“You ever feel like you were born for some special greatness? Like even if the world didn’t see it—wouldn’t see it—every day of your life, a marvel was coming your way? Like you were something they could never imagine?”
Michael tried to consider the question honestly. But he was distracted, because he noticed something strange: the captain’s accent, which had faded in and out yesterday, wasn’t there at all—hadn’t been, actually, since Michael woke up a minute ago.
At Michael’s hesitation, the captain waved a hand almost angrily, his enthusiasm apparently dampened. And when he spoke, the accent was back. “You want to know why I’m here, I guess.” He slapped the clip into the bottom of his now-assembled rifle, stood, and looped the strap over his shoulder. “Well, I want to tell you a secret. Walk with me, I never could stand sittin’ still.”
Michael followed him into the marble hallway with its disordered scattered cots and vandalized governor statues. Still feeling anxious, he allowed the captain to lead him around the ring of the Capitol’s central rotunda. Above them, the great golden dome glowed with daylight.
“I tried to get on the horn this mornin’ with the rescue unit again,” the captain said. “The signal ain’t great. Actually, to tell you the truth, I’d rather yackity-yack on a tin-can telephone. The mountains’re pretty, but they sure don’t love radio signals. Wish I knew how to boost the signal, but I’m a good ol’boy, what do I know?”
Michael could hear the voices of the others somewhere. He wished he were with Patrick.
“Did they say how far away they were?” Michael asked.
“Neg. But I’m guessing two days. They were askin’ about how many we got here, and I told ’em about you and your brother. Since they’re from the Richmond Safe Zone, I asked ’em about your mother.”
Michael stopped in his tracks, the sun suddenly painfully bright. His heart hammered.
“They couldn’t answer before the signal went out,” the captain went on. “So I did a little research on my own. I found a list that the government was making before the Charleston Zone went down last week.”
Captain Jopek reached into his camouflage jacket and pulled out a folded white paper, columned with names. And written at the top were these words:
CONFIRMED DEAD (FEMALE), WV SAFE ZONE
Michael felt his insides go liquid. Oh God, he thought. No. No, please—
But then, after allowing Michael to gaze at this terrifying header for a full second or two, the captain chuckled, “Whoops, heh-heh. Other side, soldier.” He flipped it over, handed Michael the paper.
This list was far longer, but Michael spotted the highlighted name immediately.
MOLLY JEAN FARIS. CONFIRMED CHECK-IN: 11/4.
Tears pushed on Michael’s eyes. He didn’t smile: he just felt lightheaded. Mom made it, he thought. God, she really did.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
“Yessir,” Jopek said nonchalantly, and clapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder.
Michael had not actually been thanking Jopek, though: he’d been thanking . . . he wasn’t quite sure what. “Thank you for showing me this, Captain,” he said.
What about Ron? Is he on a list, too?
But Michael realized . . . he didn’t want to know.
“You’re welcome. I just want you to remember one thing, okay, Michael?”
Suddenly, the enormous hand on Michael’s shoulder squeezed, with enough force to power over the border from “buddy-buddy” to painful. The captain’s other hand shot up, ripped the list from Michael’s grasp, left Michael holding just two torn triangles of paper. “The reason you can sleep?” said Captain Jopek. “It’s me, Michael.
“So next time we go out in the city, you don’t goddamn ever tell me when it’s time to go home, how ’bout that, shithead?”
And before Michael could respond, the captain stuffed the paper back into his jacket, and walked away.
Michael felt his cheeks flare and prickle. The captain’s echoing footsteps dwindled down the hall, but Michael stood still, feeling dazed . . . and oddly ashamed.
Why the hell did the captain have to do that? he thought, anxiety creeping up his throat.
He stared at the jagged paper in his hands. Maybe he was right, though, Michael tried to tell himself. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have said we should go home. He’s the soldier; he knows what he’s doing.
But Michael still felt hot-faced, and a little angry.
He began to follow the dim sounds of voices through the halls. He was almost to the Governor’s Dining Room (aka a random cafeteria) when Patrick came out of a bathroom and