Risk

The world was exploding.
I sat in front of the TV, watching monsters. Buildings burned but I didn’t understand why. Men, women, and children ran around in fear. Some men faced the beasts with guns but shook so hard they couldn’t fire and became prey. People were torn apart, literally, and no one saved them.
Los Angeles, California, was quarantined for three days. A total of 500 army soldiers went in to try and kill the monsters.
“No troops or civilians survived. But neither did the infected,” they said on the news.
As usual the media had lied to us.
Four of Them had escaped. That was enough. They spread across California. Those who came across them were able to kill them. But not before they were bitten.
“Baby girl,” Uncle Henry said, coming over to flip off the television, “Don’t watch the news.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not something you should see.”
“I’m fourteen, Hen. I can handle it,” I lied.
Hen looked at me over his reading glasses. “Don’t you try and deceive me, sweetheart. I know you can’t handle that.” He stood straight. “I know you can’t. Because I can’t.”
I was quiet as Hen went to his recliner, the chair he always sat in while he read his paper or his books. “Why is this happening, Hen?”
“It’s an infection.”
I shook my head. “I know how it’s happened. But I want to know why.”
“What do you mean baby?”
I bit my lip, wondering how to word my sentence. “Father Dave says every Sunday that God loves His children. He doesn’t want anything to hurt us.”
“That’s right,” Hen confirmed.
“If he doesn’t want anything to hurt us… why is he letting this happen?”
Hen crinkled his brow, trying to think of a response. “Children,” he said to himself, “always find a way to ask the most difficult questions.”
I went to his chair and kneeled in front of it. I was too big and Hen was too old for me to sit on his knee anymore. “Please, Hen.”
“I don’t know,” Hen confessed. “But I know He must have a reason.”

When I woke up in the morning I heard a pitter-patter in the back of the store. I sat up, yawning, standing and stretching. I walked around the bed where Van Helsing still slept soundly. I crossed to the back of the store where a window remained in tact, and saw the heavy grey rain fall outside. I couldn’t tell the time of day through the weighted clouds covering the sun.
I had a feeling Van Helsing was going to spend most of the day resting, so I left him undisturbed. I swung my gun over my shoulder and, as quietly as I could, lifted the gate to leave the mattress store, closing it just as delicately behind me.
I walked down the frozen escalator to Starbuck’s to reheat the remainder of yesterday’s coffee. When I reached Starbuck’s I flipped on the burner to heat my pot of caffeine. I headed toward the back. Beneath a shelf full of ground coffee sat half a tube of toothpaste and my old toothbrush.
These days I seldom brushed my teeth. There was no reason to. But I wasn’t a barbaric creature. Rainy days were cleaning days. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste and headed out while the coffee warmed.
The entrance to the mall was boarded. Except one door. It looked boarded, which was good enough for Them, who believed this ruse as they’re brains were rotted to stupidity. Near the door was a giant bucket and a supply of soap, shampoo and conditioner. I set my gun down so it wouldn’t get drenched in the rain and picked up the bucket.
I headed out the first door; there was a small space between that door and a second set that led outside. I peeked through the boards, making sure there were none of Them to be seen. This was sort of pointless, actually—I learned long ago that They didn’t seem to like the rain. I’d never come up with an explanation for that… but I wasn’t complaining. Nonetheless I always checked.
Not seeing anything, I tugged on the loose board and pushed it down. It worked like a latch and went down easily. Quick as I could I stuck the bucket out into the rain to fill, feeling the temperature of the warm summer rain kiss my skin for a moment. I closed and relatched the door.
I went back in and grabbed my hygienic supplies, bringing them into the space between the first and second entrance. Then, I stripped my dirty clothes off. I’d been wearing these for weeks and they were disgusting, especially with the stench of frightened sweat from yesterday’s adventure. I checked through the board again and grabbed my soap, unlatched the door, and stepped outside.
The rain felt wonderful. Just the rain falling onto my naked body felt wonderful, pushing the grime away before I even soaped down. I just stood there for a moment, marveling in the gift.
I stepped back under the small overhang by the entrance. I slid the soap bar over my body, watching the white suds spread over my skin. I pushed open the door and tossed it inside so the rain wouldn’t wipe too much away—I only had so much soap in supply. I ran my hands over my body and face, scrubbing as much filth from my skin as I possibly could before going back in the rain to wash it away.
If you’ve ever gone even one day without a shower, you know the oil on your face and your hair is not a pleasant feeling. Now imagine you only got to shower once a month, multiplying that feeling over the course of thirty-some days. Until, finally, you were given that shower and could shed that horrible feeling. I can’t even communicate the beauty of it.
I ducked back in the door to grab a bottle of shampoo and my filthy clothes. Seeing the bucket I’d stuck outside was mostly full I tossed the clothes inside to clean them. Giving myself a quarter sized dose of shampoo I scrubbed my filthy hair vigorously; then repeated this with conditioner. After that I grabbed my toothbrush and erased the horrid plaque buildup from my mouth, rinsing with rain. Even though my body was clean I still spent a few moments outside. At this point in my life not much was enjoyable. I took advantage of all the small things.
Even though the apocalypse had come along I still loved the rain as much as I always had. Daddy and Uncle Hen had only liked rain for one reason: marvelous fishing. Back in the day I would go fishing with them. Not to actually fish. Just to sit in the boat and enjoy the rain. I would listen to the rhythm of precipitation against the mental boat and on the lake. I didn’t need a book or music or a game to entertain me, not even at the age of six when I first started tagging along.
Uncle Hen never understood how I could be so content. “She just sits there,” I heard him whisper to Daddy one day in the boat while I pretended to doze off. “It’s not normal for a child to be so relaxed doing nothing.”
“Our little girl isn’t normal, Hen,” Daddy said. I could hear the amused smile in his voice. Then that smile had heaviness to it. “She gets it from her Momma. She was the only person I knew who was happy in humidity. Not because she liked it, but because she knew a downpour was on its way. Then when it rained—no matter how cold it was—she’d slip on her swimsuit and sit in it. She did it every rainfall. Until… she couldn’t anymore.”
Daddy went quiet. I heard Hen pat him on the back. “I know you miss her, Jim. But you know what?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sure she’s sitting on the lowest cloud right now so she can feel this rainfall. She’s watching you. She’s watching her little girl take after her. And she’s smiling. She’s saying she loves you. Even though she’s gone, she always will. Don’t forget that.”
I opened one eye just slightly to see Daddy. I saw him looking up at the sky. Staring at that lowest cloud, looking for her. And I knew it wasn’t raindrops running down his face.

I finally made myself go inside. I put everything back in it’s place and headed to the department store, raiding the racks for a new set of clothes, settling on a tshirt, jean shorts, a hoodie for warmth. Heading back to Starbuck’s I poured two cups of coffee—one for Van Helsing in case he woke up. I decided to swing by the old Barnes & Noble on my way back up and grab a book for him to amuse himself while I went out.
I appreciated now that I knew rain equaled good fishing weather. Like I said, They never came around on rainy days. There was a stream with a small fish population beyond the half-developed mall parking lot. I could also dig up my own bait there. (I called this the apocalypse, but that was specifically for humanity. Fish and worms seemed to have escaped it.) I would go fishing today. Since I had no refrigeration I would have to cook all of it right away and eat it for every meal over the course of a week [depending on how much I caught]. Not that I minded. Besides the stream’s bass, sunfish are small but tastier than you’d think.
I made the best of my sad life.
I scanned the piles of books around the store and looked for something that might entertain Van Helsing. I didn’t know him particularly well, what kind of book would he want? Fiction? Nonfiction? Mystery? Memoir—
Question answered. I found the perfect one.

By the time I’d come back and shed my waterproof windbreaker and boots, the weather was letting up. I hung my fish in the food court to cook up on a (dry) wood stove fire in the back of the old pizzeria later. First I went to check on Van Helsing.
When I opened the gate I found him reading.
“Guess it was a good idea to bring you entertainment,” I said. He looked up. “Hi,” I smiled.
He smiled back and gave me a once over. “You’re wet.”
“Showered and fished.”
He looked shocked. “You went out?”
“It’s raining. They hate the rain. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“I did,” he said. “I hunted them remember? I’m just… surprised at you, is all.”
“How do you mean?” I said, flopping on the bed next to him.
“It’s pretty gutsy to go out there.”
“I needed to clean up and I needed food. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. It’s not like I had my gun in the rain, but I had a knife. I’ve never come across one of them while fishing before.”
“I’m also surprised you know how to fish.”
“My Daddy taught me.”
Van Helsing smiled. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
The way he was looking at me, our eyes locked for a moment, made me uncomfortable. Mostly because it was, of all words to choose, thrilling.
I cleared my throat. “Enjoying your book?”
He broke his gaze away from me and stared down at the cover of the book. “Quite. Good choice.”
“More than appropriate,” I laughed.
“Can you believe I’ve never actually read it?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?” He nodded. “Oh, you poser!”
He laughed. “I know, I’m ashamed too.” He looked down and dedicated his page number to memory before closing the copy of Dracula and setting it on the nightstand next to him. “I saw Hugh Jackman do Helsing but never read Stoker’s description. Accurate?” he asked me.
“Meh,” I said. “I think Stoker’s version sounds more handsome.”
“That stings, Risk. I thought girl’s liked the scruffy type?”
I gave him a deadpan face. “ ‘Scruffy’ hardly describes you. Now, ‘dirty’ is pretty close—”
“Fuck you,” he grunted.
An image flitted through my mind.
“So,” I moved on, “sleep well?”
“Yes, actually,” he said. “Despite the injuries I slept better than I have in years. You seemed to have slept very well.”
“What makes you say that?”
“One, you look less tired. Two, you’re less cranky.”
“I was never cranky!”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Three, you looked very peaceful.”
I was taken aback. “Pardon?”
“I woke up once and needed to shift a bit. I glanced over to make sure I wasn’t disturbing you, but you were out like a light. And you looked… calm.” He looked at me again. “You’re very pretty when you’re calm.” Even though he was giving me that look again his tone of voice was still very matter-of-fact. I appreciated that.
“You were pretty out this morning when I woke up,” I said. (I may have appreciated the tone of his comment but that didn’t mean I was going to respond to it.) “And I just heard your stomach growl.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I’m kind of hungry.”
“Kind of a lot I should think.”
“You got me. So, beans for dinner again?”
I rolled my eyes. “I told you I went fishing. Don’t have so little faith in me that I didn’t catch anything. I caught a shitton.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’m off to cook it. Just wanted to see if you were awake first. Make sure you didn’t die in your sleep or anything.” I smiled and slipped up, saying, “I’m glad you didn’t.”
He grinned at me. I quickly said, “I’m off to cook. Be back in a while. Enjoy your reading.”
As I went out, Van Helsing said, “Hey Risk?”
“Yeah?” I responded, throwing up the gate.
“Thank you. For taking me in. In this day and age everyone else—anyone else—would have left me for dead.”
I looked back at him. “You’re welcome.” I stepped out and closed the gate behind me. “And you know, you’re still welcome to stay.”
“Risk, you know—”
“—you can’t. Yes, I know. But the offer is still open.”
This time he didn’t respond. He just picked up his book and flipped to his page.
I headed back downstairs, my heart in my stomach. Everything in my head felt twisted around. I wanted Van Helsing to stay, but I didn’t want him to be the way he was. To act the way he was acting. He caught me up one minute, but as soon as I escaped he broke me down.
First the world ends and I survive it. Then God throws another challenge at me.
Tell me this, Hen: what’s His reason now?