Cynthia cleaned one of the boys' most recent scrapes at the hand of the saw. The reason Mr. M let the boys run around building furniture out of scraps, especially without a good tetanus shot, evaded her. Yet every night, Winston would come home raving about the things he had made or works in progress. His enthusiasm was hard to argue with, but she still didn't like to see the boys walking around with cuts that required gauze or butterfly closures. She didn't even want to think about what she would do if she needed to reattach anything.
"All patched up, Russell, but you stay away from that saw, now."
"Yes, Mrs. Ross!" he said as he ran back to the group of boys down at the far end. Cynthia let her smile fade when she was no longer in his view. She had never imagined being anyone other than Mrs. Ross since her wedding day, but she couldn't be married to a man who no longer walked this earth. The name would stay, for John. Luckily, no others could witness the tears she still shed on a daily basis from her new, deserted 'office'.
Her work space consisted of a barely stable wooden table hidden behind a piece of drywall mounted on a temporary stand for privacy. She had a couple first aid kits to work with, and she supposed that it was at least something. The boys were working on a new table for her and maybe even a patient bed. Their gestures were sweet, but she wasn't sure how much would actually be carried out. They were only boys after all.
Peyton hurried into her nurse's station in a pair of flowered gardening gloves, dirt streaked across his forehead. "Going to need your help clearing out the greenhouse. Old man Peters says a storm's on its way."
Cynthia left her latex gloves on the table and walked with him past the kitchen, into the greenhouse area where several others were picking up pots and bringing them into the free storage area in western corner. She picked up a couple strawberry plants gently and followed Peyton who rescued some rather tall bean plants.
"You do this every time there's a storm?" Cynthia asked. She couldn't imagine this was a practical use of time.
"Only for the bad ones. We evacuate the plants and glass panes. All of it comes out to limit the projectiles' damage. We'd lose everything otherwise."
"Did they tell you how often this occurs?"
"It's only the second time they had to do it, in three weeks."
Cynthia laughed, and she set down the two plants before they went back for more.
"Have you found out anything about the group that has Amelia yet?"
Peyton's dreadlocks bounced as he shook his head. "Mr. M has been too busy to talk but he promised to have supper with Holly and I tonight, if you'd like to join us."
"Sure, I don't think Vita minds watching Winston. She's really grown into this mother role."
Peyton smiled. "Do you think it'll stick?"
"Only time will tell."
At supper hour, they sat down on the ground at one of the larger tables. Cynthia sat down beside Mr. M., and her body tensed slightly in his presence. She had had little to do with him after their discussion on her work role last week upon her return. His presence sent her mind racing with thoughts of John and his last moments at that gym. She couldn't even imagine how alone he must have felt in his final moments coupled with the crushing fear of Winston's fate. This stranger had rescued her son while she foraged with others for food and medical supplies. She kept pushing back the mission to find her family, always distracted helping others. She owed this man more than she could repay.
"Cynthia, how have you enjoyed the first week?" Mr. M asked.
"It's different."
"You do not need to lie. I have been here long enough to realize how primitive it can be at times, much like the stories of my parents from back in Africa. Winston is thrilled to have you back." He could be pleasant when he wanted to be, soothing voice, charming smile. Regardless of whether it was an act or truth, Cynthia smiled.
"Primitive is another way to say back to nature," Peyton added. "If you can keep your demand in sync with the environment, then you'll rarely run into issues."
"Except during the storms," Holly teased.
"I realize the others fear the outside world, but you should consider tearing up some of the surrounding area to expose the soil and use it as growing space outside of that greenhouse. The plants are hardier than you think," Peyton advised, much like he had been doing since his arrival here.
"It is hardly nutrient rich soil," Mr. M said, and the smile he had used with Cynthia dropped.
"We'll find the right species of plant to help infuse the soil more. We've also noticed that the soil composition has been changing as well out there, beyond any levels we've seen in this environment. There's nothing but potential out, and if you're willing to stick to your resolve of limiting meat consumption, your land demand goes down significantly per person. You could be a self-sustaining community."
"I appreciate your insight, Peyton. We will look into reassigning some of the men to scavenge for the proper tools and equipment shortly. What else was it you wanted to discuss tonight?" Cynthia sensed Mr. M was not a man who enjoyed sharing the decision making power, from his forced tone and smile.
Peyton calmly took a spoonful of rice before continuing. "As the founder of one organization with roots prior to the disaster, I'm curious if you are aware of other similar groups who may have similarly prepared for this disaster in advance as you did."
The firm grip Mr. M held on his spoon attracted Cynthia's attention as it had previously been absent. His demeanor hardened. "I have to ask why you have such interest."
Peyton remained neutral and casually took a sip of his water. "Because, Mr. M, based on your reaction, we are both acquainted with the same people. They have my wife, and I have every intention of getting her back."
"Peyton, I respect your choice but I will not help you. I cannot watch good people walk into the arms of monsters. They will take away everything you have, even the things you did not think could be taken. Please, you have your safety, your freedom. I have seen many things in my lifetime. But to face that group, you must look into the eyes of the Devil." His shaking hand under the table betrayed his calm face.
Cynthia could sense the fear in both his eyes and his wavering voice. He made excellent points, that to give it all up would be almost sinful. At least it would in her case, when she considered Winston in the balance.
"Mr. M, with the utmost respect, if these people have my wife you can't expect me to sit here and plant gardens for you."
"One week ago, we did not even know each other. How does it matter to me what services you will or will not give to our community? I have spent time with these awful people, and it is not a fate I will allow others to endure. You can go to search, and I will not protest, but I will not draw you a map to your worst nightmare."
Peyton slammed his glass on the table and water spilled over the sides. "I have lost my child and, if I don't act soon, my wife. This is my nightmare."
"Your wife will be safe as long as she can maintain the balance for them. If you upset the balance by interfering, you will live to regret that decision."
"How do you know this? Are you a part of this?" If Holly's hand wasn't resting on his arm, holding him back, he would likely be reaching across the table for the leader.
Mr. M's brown eyes narrowed into slits like snake. "You look around. All the women in here I care for like my sister. The children I raise as they were my own children. The men are my brothers. My family, my love, you will not find here. They were taken long before the disaster. That is how I know of their evil. All I have left is to offer protection. Refuse it if you like, but do not accuse me of such cruel actions."
Mr. M stood up with certainty. He picked up his plate and cutlery with controlled movements as if his outburst had never occurred. As he walked off, Cynthia knew his words held their weight. All too many times she had used the same strategy, controlling the body to avoid betraying the chaos of the mind. He had taken great care of those three young boys, two of which were now orphans. From Winston's excited chatter, she knew that he spent a generous amount of time working with them on these building projects. It had been Winston's dream, and Mr. M had made it possible. As much as she wanted to avoid him for the feeling of loss he stirred within her, Cynthia knew that she couldn't let this incident pass.
"Please, excuse me," Cynthia said, and she went off to find Mr. M. The problem was she had little idea where to find him. But as her thoughts progressed, she realized the two of them weren't so different, and she acted on a hunch.
Nouveau Depart faced onto a two lane street. A short walk away, an empty lot sat in the middle of this industrial space. A small bench had still been curiously upright when she had first walked back to find Peyton and Holly. She had stopped there for a moment to try and come to grips with leaving Winston for however brief a moment it was. Dwelling on the recollection, the chance that someone had placed that bench recently was high.
Mr. M sat on the upright bench, looking out into the looming clouds, saturated with the promise of rain. Cynthia held her sweater close to her body as the wind attempted to throw it in all directions.
"How long do you think we've got?" Cynthia asked and rested her elbows on the bench.
"Before the next storm or the collapse of humanity?" He hadn't even turned his head in her direction to speak.
"The second answer is tempting, but I have to go with the first one."
"Seven minutes."
"How do you know?"
"Given the wind speed, cloud formation, and recent storm activity in this area, seven minutes is our approximate time."
"Is seven minutes enough to hear about the collapse of humanity?"
Mr. M finally turned toward her. While his features hadn't completely softened, the intensity of his gaze had tapered, and his cheeks had almost sunk in with his latest breath. "Why would you want to hear of such an event? Have you plans of leaving with Peyton?"
"Winston would never allow it nor would I risk losing the most important thing to me." The winds howled as the conversation floated up with convection. "I'm sorry to hear about what you've lost."
"The things I lost were never mine to have. That was made very clear to me."
Cynthia wasn't used to this kind of cryptic behavior. John had always been open with her, almost from the moment they started seeing each other. He refused to believe in secrets, and she had quickly learned more than she needed to know about him. It had been the easiest way to get her to divulge the inner workings of her own mind. She knew what to do next.
"I thought my world was over the moment you told me John had died. A future without him was and still is an extremely difficult process. To wake up every morning without him, after so many years together, is almost impossible. It has brought me to tears every morning I've spent at Nouveau Depart. Today, I'm less angry, and it's slowly starting to sink in that he won't be around anymore."
Mr. M sat, still eyeing the approaching storm. She calculated the elapsed time. Three minutes had to have passed so far. She closed her eyes for a moment to assess how much time she could spare before the action of leaving the community was irreversible.
"Cynthia, go inside. Our circumstances are not the same. Your husband had no choice in his absence. My partner chose a life without me."
The swirling funnel descending little by little from the sky caused all heated rebuttals to die in her throat. As much as she wanted to scream at him that it didn't make matters any better or easier, survival came first. This community needed a leader. "Come back with me."
Mr. M looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"Your brothers, sisters and children are waiting. Don't let one person's choice define who you are and the effect you can have on others."
The cloud loomed and fear grew, a tumour in her heart. His body remained still, and Cynthia began to contemplate her ability to drag this large man back to the community. He was easily 180 pounds of muscle and height her average frame wouldn't be able to handle.
Physical relocation wouldn't be an option. Persuasion needed to go back on the table. "Please, don't remedy one loss with another."
His body stood tall now, rising from the bench like a mountain. She let out a breath of relief as her dark curls obscured her vision, flying around like mosquitoes. The wind tugged from all directions as they both began to run back toward to shelter. Cynthia appreciated the pace he kept. With such long legs, she knew he slowed his jog to accommodate her lack of speed.
He held the door open for her and quickly went to grab boards to place over the windows. Cynthia took one from his hand and grabbed a hammer and nails off the reception desk. This whole action had to be fast; the clock was ticking away. Cynthia frowned at her hasty handiwork. Would it even do anything?
"Cynthia, you need to come inside."
Once she stepped inside he slid an aluminum door she hadn't noticed shut to block off the reception area. She clenched her eyes closed as the winds rocked the walls of the warehouse. Moments later, a quick look around confirmed that this whole communal area had been abandoned.
"Where is everyone?" Her heart raced. She had left Winston again. Just when safety felt like a sure thing. Nothing could be certain anymore.
"In the cellars. Peter must have evacuated them in my absence," Mr. M said as he walked toward a metal sheet covering a section of the concrete floor. "It will be very crowded." He knocked a short rhythm on the sheet. Some clicking echoed from below. Mr. M's eyes connected with Cynthia for a moment, and the calm man she had seen a moment ago had vanished. "Thank you for helping me find my way."
"Thank you for taking care of Winston."
"It was with great happiness I could take in those three boys. They have so much energy. Wonderful, but a little crazy," Mr. M said with a deep laugh.
A smile spread across her face as the vibrations of warehouse walls ceased momentarily. "He really looks up to you."
Mr. M smoothed out his button up t-shirt and averted his eyes. "Your son is much like a close friend I had at his age."
"He reminds you of someone?"
"Yes, and I hope your son's fate is much different from that boy's."
Cynthia nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. The door slid open, and the men below helped lower Cynthia and Mr. M down into the cellar with the others.
Her grief and suspicion had obscured Mr. M's true motives. She too understood the desire to save others to make up for those whose lives had been cut unjustly short. That drive brought her to work the night of the disaster. If only she had known helping others would result in the loss of the one she cherished about all else. The weight only lifted as the sweet melody of her name from the lips of her son cut through the room. After he squeezed through the crowd, she engulfed him in a hug and kissed him on the forehead until happiness could overtake her grief.
Her eyes darted over to Mr. M for a moment as did Winston's. The man watched them with a weak smile on his face which he tried to force larger when he noticed Cynthia's gaze. She gave Winston one last tight squeeze and let him go. Without hesitating, Winston shuffled over to Mr. M and reached for his calloused hand.
"You were not scared, were you, Winston?"
"No, Mr. M! I helped three people down to the cellar like you showed me before," the boy replied with a bright smile.
Mr. M's eyes began to brighten and his smile grew stronger. "With good men like you, we will have a wonderful community in no time."
Winston grimaced. "But I'm only eight!"
"I measure a man by his actions not his age. Any boy can grow older, but it takes courage and kindness to be a true man."
Winston smiled and looked back at Cynthia. "So does that mean I can stay up past nine o'clock now, mom?"
"True men need their sleep," Cynthia replied. A pout settled on his face. She tried to stifle her laugh. "Okay, maybe one night this week."
He ran back for one more hug from his mother before they both settled down on the floor and fell asleep in each other's arms.
A/N: I found a song that 50% goes with the chapter- just ignore the word fire. You'd be surprised how hard it is to find music to fit post-apocalyptic stories. If you have any recommendations I'd love for this story to have more of a soundtrack.
Any theories on what Mr. M has lost/had taken from him or even what is real name actually is? Thanks for reading.