Sky on Fire

I slipped my notebook, the digital watch I had taken from the Greenway, and my pen into the bag. I didn’t have anything else worth saving. The soldier came and wrote my name on the bag for me and put it into a metal basket, along with all the other bags.

“Besides the masks, remove all your clothing and place it in these bins. All fabric must go in the bin to be destroyed. That’s the policy,” the soldier dictated.

Some men started to protest but the lead soldier talked louder than them: “On the other side of this room, there is a room filled with clothing and gear. You will have your pick of clean, new clothes on the other side. Everything you need will be provided for you. Now get to.”

Ulysses started crying. It was kind of scary. It was so white and bright, and now this guy was barking at us to get naked.

“It’s okay, Ulysses,” Niko said calmly through his voice transmitter. “We’re going to be clean. It’s good.”

Following Niko’s example, we took off our clothes and threw them in the nearest bin. The men around us did the same.

That was a grisly collection of bodies, I tell you.

We were all just standing there, shivering in nothing but our face masks, when the lead soldier nodded to the other 3. They each picked up hoses from the floor. The hoses ran into the base of the walls. I hadn’t noticed them before.

“This part’s going to suck,” the lead soldier said. “I apologize. Hit ’em!”

They turned on the hoses and jets of frothy orange wash came out of them. The four soldiers sprayed us all down.

There were shouts of protest and dismay.

Then the wash stopped.

“You can take off your masks now,” the soldier directed.

He gestured to a bin and we all tossed our masks inside.

Most of us had massive indentations on our faces from the masks. Everyone looked sort of googly-eyed and disoriented. Then the lead soldier nodded again to the other 3 and they doused us with the foul cleanser again.

“This sucks!” shouted one man.

“I hate dis soap!” Ulysses shouted.

The lead soldier laughed. “I know, kid. But it’s the price of admission.”

He hit a large red button on a metal electrical box hanging on the wall.

Immediately hot water started pouring out of the showerheads and also spurting out from the pipes running down the walls.

It felt like heaven.

* * *

They gave us thin, scratchy towels to dry ourselves with and blue paper hospital outfits to wear. Like medical scrubs, but made of a waxy paper. I thought they were pretty cool, but there was some grumbling from the bigger men.

The soldiers led us out of the shower room and back into the hallway.

Niko had to carry Max. His feet were bleeding again and he looked pale and wiped out.

“Get that kid to medical, for God’s sake,” the lead soldier said to Max.

“Yes, sir,” Niko answered.

We went down the hall and then came out into a large room.

A soldier in a uniform (no hazmat suit, no mask) greeted us.

“Breathe deeply, gentlemen, you’re now in the safe zone. Welcome.”

Along the sides of the room were tables. They each had a sign of a size, like “Men—Medium” or “Boys 5T.” In the corner were a bunch of dressing rooms with curtains.

Behind each table were two civilians—two women, actually. The women were all different ages and dressed in all different ways but they all had something in common. It is hard to describe—at first I thought it was efficiency. Or maybe restlessness, like they had volunteered because if they didn’t get to do something helpful they’d go crazy. Stressed and worn-out—but still hopeful.

That’s when I realized what it was: They were moms.

It was like a department store run by moms.

And man, oh man, did they ever light up when they saw us kids.

A 40-something woman in a jogging suit just rushed right up to us. “My poor, sweet darlings,” she said. She held out her arms and hugged Batiste and Ulysses. It seemed both totally inappropriate and totally perfect at the same time.

Another mom had me and was hugging me and praying in some Slavic language, I don’t know which.

A black lady with red-dyed hair that was white at the temples came right out from behind a BOYS—10–12 table. She just took Max from Niko and then pushed all the clothing and shoes off her table and set him down gently. She started barking orders to the others as she looked Max over: “We need underwear and socks and sweatpants for this boy. Nothing binding, nothing uncomfortable. And thermals. Who has slippers? Nanette, bring slippers!”

The mothers swarmed over the rest of us. They brought us jeans and sweaters and sneakers. Everything new. They brought soft cotton underwear and socks with no seams. Only the best for us.

The men we’d come in with were left mostly to fend for themselves.

Then suddenly a loud, loud voice cut through everything.

“Woo Sung-ah? Oori Woo Sung-ee maja? Woo Sung-ah!”

And a short, Asian woman pushed through the crowd of moms.

“Omma! Omma!” Batiste was shouting and he reached for her.

She was his mom.

He found his mom, Dean.

All that we went through, all the horrible things that happened to us. They were okay. They were for a reason because Batiste had found his mom.

She placed her palms on either side of his face and looked at him. Tears began to run down her face and she didn’t even notice them. She just looked at the face of her boy.

Then she hugged him tight to her and she held him at arm’s length again, looking into his face. It seemed like she was trying to drink in the sight of him.

“Woo Sung-ah! Woo Sung-ah!”

This was his Korean name, I realized. Woo Sung-ah was our Batiste.

Then they started talking Korean, both at once.

Batiste, duh, is half Korean. I guess I knew that from the shape of his face and his hair and everything, but he had no accent. I never thought he could speak Korean like that.

Everyone was hugging and laughing and crying. I mean, all the moms started crying and hugging us, and hugging each other and almost everybody was crying. It was a great moment.

Then Batiste’s mom tried to take Batiste away from us. She wanted to squirrel him away, take him off to the rest of the family, I guess.

Batiste went rigid and refused, saying, “An dwei-yo! Omoni.”

He talked to her in his perfect, rapid-fire Korean, convincing her of something. She nodded.

He must have told her he wanted to introduce her to us.

Batiste said our names amid the Korean words. I heard “Alex” and she glanced at me and nodded slightly. I bowed, which was a dorky thing to do and I immediately regretted it, but no one cared. Batiste went on to “Ulysses” and Batiste’s mom smiled at Ulysses. Max’s face and feet got a critical look and she turned toward Batiste and gave him a mini harangue.

Batiste placated her, nodding and basically telling her, “Yes, yes. We’re going to get him taken care of right away.” I couldn’t understand his words, but I could see what he was saying. Placating his mom and grinning all the while.

Then he introduced Niko. And she listened to what Batiste was saying. She was hearing, no doubt, that this worn-out-looking boy with serious brown eyes and the gaunt, haunted expression had saved the life of her son.

“Niko-ya…,” she said, tears again in her eyes. “Gompata. Nomu nomu gompata, Niko-ya.”

She fumbled under her sweater and pulled a necklace over her head. It was a gold necklace, with a gold cross on it. A tiny Jesus there on the cross.

Batiste’s mother pressed the necklace into Niko’s palm and folded his fingers around it. Then she raised his hand and kissed the back of it again and again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DEAN

DAY 15

I screwed the tops on tight and shook them. A little spilled on the top of one of the bottles. I wiped it on my T-shirt. They had to look perfect.

I set them in my cart along with the soup and the crackers. I raced over to the paper plate aisle and grabbed some of those blue keg cups.

When I came wheeling back toward the Kitchen, the boys were just finishing sets of frog jumps. They started from a squat and then had to jump up and touch their heels together and then land and do the whole thing again.

It looked hard as hell and the cadets, and Jake, too, all looked like they might puke.

“Thirty seconds more! You can do it!”

I set up the juice on the table and chucked a Duraflame in the brass fire pit.

“Fifteen seconds, don’t give up!”

I set the soup cans on the counter and grabbed a saucepan.

“Done! Good work, men!”

There were groans and curses from the cadets as they all basically collapsed.

“You guys should hydrate!” Payton commanded them.

Payton strolled over to me in the kitchen. He picked up one of the juice bottles and looked at it.

I tried not to stiffen.

“Drink water,” Payton directed over his shoulder. “You gotta hydrate with pure water.”

He put the juice bottle down and my heart sank.

I’d put all the pills in those bottles.

Dear God, what if Payton didn’t like juice?

Payton headed off to the Food aisles. Maybe to find plain water.

I cursed to myself. I should have saved some of the pills. Were there more? Maybe there were more in the Pharmacy.…

* * *

But then Kildow and Greasy came over. Both were sweaty and thirsty, apparently.

Kildow opened the bottle and poured a keg cup full. He didn’t notice that the seal on the bottle was already broken. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

Greasy grabbed the other bottle and drank right from it.

“That’s gross, man,” Kildow told him.

“Who cares?” Greasy answered. “There’s aisles full of this stuff.”

He looked at the bottle.

“Ew, what is this?”

“It’s juice, but it’s got, like, vegetables in it,” I said.

“It’s juice, but it’s got, like, vegetables in it,” Greasy parroted, mocking me.