Neither of us says anything.
Civilizations rise and fall; suns ignite, flame and burn out of existence. My whole life sits insignificant in the void that swallows us both. Insignificant, yet utterly damning.
When we move it’s because Caitlin whispers the request to me.
She asks, and so I do.
I do it regardless of doubts.
It’s not really against my better judgement, because I don't trust my judgement anymore. But the idea of it still fills me with horror.
Before I do, I claim I’m just going to pee. Thankfully everyone else declines the opportunity to squat behind an abandoned McDonalds. I carefully wander around to the side of the building, holding the emotions that want to fight their way out inside a tight little box. Once I’m just out of view of the road, and my family, I take a few more steps forward, just to be sure. Then I hurl rocks into the desert. Shove my arm back in my mouth and let loose a scream that tears my soul.
Then I kick the living shit out of an order kiosk that’s canted against the far side of the building.
I watch little shards of plastic flying. Pinging off the building, dropping onto the concrete.
But then, once I’ve got myself under control, I dig out the spray: the innocuous little bottle labeled Fluticasone Propionate: Laboratory QC sample. Not for human use.
Are the contents still enough like chickenpox, will the bigger viral load make our kids sicker, or will it maybe just slam them through the whole thing faster. It’s not like this really has symptom severity — more symptom duration. And given they’re both symptomatic already? I need to sit down and model some shit and I can’t.
So I can’t decide if it’s a good or a bad plan. And I’m second guessing every single thing I’ve ever done, anyway.
“Nope,” Caitlin says, swiping the spray from my hands. “You’ll just beat yourself up more over it.”
Addy and Ash look nonplussed but still follow Caitlin’s sniff directions.
“Addy, how are you feeling?” I ask as we’re getting ready to head off.
“Kinda tired,” she says.
“And Ash?”
“Same,” she says, already back in the truck, leaning her head against the window.
Okay.
That’s okay.
Maybe it’s just, y’know, no sleep and up running around and general travel and kid chaos.
None of us have had enough sleep. It’s not like I’m exactly brimming with energy.
Maybe Addy’s still young enough that it won’t be that bad.
You know that’s a lie, Erika.
I know. I know. But I can work with that lie.
I hop into the back of the truck and check medical boxes.
Twice.
And a third time.
A nurse once told me it’s easier to put in an IV before someone gets really sick — that’s why they like to throw them in if they vaguely think you might need one in the ER. But I can’t really do that to my kid. Heyyyy, just in case you get sick as shit later, let me stab you with a needle. Don’t worry, I did this like once before, years ago, uh to myself. But I’ve practiced on an orange a few times since.
Anyway, they’ll all be fine.
None of them’ll need it.
I mean, Wanda said the other kids survived and they didn’t have IV nutrition and IV fluids.
And the other women? They mostly did fine too.
Maybe I should practice an IV though, tonight, on me.
After the kids are asleep.
Perhaps I should just check this box one more—
“Erika, sweetheart? Shouldn’t we…”
“Yeah,” I admit, starting slightly and nearly hitting my head on the cover as I try to stand.
I drop back to the ground, then wait interminable seconds for the tailgate to lift up and close itself with a thunk.
Before we set off, we stare at the map some more. I don’t really know why. However you slice it we’re stuck on this road for a while. It’s nicely out of the way, at least. Slow, but quiet. Caitlin’s checked the news feeds. Apparently the interstate’s jammed up with a bunch of accidents and Homeland Whatever heading out to quarantine anywhere Miller doesn’t like. So our back-roads heavy route is a fucking godsend.
I watch Addy climbing back in, trying to pretend like I’m not. Trying to pretend like I’m not watching every movement, every muscle, every joint. I want to know if there’s evidence of the slightest flicker of discomfort, the first millimoles of pain. Addy said she’s a little achy, but…
“Stop being weird, Mom,” she says, sounding annoyed.
“Sorry.”
“I’m okay. And you said staring is rude.”
“You’re right, it is.” I almost laugh. “Sorry for staring.” I add, seriously. She squints at me.
“Can I get the new Steam console?” she says, suddenly.
“What?”
“Well, since you’re all like Sorry and being weird, I figured I might as well try.”
“No. Maybe. Dunno. Ask me and C when we’re at Mary-Anne’s.” I shake my head.
“Okay!” she says, slamming the door.
Standing on the running board I check both directions down the road. A few trucks and a couple of semis have been past, but that seems to be it. When I hop in, Caitlin gives me a thumbs up, reclines her seat and we pull out.
#
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Oh who’s the fancy bitch deadnamed by the pres?
Hey fuck face,
I don’t know how much longer I can cover for you, babe.
I know I said I liked you but you really are pushing your luck.
Anyhow I had a genius idea for a bit more cover so I did that.
You’re not gonna like it. You’ll just have to lean in, double down, fail fast but fix faster and innovate to survive, fuck face. Either that or suck it up buttercup. Whatever works for you.
It’d tell you what it is but you’ll figure it out soon enough. Anyway, I expect there’ll be a papal address about it given your record so far.
To be clear, if you think I’m just doing this for you, you’re now officially wrong. I’m now well into covering your stinking shit up for the sake of other folks I’ve helped.
I don’t want anyone looking too closely at you, finding something interesting, and wondering if anyone else has the same fingerprints on their ID, now do I.
So if you could stop, that’d be fucking A, sweetheart.
Maybe for the next couple of years try not pissing the fucking president off and having him deadname you on every fucking channel. I know he’s a dumber than a bag of cat shit and twice as nasty, but jesus girl.
Also, did you see that stream? Guy was sweating more than a liberal asked if women should keep the right to vote. Kept thinking it was AI but the popular vote says no.
Oh, more important: Someone at Neuragene’s been looking at your papers. I thought I told you to get that shit locked down. Though ig if you’re doing the other things I told you to do that’d be kinda hard. Still. Sort that shit out asap.
Anyhow. Keep an eye out. I’m trying to work out who it is, but if you know, let me know.
And fuck face? If you’re thinking of doing anything? DON’T.
Penny xo
#
The desert has a kind of a stark beauty.
One that will kill you just as soon as it’ll let you see it.
This bit’s not even that different than home. It tastes different. Subtle shifts in smell, in the few plants that survive. But honestly, it feels kinda like when we’d take the kids out, hike the trails around the Avalon basin. We’d stand on the top of the crumbling dam, look out across the dunes. It kinda feels like that, but at the same time it feels utterly unfamiliar.
Maybe it’s just that home was only ever home in the sense of family. I missed the mountains, the water. Not that I could tell anyone that. Erika never lived any of those places. Maybe she visited?
But Erika should wax lyrical about the sandhills, or make jokes about fearing the corn, or whatever the fuck else. I suppose that’d only matter if I’d ever connected with anyone other than Caitlin.
If I’d been able to let anyone in.
But in the before times? Before I ran? The one place I’d feel anything was the ocean. Watching the waves pounding shoreline, slowly dismantling it, washing it away. I’d imagine it doing the same to me, cell by cell. Carrying me away in suspension; making me part of something more.
So this? The wide open sky? I guess the original Erika would feel more at home with that. Big skies, big expanses of wide flat land. Sure, it’s desert, not cash crops doused in fertilizer, but I find myself wondering about the young woman and her family who all died in a car crash. Who was she? The pack of information Penny sent was just a bullet point list. School, mom and dad’s name, which clubs she was in; enough for me to embellish, not enough for me to really know her.
If anyone from her past came looking, would they believe I was her?
There’s more cloudless blue ahead; the heat rippled black of the tarmac flowing into the distance, rod-straight. Now and then there’s a fence; broken down, wires hanging loosely from posts that long ago stopped being vertical. Sometimes, skirting the road, what looks like it was once a home, angles all wrong, doors and windows hanging open. I can’t imagine trying to survive out here, it feels so desolate.
The roads aren’t exactly empty — there’re enough small towns out here to keep the odd truck coming the other way or annoyed by my exacting adherence to the speed limit. To prove the point, some asshole flashes past, horn blaring.
The noise doesn’t rouse Caitlin though; nor the kids in the back, so I keep rolling. Watching the odometer rack up the miles.
#
I’ve been watching the fuel gauge with almost the same intensity with which I’m alternately staring in the mirror, or checking on everyone.
The Apache Nation’s sole open gas station had “Residents only” signs up and it’s after we pass the third “Out of Gas” sign on a station that I really start to get worried. Finally I see a massive line stretching out onto the road, in the distance an A-board is just visible:“Out of Regular. No Diesel. E85 Only.” As if the giant X of tape over the Regular and Diesel prices on the sign wasn’t enough of a hint.
Half the vehicles lined up are, I’m pretty sure, not gonna be happy running on E85. But, regardless, I join the back-up and try to distract myself by counting the cars and trucks in front of me and trying to decide whether there’ll still be fuel by the time we get to the front. Seventeen SUVs. Twelve trucks. One motorcycle with a rider who looks like they’re dying in the heat. Nothing in the line’s huge though. With no diesel I guess the real big stuff’s gonna keep hunting.
With each vehicle that pulls away without someone coming out to update the sign I feel a little more hope.
I entertain the thought of getting some gas station snacks — reminders of our first few hikes out in the desert. The memories flood my brain and I’m sucked back there; the kids exhausted and sleeping, Caitlin and I laughing at some dumb joke she’d cracked.
Back before I realized how fucked everything was.
Back before I realized we were anything more than becoming friends.
When everything had seemed full of possibility.
Caitlin’d always ask for jerky and a Twinkie from the gas station.
She says they remind her of her trips when she was a kid; when her mom would hop back in from filling up the car, handing her and her sister a Twinkie each, and then later, she’d quietly lean forward and steal her dad’s jerky from the cup holder.
So a Twinkie.
Maybe some jerky.
And some fucking gas.
#
CDC Announces 2031-nHSMV Mitigation Partnership With Neuragene LLC
Press Release: For Immediate Release.
Following the appointment of new CDC director, Oaklen Rue, and as a result of continued spread of the 2031 novel Human Sex Mutagenic Virus (2031-nHSMV), CDC is partnering with Neuragene LLC (CDC-Neuragene) to mitigate damaging effects from this disease. CDC has immediately terminated its prior partnership with Jennison Research Incorporated (formerly CDC-JRI).
CDC-Neuragene will transition all appropriate members of the 2031-nHSMV task force to a new working group under CDC-Neuragene direction.
CDC-Neuragene provided notification to all affected corporations developing treatments and testing equipment that their contracts will be reviewed by Dr Rue, with funding on hold until assessment is complete. It is expected that the majority of contracts will require some modification to better serve American fiscal interests.
In a statement to press today, Dr. Oaklen Rue stated that, “It is vital that we take an innovative approach to resource usage, while remaining fiscally responsible and empowering the marketplace to create products that providers and shareholders can efficiently use as we continue our battle against this disease. These process modernization efforts are critical to limiting disease spread.”
Dr. Rue additionally announced the creation of a Novel Disease Reporting System (NDRS), a system that will present key 2031-nHSMV insights in a centralized database. Stakeholders can examine national-, state-, and region-level health and fiscal data alongside real-time estimations of impacts on productive citizens. Connections with state’s Homeland Health departments and dashboards that support identification of miasmic regions will underpin and enable President Miller’s rapid quarantine and isolation response.
“The most useful data does more than show us what has happened; it helps us decide what to do next,” said Dr. Xavier Laing, Lead member of the newly created Genetic Protection Task Force (2031-nHSMV-GPTF). “The rapid continuing spread of this disease is deeply concerning, especially given its weaponized origins. The NDRS system will enable us to get ahead of disease progression and better mitigate its impacts.”
The stakeholder-centered design makes high-value data more accessible and actionable, helping shareholders monitor changing patterns, recognize emerging fiscal threats, coordinate prevention efforts, and make data-informed decisions.
CDC director Oaklen Rue, in response to press questions, added “Additionally, CDC-Neuragene will also be working closely with Homeland Patrol, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Central Intelligence Agency to locate the terrorist, Dr Tavish Shah, who released 2031-nHSMV. We believe he has vital information which may help us prevent further spread of the disease.” A joint Taskforce has been formed to identify and locate the individual. His last reported location was Cuernavaca, where he was employed by Económico Biotecnologías Mexicano. It is believed he has left the city for a compound in the region where he has held captive 2031-nHSMV infected individuals for unknown purposes.”
###
HOMELAND DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES
CDC works in partnership with industry experts protecting citizens of the American Homeland’s health, safety and security. Whether diseases start at home or abroad, are curable or preventable, chronic or acute, or from human activity or deliberate attack, CDC responds to our Homeland’s most impactful fiscal and health threats. CDC is headquartered in Atlanta and has experts located across our Homeland.
Novel Disease Reporting System, NDRS and the CDC-Neuragene mark are copyright Neuragene LLC. and may not be used without permission.
#
They’re all out of Twinkies.
And jerky.
And Mountain Dew.
But most of tank of gas is better than none.
#
Caitlin sits up, startled, blinking and swaying for a moment before she registers the noise. It’s probably the wail that woke her.
Fucking small town cops. He was sitting behind a billboard. It’s not like I was speeding anyhow, but we’re probably the first truck with out of state plates he’s seen in a minute. I’d guess he’s presuming we’re an easy mark. Which I guess we are.
Either that or he saw the brown girl at the wheel.
“How fast were you going?” Caitlin shuffles herself up in the seat, craning her neck to see the speedo.
“I was doing fifty-five,” I say, watching the blue and red strobes as they flicker in the mirror.
“For God’s sake.” Caitlin sighs.
I made sure I slowed enough to show my acquiescence, and stuck on the turn signal. All of it’s an attempt to demonstrate my commitment to pulling over just as soon as the near blind curve we’re through is done.
Ideally before the cop decides we’re running and slams us off the road.
“Be good,” I mumble to Caitlin. The injustice always pisses her off more than me. Or more accurately, it pisses us off the same, but that’s more than I can let out if I want to leave the scene not in cuffs. Or not in a body bag.
“Kiddos. Wake Up.” I say, loud and clear. There’s some shuffling and a lot of groaning before both of them are upright. “Remember that I’m your aunt. At least, ’til this cop leaves.”
“Yes, Mom E.” They chant in unison. “Um, Aunt Erika.” They add on belatedly, and slightly out of sync. Ash remembers first — nervous giggles fill the back of the car.
“Oh, and Addy— if he refers to you as a girl,” I say, reminded by the definite gender contravention of her hair visible in the mirror, “Be a bit pissed. Tell him you’re a boy. Tell him your birth name. Be polite, respectful, but firm, like we practiced.”
Now I sigh.
“Let us explain anything else…” Caitlin adds, her voice still hoarse. “Unless he asks you a direct question. And for the love of Mike, Addy, give Ash the pink iPad.” They rearrange themselves in the back of the truck. Addy shifts, trying to take up more space in the cramped seats. I swear I can see the slight sheen of sweat on her; from the fever? From the sun blazing through her window? Either way they’re both starting to look sick.
I steer the truck onto the shoulder; slow to a stop, hazards flashing. If I believed in God, now would be a great time to start praying.
The cop takes his sweet time making his way to the window.
“You know how fast you were going?”
“Fifty-five, Officer.”
“Uh-huh. Passport, visa and visitor’s permit,” he says, eyeing me with obvious disdain.
“Um, I’m a citizen, officer.” I say, quietly.
“Immigration ID then.”
“Uh, sorry that wasn’t clear, I was born here. Well, uh, Nebraska.” He stares at me, disbelief and distrust warring with each other.
“ID then. And I need your interstate travel permit.”
Caitlin’s prepared; she grabbed them from my backpack as we slowed. She passes them across to me and I hand them over. “Those yours?” he says, gesturing at the kids.
“Hers,” I say.
”Uh-huh. Wait here.”
“Are you okay?” Caitlin whispers, glancing at my hands clamped back around the steering wheel.
“Last time I had this happen on a road-trip, it didn’t go so well.” I mumble back at her.
“Out of the car.” I jump, realizing he’s returned from his cruiser.
“Officer—”
“It’s fine, Caitlin.” I say, clicking open the door and sliding out.
“But—”
“It’s fine.”
“I need you to walk the line.”
I pace down the line and back as instructed. I very carefully ignore the “Fucking spic.” I’m almost certain I heard.
“Fingers to nose.”
“Yessir.” I quickly comply.
“Who’s she to you?”
“Just a friend. She’s a single mom, I help out a lot. The kid’s dad isn’t around anymore. We’re on a work-trip. Made sense to bring the kids.”
“You and her aren’t…?”
“No sir.” I try and infuse the lie with a hint of disgust. It’s safer that way.
“Uh huh. Stay there. Hands on the hood.” He points in front of our truck. I move over and, godless heathen though I am, I start to pray, “Please, Caitlin. Don’t piss him off.”
“So that’s Erika,” he says, pointing at me, “And apparently you’re Caitlin.” She nods. “Funny that you’re both Morgen. But she says you’re not together.”
“No sir.” I can’t quite hear the longer muffled reply and but thank whatever god answered my prayer since he seems satisfied enough to start toward me. And then he stops. I can’t see his eyes through his Aviators, but I sure as hell feel them burning into me before he turns back to the window.
“You — girl — what’s this woman’s name?” He points at me.
“I’m not a girl!” Addy says. “I’m a boy.”
I’m slightly stunned by the fact her complaint sounds genuine.
“Really,” he says, glancing back at the stack of IDs. “So it says. If you don’t want people thinking you’re a girl you shouldn’t look like one.” Okay, now there’s disgust. He turns towards Caitlin “And you should cut his damn hair,” he adds. “Wait.” He peers through the window looking first at Caitlin, then at the two kids before moving toward me briskly. “Are they all sick?”
“Uh, yessir. Caitlin started feeling lousy a few days ago, and the two kids told us on the ride today they weren’t feeling great.”
“And you let me get near them? Goddamn fucking bitches.” He takes a step away from me and narrowly misses being hit by an SUV. After a flurry of expletives he stalks back to the cruiser once more, still leaving me standing there, sweat slowly soaking through my top. When he returns he keeps his distance from us all. “I’m not giving you a ticket today,” he says, tossing the license and registration through the window from a distance that’s better measured in yards. He turns, starts walking back to his cruiser before shouting, “You should cut his damn hair. He looks like a fucking pussy. And warn people that you’re fucking sick.”
Gunning the engine he leaves, a trail of tire smoke following him.
“Moms,” Addy says, lying down on the seat after he’s gone. “It really hurts.”
“What does?” Caitlin says, twisting herself around in the seat despite her obvious discomfort, reaching her hand out to Addy’s.
“Everything.” She says, sadly, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. Quiet whimpers escaping as she tries to get less uncomfortable.
The yawning chasm that opened in the pit of my stomach swallows all thoughts of the cop, all thoughts of anything but Addy. “Lemmie get you something to help, sweetie.” I say, and return a few minutes later with one of the painkillers from the back of the truck. “Sniff — and again — Sniff.”
“Is this different from the stuff Mom C gave me?”
“Yeah, sweetie. Remember how she said that’d hopefully make the virus go quicker? Well, this one will help you not hurt as much. It might make you kinda sleepy too.” I say.
The truck rocks with a line of passing semis while we wait for the medication to take effect. Caitlin bent awkwardly to hold her and Ash’s hands. Gradually Addy drops off to sleep, the whimpers slowly shifting to quiet breathing.
I can’t even look at Caitlin as I swing the truck back out onto the road.
#
We turn off the dusty road onto a dusty track which, eventually, gives way to a barely maintained dusty track. The berms at the side alternately hide us and don’t, while the divots sometimes almost swallow the truck.
Occasionally there’s another groan from Caitlin, or a quiet “Mom,” from Ash as the truck thumps into a particularly obnoxious hole. I fervently try to ignore the fact that the occasional complaints from the occupants have come from one side. Addy’s still breathing fine. At least, as best as I can tell in the mirror. But she definitely looks clammy. Along with the task of ignoring her silence, I add convincing myself the clamminess is just the dusky desert light.
The signs out here are just sun-faded, not scarred from fires, and they still bear the National Park Service logo. Clearly this place wasn’t even worth the bother of pulling them down or rebranding. I guess with the mine ever encroaching they didn’t figure anyone would be willing to endure the dust or noise.
INFECTED, the hand-scrawled sign taped over the campsite map declaims, with an arrow pointing right. Site Quarantine, left. There’s no boulder with vinegar in it to leave coins in, no boundary marked, but I see the eyes of the folks on the left watching us as we pull down the rutted track.
“Oh, you’re Wanda’s strays.” The woman smiles, looking at the truck. “She said to look out for a shiny-ass truck with New Mexico plates.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s us,” I say, trying to work out how I feel about being expected — or having our position known to so many people.
“I wondered if you’d make it,” she smiles. “She reckoned you were kinda green. Anyhow, head down to six and I’ll come down in a few and explain where everything is.
“Still four of you? With three of y’all sick? Or are you also infected?”
“I — I, uh, had it a while back. I’m okay now,” I say, glancing at the back seat where Ash thankfully still seems to be out of it, and Addy… I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Hey, before you head down there, Wanda said it looked like you might have some spare medical supplies?”
“Uh—” I say, caught off guard. “I have some basic stuff I grabbed from work.” I eventually concede.
“You’re medical?”
“No…” I laugh. “God no. Sorry. I just work in a lab. We had — some stuff. I figured it might be useful for— for—” I give up my attempt to explain.
“Oh. Well. Anything you can spare would be great. And since you’ve had it already — if you’re willing we could get you to help with the boys and—” There’s a very long pause before she finally settles on, “Men.” She taps on the post she’s leaning against before glancing in the direction we’re meant to be going. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get parked up and stretch your legs and then I’ll be down, give you the lay of the land.”
#
The lay of the land is not exactly difficult to figure out with, or without her help. Curved metal shelters stand over the few remaining picnic tables, and around the twin loops of track there’s a mixture of decrepit RVs, mobile homes and pickups. Eight turns out to be one of a few empty pitches which gives us a great view of the Colorado river dribbling past one end of the site.
It’s as I’m unpacking the few things we’ll need for the night I notice the red cross hanging in the windshield of one of the bigger RVs.
“Marcie,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m guessing you’re Erika,” she nods at me, “and Caitlin?” She points.
“Yeah.”
Even under the white corrugated metal shelter where I’ve been standing for a couple of minutes waiting for the MREs to heat.
“So,” she says, “I know Wanda said you’re likely to fly through if you do stop, so I figure you ain’t planning on sticking around.
“No,” I say, thinking of Addy’s condition, and how I’d really like her to be somewhere about thirty to forty degrees cooler. “We’re on a work trip — need to get there on time.”
“I see,” Marcie says, looking a little disappointed. “It’s just, we could do with some more bodies who aren’t collapsing.”
“Uh, well. We really can’t stay, but if there’s anything I can do…”
“Head over to fourteen when you’re able?” Marcie says. “Briony’s doing her best but she’s kinda drowning. And,” she hesitates, picking at her nails and staring at the back of our truck. “If you have any medical supplies you can spare we’ve got some pretty sick guys in there.”
“Oh,” I say. “Uh. Sure. We’ll look.”
#
I’ve been watching the stars for the past hour. Staring up at the constellations. Unchanging and constant, at least, on our timescale. They were here before I arrived, and they’ll be here after I’ve gone.
Untouched by my destruction.
I might not be able to sleep, but the kids and Caitlin are out.
Thankfully.
I can’t stop checking them though.
It’d be too much to get their watches to sync up and give me live data on their condition, right? That’d be invasive and weird. And also involve programming knowledge I don’t have.
And Penny’s not gonna do that for me. Not now, is she.
The other thing I’ve been watching is the fire on the quarantine side. Marcie, the woman who saw us in, said they abandoned the idea of an uninfected section pretty quick. “Everyone gets it soon enough,” she said. “We just give folks a place to pretend they won’t.”
And she wasn’t lying. Bianca — the nurse here — is drowning. I got more practice than I wanted putting IVs in, in — soon to be former — men. After seeing the state they were in I talked to Caitlin.
We hauled out and gave her our boxes of contingency fluids and some painkillers. Bianca doled some of it out — some of the guys even got to take out their bite blocks.
It’s not enough, but…
#
“What the hell are you laughing at?” The guy I can just make out, behind the fire over on the quarantine side, is jumping up, drink in hand.
“Well it’s just funny isn’t it. You guys are all like ‘Men are the biologically superior ones. We’re destined to rule,’ and then some virus comes along and turns y’all into sorry bitches like us.” The woman’s curly hair dances in the firelight as she shifts.
“It’s not a joke, Devorah. People’s lives are at stake.”
“No, men’s lives are at stake.”
“Stop trolling him, Devorah.”
“Oh, fine, Sangatham.
“Just… John — what the hell you want me to do? Stand here and wring my hands over it? Maybe Sangatham should go inject some testosterone into you both. Make y’all a sand-milkshake? There’s gotta be some magic minerals in all that dirt since this mine keeps growing. Or do you wanna do whatever other bullshit the feds want you boys doing? Making man-noises and stomping round the place all sweaty?”
“I want you to take it seriously.”
“We’re doing what we can, John. What the hell else do you think we should be doing that we aren’t?”
“You could be a bit sympathetic.”
“Yeah John, I could. And I am — a bit. But I still remember what you said to me about The Protection of Women Act. And I’m not so fucking dumb that I don’t remember you and all your friends explaining how all this shit wasn’t really a problem. How it was just those stupid T-girls getting all over dramatic. Well, if it—”
“Not this again. I’ve said I was wrong.”
“Yeah, you have, haven’t you. But you haven’t changed. Every time something comes along and we talk to you about it you’re like ‘Well, there’s this and this which mean it’s all fine.’ Which sure, it is all fine, for you, so long as it doesn’t affect the pretty white boys. Only this time you and your fashy little—”
“Devorah.”
“Yeah, Sangatham?” She says, sweetly.
“Knock it off. You know he’s just drunk. And you’re drunk. John I’m cutting you off. Same for you Devor—”
“He’s just a f—”
“Enough, Devorah. Jesus. Half the camp can probably hear you. We all know he’s an asshole when he’s drunk.”
“Fuck you. And fuck you. You’re probably a lesbian anyway.” John cusses, staggering off and stumbling over — presumably — a guy rope before disappearing into darkness.
“You know I don’t…”
“Yeah, Sangatham, I know. You’re just trying to keep the peace.”
“And he’s wrong to—”
“Sure. And if I could pick one guy to not get it it’d be you.”
“I know,” he says, his voice barely carrying to me.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I watch as she stands and hugs him. Turning away, I close my eyes again and wish I’d heard none of it.
#
XL: what the fuck is this tav
XL: Methodological Barriers in Designing Chimeric Receptors for Glycan-Obscured Viral Vectors. (http://doi.org/10.195723/advbiomed.v23.12055).
XL: why do some biotech nobodies have your research
XL: and who is this bitch erika morgen
XL: i dont even think itero biotechnologies has published shit else
XL: i just looked
XL: some shithead named brandon years ago then this
XL: this little bitch biochemist pops up out nowhere
XL: straight from college with a shiny fresh fucking phd
XL: goes straight in with trying to make a vaccine for your fucking virus
XL: weird huh
XL: might make you wonder
XL: godless fuckhead you are
XL: so ig you couldnt get your vaccine to work
XL: mr gods gift to the lab
XL: well i guess you got one of your little bitches doing your work for you now
XL: you always were a freak for those trannies
XL: she one of them
XL: she part of your harem you sick fuck
XL: i looked and you even got in on fed funding for a fucking vaccine
XL: well ill get oaklen to fix that funding
XL: bet you thought youd get a big payout
XL: big man in the henhouse saving the fucking world
XL: oaklens gonna get that fucking genome asshole
XL: then well see who gets to be the star
XL: asshole