeth
in
the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death’s second self, that seals up the rest.

In me thou
seest
glowing
of such fire,

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum’d
with that which it was
nourish’d
by.

This thou
perceiv’st
which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

With those words, Mrs. Jaden’s daughter
Michelle, Zack’s brother Noah, my little cousin Hunter, and the seven orphans
all laid one white flower each at the foot of the wooden sign.
 
Again, we didn’t want bouquets of flowers
that would draw attention from unwanted people traveling through town.
 
I thought the men were all being paranoid,
but Homer agreed with them, and I trusted his judgment.
 
I suppose they knew better.
 
I wanted to think the best of mankind, but
they just wanted to be sure we were all safe with such small numbers to defend
ourselves.
 
It didn’t seem like much to
mark the life of my mother and all the others who’d died here, but it would
have to be enough.

As I stepped up to Homer’s porch, I
heard Pop and the sugarcane farmer Ed
Dugas
laughing
about God knows what on the far side of the clearing.
 
Out of everyone, these two seemed the most
unaffected by the sudden change in our lives.
 
They looked at the construction of new houses as just another job to be
done.
 
They did more resting than work,
which hadn’t seemed to bother my dad too much.
 
As always, he was so patient with everyone, even while I know he was
still grieving inside.
 
So was I.

I pulled the photograph from my pocket,
the one I’d taken from Jessie’s vanity mirror.
 
I touched the faces of my Aunt Vanessa, my mom, and Jessie.
 
This was my remembrance of them; this happy
moment snapped in a blink that I kept with me wherever I went now.
 
Sometimes, when I would feel my strength
faltering and my heart sink as I thought of that day I couldn’t save my mother
and Jessie, I pulled out this photograph and remembered this day—one of doting
mothers and loving daughters.
 
We all
have suffered so much and suffer still when we realize what has been lost.
 
But I must focus on the goodness that we had
and is still to come.
 
As if to mark this
moment with that thought, Hunter’s sweet laughter echoed in the air.
 
I looked back to see him and Noah chasing a
waddling duck near the water’s edge.
 
The
pudgy kitten Chewbacca bounced gently in Hunter’s arms.

When I walked into Homer’s house, I saw
the other five standing around the dining table where a map of the eastern
United States spread wide.
 
Homer was
pointing his finger along a line that trailed through Mississippi toward the
north.

“Clara,” said Mel as I joined them,
“Homer’s had contact with
Herrald
in Arkansas again.”