The System

There was no courting A

Even entertaining Ainsley’s crush seemed like a monumental betrayal to his girlfriend, not even three-weeks dead.

He pushed aside Darla’s i

Ainsley sighed. “Everyone’s alone no matter where they go,” she replied. “Even in a big house full of people.”

“Comedian and philosopher now,” Ethan answered with bite. He didn’t need another Darla who seemed to physically balk at validating his worries and insecurities. It became even more evident that he was a stranger in his own house. Ainsley finished her routine with detached steadiness. He watched her; she never responded to his comeback—didn’t flinch, didn’t narrow her eyes, or crack a smile.

It was like he didn’t exist.

She wasn’t pretty, Ethan thought. Her nose was too big, her hair too frizzy. She was too thin and angular. And her perpetual frown made her seem older than her twenty years.

“Pain level?” she asked.

“Just go away,” Ethan whispered. He regretted it the moment he said it and he wished to take it back, but it was liberating too. He closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest and breathed in and out at steady intervals. “Please,” he added to soften the blow.

“Whatever you want, boss,” Ainsley answered in a calm voice. She finished her inspection though and noted his vitals on the notebook paper chart doctor Krause had created. She shook out his pills and placed them on his bed stand, within reach, and then turned her back and walked out without another word. Ethan caught a glimpse of Ainsley as she turned the knob in her hand before shutting the door. Her eyes were dark and empty, bottomless, unreadable.

He trembled and tucked his blanket up under his armpits and stared at the ceiling.

Darla didn’t knock. She opened Ethan’s door and walked right up to Ethan’s bedside. Since that morning, she had changed into her trademark black leggings and her white tank-top; she stood with her feet apart and her arms crossed, her gun back in its holster, visible and gleaming. The outfit indicated that she was heading out to hunt—even without a population to trade with, Darla took long trips exploring the area. She said she was out looking for others, survivors, but the effort was futile.

“Heading out?” Ethan asked.

Like thunder, Teddy’s footsteps raced down the hallway and came to a stop outside the door. Then Ethan saw the child peek around the door, his eyes wide, full of mischievous curiosity.

“Mo-om,” the child said, drawing his mother’s name into two syllables. “Hey, Uncle Ethan. Do you have more of the alien toys?” Teddy trotted into the room and over to Ethan’s bed.

“Hey buddy. I do. You like playing with them?” Ethan rolled his head to look at the child—his eagerness palpable.

“Joey plays Star Wars with me. We have sword fights, like this.” Teddy brandished an imaginary sword and swung it around his head, emitting the familiar drone of kids playing with light sabers filled the room. Ethan felt a rush of nostalgia; he looked away.

Dropping to her knees beside Teddy, Darla brushed a wisp of sandy-colored hair away from the boy’s face. She kissed him on his forehead and pulled him in for a hug. “Teddy, Mommy is going to talk to Ethan now. Like we talked about, okay? I’ll be right down. Then we’ll go to the park.”

“You’re packing heat to go to the park?” Ethan mumbled down to them. Darla shot him a look.

“It’s not unwise to be careful,” she said through clenched teeth. Then looking back to Teddy, she physically turned him toward the door and gave him a tender pat on his bottom, sending him scampering away—buzzing and humming his sword noises as he went.

“Park outings, huh? I thought you were scouring the area for life and supplies.”

“Jesus, Ethan. I’m a mom. Teddy’s everything to me and I’m not going to let him hide away in the dark, afraid, all the time. So, I’m going to the damn park. Sorry that you don’t approve,” Darla stood and crossed her arms.

“He’ll never get a real childhood,” Ethan said in a half-whisper. “He’ll never get to watch a movie in the theater or have friends.”

“It’s a little early to predict what will and won’t happen in my child’s life.”

“What kind of life is this?”

Darla sighed. “You do the best you can with what you have. Always. That’s what I’m doing.”

“We have basics. I don’t know about you, but I have more fear than security.”

“Please—” Darla brushed an arm in front of her in anger.

“It’s not fair to raise a kid in this world. I just feel sorry for him, that’s all. I’m entitled to that opinion.”

“Okay,” Darla said, raising her voice. “You’re done. I’m done.”

Ethan didn’t answer. He rolled his eyes and shook his head into the pillow; he felt the lecture brewing before Darla even opened her mouth. He wished he could silence her before she started, but she was determined.

“You don’t understand—” Ethan started: An attempt to stave off the barrage of misunderstanding. Darla silenced him with a glare.

“I came up here originally because Ainsley is crying downstairs. Telling her mom she can’t do the nursing stuff anymore. She asked if we could all take turns checking up on you.”

“She should work on her bedside ma

“You’re an ass.”

“A few weeks together and you’re the expert on me?”

Darla took three giant steps forward and landed herself face to face with Ethan. “I get it. We all get it. And we’re over it. All of us.”

“I see,” Ethan nodded. He clenched is jaw. “Yesterday it was us against the world and today it’s we are all over this.”

Darla didn’t respond. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised. Ethan turned away from her.

“Whose side are you on?” Ethan continued. He struggled to sit, and propped himself up on his elbows, his arms weak and wobbly. His body begged to sink back to the bed; his heart pumped in his ears.

“Is that ever a valid question?” Darla answered. “Does it make you feel better if I sit here and blubber? That’s not me. I don’t cater to you. I don’t work like that.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked after a moment. “I’m a stranger here. Trapped, confined to my room…while everyone else makes the decisions.”

“Make a decision then,” Darla interrupted.

“I want to be moved downstairs.”

“Fine. We’ll put you back in the den. Make another decision.”

Ethan hesitated.  “I want to choose my meals. And when I take my meds. And—”

“Don’t you see?” Darla interrupted again. “Can’t you see it?” She shook her head and scrunched up her eyes, and then she swallowed and took in a shaky breath. “This is all for you. For you. Dammit, I’m on your side, Ethan. But how can I keep defending you to everyone else when you just want us to wallow with you? You’re mad because someone brought you a meal that you didn’t get to pick? What are you? Five years-old?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m still sick. This,” he pointed to his hidden stump, “can’t be undone. It won’t heal.”

“Stop. Just, stop. We know. We don’t need to be reminded every ten minutes,” Darla yelled. Her voice carried and Ethan knew, based on his time in this house, that anyone could hear. How often had he sat in his own dining room and eavesdropped on the rising voices of his parents? He felt a hotness flush into his cheeks—awareness covered him like a shroud.