One question burned, itched, clawed its way through Cynthia’s mind. John. Her better half. As the self-righteous leader walked them around the refitted hangar area, her mind considered two options. He could be living here with Winston, who wished to surprise her. The far more likely scenario, her husband hadn’t made it out alive.
“-dinning area with clean food preparation-“ Mr. M continued on.
Winston’s eyes followed that man’s every gesture, word and smile. Boy, did that man smile a lot. Far too many of them came in her direction. Each one a knife to the chest, twisted and yanked.
“Yeah, my mom loves those!” Winston’s excitement shone through his big bright eyes, his father’s deep shade. A lump formed in her dry throat.
“You will have to share the recipe with us,” Mr. M said.
His teeth gleamed from the light of the lamp above. Clearly, he had had access to grooming instruments. Despite her good upbringing, the dismissal of his remark and the whole conversation left no mark on her conscious. Cynthia’s eyes followed the lamp’s cord to find the power source, a generator, with wires leading up to the roof. The ability to procure power, one point for this community.
She tapped her fingers on her leg as they walked towards the matted area where at least two dozen people rested. Some stayed together like packs and others slept in solitude. The sun had hardly set. If their group valued production this was poor practise. A quick once over confirmed that her husband wasn’t among them. He would have stood out in this sea of white and Hispanic faces, not uncommon in New Mexico. She had always felt a bit like a token herself. New Mexico’s African American population left a lot to be desired, in terms of numbers.
“When do people work?” Vita asked. Good girl.
“We share the workload here at Nouveau Depart. Shifts depend on the nature of the job. Our security team needs to be well rested for the night shifts.”
That must have been the snoring man with a fiery beard. His scarred face and thick torso would intimidate most people on a good day. Mr. M would certainly do the trick as well, although Cynthia figured he could talk his way out of the situation instead of resorting to violence.
“Some of the cooking and gardening staff has top heavy mornings as well, so this is their rest time.”
“I could probably be good at that. My family used to love my spaghetti carbonara,” Vita said.
Cynthia sighed, optimism was a trait limited to the younger generation. Hers faded down a black hole.
“It must be wonderful. Cynthia, what are your specialties?”
A scowl tugged at her lips. What a useless topic to discuss. A more fitting thought, how could she get her son back to Pele’s?
“Actually, we need to use the bathroom.”
It would have required less force to lift a car than to move her son at this moment. His hurt gaze tore through her patchwork heart.
“Don’t you want to see the rest, mom? The greenhouse is the best part!”
“Okay, after the greenhouse,” she reassured him with a gentle squeeze of the hand.
They walked through the hangar warehouse, footsteps echoed on the concrete floors until they reached a door at the far end. It led into a large vegetated area, rich with ferns, shrubs and plants. Gentle splashing trickled away, an oddball reverberation. Mr. M had a knowing smile.
“You looked confused. You must hear our aquaponic system going. Closed systems are ideal for what we hope to achieve here. Come take a look. We manage to harvest a few small crops as well as raise fish all in this enclosed space.”
“The fish feed the plants with their dropping that get pumped into the first tank. Then the plants feed the fish over and over again. Pretty cool, right?” Her son stood tall like he did after winning his basketball games.
“It’s great, Winston.”
“We can only eat fish once a month, to make sure there are enough of them to have babies. Mr. M wants to make things even bigger so we have more fish and can eat protein more often.”
“Ideally, we would sustain our own supply of food. We are living mainly on reserves that we were able to put together before the disaster.”
“And where did you get the foresight to prepare for this disaster? Not all of us had that luxury,” Cynthia said.
She released Winston from her hold when she felt his tugs. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the far tank system. His strong legs carried him over with more speed than she’d ever remembered.
“People willing to look at the science behind the recent spike in natural disasters had a definite advantage. It was only a matter of a few more months or years at best before those events took place. It was only logical to set up a space in case that should happened. Businesses kept closing and the lease cost nothing.”
“We didn’t have the time to sift through their back and forth research.” Scientists had cried wolf for two whole years and their word still held merit? People got sick of going into panic mode and the whole warning system became a joke after the first year. “Speaking of time, I’d like to head back to my shelter with my son.”
“Before you do, please join us for a meal.”
“It’s fine really, we have food.”
“Cynthia, that girl is skin and bones. It would be a crime to deny her a meal,” Mr. M said. His narrowed eyes cut through her facade. Vita’s flat stomach grumbled to prove her point. Her frown and the way her hands flew down to her stomach told Cynthia everything she needed to know. Vita didn’t need to keep pretending out of some sense of owing.
“Winston.” Her son’s loving eyes gazed up into hers. “Could you take Vita to the dining area? We’ll come with you in just a minute.”
“Sure, mom.” He grabbed Vita’s hand and they raced towards the warehouse door. A smile spread across the thin girls’ gaunt face.
Mr. M let out a deep breath and his hunched posture betrayed his control just for a moment. This could be the time to cut through his ‘generous’ offer.
“Mr. M, I do appreciate what you’ve done for my son. You have to understand that I’ve seen what strangers do with stranded orphans during these times.”
“Cynthia, there is something I need to tell you.”
Her eyes went wide and her heart nearly stopped beating, a low irregular frequency. His tone had softened more than butter in the hot sun. She waited, knowing what was coming.
“Winston’s father.”
“John,” Cynthia supplied as she felt her nose begin to run. “My husband, John.”
“I am so sorry.” Cynthia choked out a sob as his words brought her world to a stop. “He did not make it out of the gym in time.”
The widow covered her mouth and shook her head. Tears streamed down her face, tsunamis of grief. She had always suspected his demise, but to hear it confirmed stripped her of any hope. She should never have gone back into work. If she had gone with them to the game...
“I realize I am not the person you would like to hear this from, but you deserve to know. Not knowing is the hardest part.”
Cynthia nodded as her body trembled. She had almost forgotten that she stood in a greenhouse with a man trying to sell her a spot in his new community. The news weighed her down, rooted her feet to the ground. What now? She had her family, or what was left of it? Would this community be the best option for Winston? What of Peyton and Holly?
She took a deep breath and asked. “How long had it been when you found him?”
“Two days after the disaster. Winston was very frightened when we found him, but he made it out with a couple team mates. The boys are still here as well.”
“Did everyone in the gym...” Her trembling shoulders swallowed her question.
“Winston told me they were running out to his van to get a snack when the whole building collapsed. The epicenter of the earthquake must have been close. We were not hit that hard in this area.”
Nor had the downtown area felt its true magnitude. Could things have worked out differently if she fought harder against going to the game?
The TV blared Power Rangers that night from the living room. Cynthia ran down the stairs, two at a time, and tucked some tissues in the pocket of her navy scrubs. Her cold wouldn’t let up lately. She made sure she had her identification card and sat on the last carpeted stair to quickly lace up her runners. They had seen better days and she wanted to pick up a new pair at the outlet mall at the end of her eight day stretch.
“John, can you make sure Winston is fed?”
“Cindy, you’d think I haven’t been married to a nurse for ten years,” he teased as he brought a wooden spoon full of chicken gumbo to her lips. The rich heat washed over her. Why on earth had she agreed to accept that shift? A night in with the boys sounded perfect right about now. John ran back to the kitchen for a moment and came back with a lunch bag, warm with the promise of his great cooking. She couldn’t have found a better man.
“Tyson called and Winston’s game is still running, rain or shine.”
“You aren’t taking him, are you?”
“Cindy, I talked to the Jones and Ramirez and they’re taking the boys down. You know the reporters are blowing this out of proportion again.”
“I just... one of these days, John, I’m sure they’ll be right.”
“Just like the last six times. You know I love how much you care for us. But I swear, they’re just trying to get sales on those survival packs. Corporations and the media joining again to break the working man’s back.”
“Okay, okay, enjoy the game. But if you see anything off, please head back.”
“Of course.”
“Love you,” Cynthia said and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
“Love you.”
A foreign voice jolted her from her trance. Cynthia glared up at the man with the shaved head and groomed goatee. The least he could do was to let her relive her last moments with John. No, he ripped those from her grasp as well.
“What do you say?”
She raised an eyebrow with minimal effort.
“Join us for supper. You, Vita and Winston are welcome for the night but I understand if you would like to spend the night elsewhere and return after having discussing your options.” The way the word ‘options’ ran off his tongue, made it clear that he knew hers were abysmal.
She nodded and followed him back over to the area where everyone sat at square wooden tables just above ankle height. Vita had a plate full of potatoes, beans and stewed meat. She waved over to Cynthia from her cushion on the bamboo mats. Her smile was unmistakable.
While Cynthia didn’t trust this man, nor did she want to admit she couldn’t offer better environs for her son, this was the face of optimism. She would have to put some stock in it for the time being, but not before consulting Pele and Holly.