The Variables

“My father thinks this is the right thing. You can’t fault him for that. You haven’t seen what we’ve seen...you don’t know what we know. For years people treated him like he was crazy for wanting to be prepared. Like Noah and his boat...people laughed at him, until the rains came.”

“Save the speech,” Darla interrupted.

“If I had known how to help you, I would have helped you. If I knew how to leave...I would have left.” Lindsey’s voice shook. “Just don’t hurt them...they’re not bad people. They’re crazy, but they’re not bad. And you promised you’d take me with you...”

“I want my gun. If not my gun, any gun.”

Lindsey nodded. She walked over to a china cabinet in the main room. She opened a glass door wide and reached in, grabbing Darla’s weapon. She hesitated, as if she thought about turning the gun on Darla, but then at the last second, she handed it over. Darla checked the chamber—still loaded—and clicked the safety off.

“I’m going up,” Darla a

“Don’t hurt them,” Lindsey said again.

Dean paused. “I don’t think that’s the best plan...” he shook his head.

“When will you learn?” she asked. “When I tell you a plan…I’m not asking for your thoughts on it.”

Shaking his head, Dean turned. “You’re going to go up there alone? Darla…seriously.” Darla didn’t respond. Dean sighed and shook his head again. “First sign of a struggle and I’m coming up there. You hear me?”

“I always hear you, Dean. Sometimes I choose not to listen.” She tried to sound friendly and facetious, but she was too tired and the banter felt forced. She was grateful for Dean and she hoped, despite the bravado, that he could see that. He was a good egg, too. She wanted to tell him that.

Darla steadied her gun, and touched Lindsey’s shoulders carefully.

“Put your hands behind your back,” she said softly and Lindsey did as she was told.

“Will you take me me with you?” Lindsey asked. “Take me to the other survivors. Take me to Ray and Jillian’s…you’ll meet them. They’re good people. Take me somewhere that doesn’t feel like such a prison.”

Darla laughed with a biting sigh. “Lindsey, you seem like such a smart girl.” She placed her gun into Lindsey’s back and pushed just enough so Lindsey could feel its presence. “The other survivors, huh? The people who come to visit you?”

Lindsey nodded.

“Who are they?”

She didn’t answer.

“Right,” Darla said. “It’s understandable for you not to trust me. I don’t blame you. Maybe that’s the difference between us.”

The candlelight flickered all around them.

“There’s a little place in Montana with survivors,” Lindsey offered in a whisper. “They’ve been trying to convince my dad to go with them. It’s safer there. But he won’t leave this place…he’s worked too hard.”

“How many survivors?” Darla asked.

“I don’t know exactly. But when they find people, they move them there. People from Canada, Oregon, Washington, California. Not as many people from the East. Yet.”

“And they know about us?” Darla asked. She pushed the gun into Lindsey’s back a little harder. Lindsey didn’t answer. “Do they?” she asked again. Lindsey nodded. “Yeah…I got the impression that they aren’t too thrilled,” Darla said and she shook her head. Then she took a deep breath. She looked at Dean and then to Ainsley, and lastly to Lyle on the floor.

“Let’s get those keys,” she said. “I’ve got this. I’ll be back soon.” She pushed Lindsey up the stairs, down the dark hallway toward the master bedroom. Candlelit glow sneaked out under the closed door. After a quick count to three, she kicked in Lou and Cricket’s bedroom door, and it crashed backward with a bang. Cricket spun in the bedsheets, screaming and covering her head as she jumped off the side of the bed, the comforter trailing behind her.

“Help! Lou!” she shouted with muffled cries.

Lou was quick. He swiped at the Taser on his bed stand and raised it, poised to fire, but then he spotted Lindsey and his eyes went to the gun in Darla’s hand. He hesitated, floundering. His white boxers clung to his pale, ski

“How?” Lou asked. It was the first word out of his mouth. He did not ask for Lindsey’s release, or beg for Darla not to hurt his daughter. Instead, he watched them both, reeling, and he wondered how his plans had failed.

“Car keys,” Darla demanded. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Even in the dark, Darla could see Lou’s eyes widen. He was frozen into inaction.

“Lyle! Lyle!” the father called for his son.

Darla shook her head. “Sorry. You’re on your own. The keys.”

From the corner, Cricket cried. “Give her the keys, Lou.”

“Cricket—” Lou interrupted in a warning voice.

Without letting Lindsey budge, Darla eased herself closer to the center of the room.

“Let my daughter go.”

“I want the keys to any of your vehicles. Then I will leave and you’ll never see me again. Don’t you want that, Lou? Don’t you want your life back? Give me the keys.”

“No,” Lou replied. “You won’t shoot her.”

Darla shook her head and then forcefully moved Lindsey closer to her; Lindsey gave a yelp of pain as Darla yanked her arms tighter. She resisted the urge to apologize. Her hair smelled like basil and lavender. Darla imagined Cricket and Lindsey sitting together in the daylight hours crafting soap.

Muttering an expletive under her breath, Darla watched as Lou raised the Taser again. His hands were shaking. He aimed and fired. The prongs shot out of the small black box and hit the middle of the hand draped across Lindsey’s shoulder. She absorbed the pain. Grinding her teeth and concentrating on keeping the gun in Lindsey’s back, she felt the power surge through her system. Then it stopped.

“Take the barbs out,” she said to Lindsey breathlessly and Lindsey complied. The woman’s face was streaked with tears. The long wires dropped to the floor and Lou looked at her like she were a rabid animal.

“Lou—” Cricket yelled from the corner.

“You…risked that…” Darla said slowly, “…even though I have a gun on your daughter?” Her voice was level and measured. Her heart still beat wildly; the effects of the stun gun still coursing through her body. “Is my information more important than she is?” Darla took a step forward and shook Lindsey’s shoulders. She moved fluidly in her arms, no longer putting up a fight. “For what purpose? What kind of man are you?”

“I know you’re Sweepers,” he offered weakly. “I’ve worked my entire life to keep my family alive in times of turmoil. But I can’t keep them safe from you.”

“You’re wrong. We’re normal people like you!” Darla said slowly. She looked down at her hand. Two round circles had formed and they were bleeding. None of her other Taser wounds had bled; she looked at the injury and shook her head. Then she tightened her grip on the top of Lindsey’s shoulders and took the gun and aimed it at Lou. Cricket screamed and buried her head.

“Not normal people like us! Not normal people like us!” Lou cried and he flung his hand wildly, knocking a candle off of his bed stand. It crashed to the floor and went out, hot wax splattered on the carpet and the bedsheets, a tendril of smoke escaped upward.

“You fear the Sweepers,” Darla said. “But you don’t know anything about those guys except for something you heard on a radio weeks ago. You don’t know anything...your whole life here is based on the idea that someone is out to get you.” Darla yelled and her voice filled the tiny room.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, weaker than before. “I don’t believe you,” he said again and again. And then he began to cry. The man sunk to his bed and wept into his hands. Lindsey moaned in solidarity and Cricket peaked out from her place of hiding.