Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Light seeping in through the cracks between the window and the thin piece of plywood was the only indication of morning. Blake had been staring at the covered window for hours now. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sleeping, but he’d stayed in bed, not allowing himself to rise until morning.
The room was cold, but it was warm under his many layers and the duvet Gabriel had proudly brought home.
It was thick and fluffy. The kind of blanket that made it difficult to get out of bed.
It was so warm most nights he could get away with sleeping in just a hoodie and sweatpants.
Loath to move, he tugged the duvet up until it covered his nose.
He could still remember when they first arrived. It wasn’t cold back then. He and Gabriel would sleep together, as naked as they felt comfortable, when at any moment, they could be called out to fight or flee. It shouldn’t matter, but Blake really didn’t want to be killed by an alien bare assed.
They’d slept in their boxers, tangled up in each other like a knot.
Sharing a bed had been strange at first. Not bad, just different.
He’d never seen the appeal before. But feeling Gabriel’s skin on his, their bodies pressed together like a well-made puzzle, Gabriel all hard and lean where Blake was soft… he understood.
It was more than just sexual. It was a physical intimacy he didn’t think he craved.
But now that he’d had it, he didn’t want to ever be without it.
And while a large part of him still didn’t want to see Gabriel, he’d hoped he would come in quietly.
Pad across the thin carpet and slide into bed, stinking of gunpowder and winter.
Gabriel would pull him across the mattress, ignoring Blake’s mutterings or his stiff limbs.
Blake wouldn’t reciprocate, but Gabriel would understand. He always did.
But he hadn’t come in, and his side of the bed was as empty as it had been all these weeks.
Sitting up, Blake scrubbed at his face. There was an ache behind his eyes that only came with sleeplessness. Pushing on his lids, he took a deep breath of stagnant air and tried to organize his thoughts.
He shouldn’t have yelled at Gabriel. Blake didn’t mean to. He wasn’t sure what came over him. One moment, he was kissing Gabriel, so grateful he was alive and here, and the next, he was hurting. His chest squeezing while his hands clenched like they were still trying to hold onto that slippery axe.
He’d noticed the dark stubble on his cheeks was thicker than ever, and his eyes were hollow. He’d lost even more weight, and his clothes were hanging off him. He had a weird tan line across his nose from his mask. But it hadn’t mattered that Gabriel looked rough, not to Blake.
They were all suffering, Blake knew that. But he was just so angry and hurt. And there was this part of him that thought, maybe if he hurt Gabriel too, he would know how to fix it. But he could tell that his words were falling on deaf ears. Gabriel didn’t understand.
And who could blame him? Blake didn’t either.
Pushing himself out of bed, he hissed when his feet hit the floor.
The carpet was so thin it didn’t do anything for the cold.
With the window blocked, the room was dark, but there wasn’t much to it.
A double bed, two nightstands, and a ratty-looking chair in the corner, Blake had been using to pile clothes on.
On another wall, there was a small desk where a TV sat, dusty and unused.
It was like every other motel room in the country.
But even though it had been months, it still had that smell.
The indefinable kind that permeated all motel rooms—a mix of sickly sweet and musty industrial cleaner.
It lingered, never quite fading, no matter how long you stayed.
It reminded Blake of the time his dad thought it would be fun to drive to Disney World.
It was a long string of unremarkable motel rooms, just like this one.
By the time they actually got to the theme park, his mom was so sick of them both she disappeared into the park and got day drunk.
Padding toward the bathroom, he hyped himself up to stand on the linoleum.
There was a small candle stuck in a bowl on the counter, and by feel he found his lighter and lit it.
It was a small bathroom, but they were lucky that modern plumbing didn’t rely on electricity.
As long as he heaved in buckets of river water, he could still use a toilet.
He had two buckets sitting in the bathtub, and he used one to quickly brush his teeth. Blake didn’t have the fortitude to wash his face in the frigid water, so he left it, bringing the candle with him back into the room so he could get dressed.
Leaving the hoodie and sweatpants he’d slept in on, he pulled on a bigger coat and a second pair of socks.
Finger-combing his hair back, he noted how long it was getting.
Growing up, his mom had always kept him on a strict two-month schedule for hair trims. A practice he’d kept up as an adult, even though he always wondered what he’d look like with longer hair.
Turns out, his mom was right. Blake looked a lot like a disheveled pony.
His hair could never seem to figure out if it wanted to curl or not, sticking up in all sorts of directions.
Sabrina had given him a hair tie a few weeks back, and he’d taken to pulling it back into a little nub. It was a small improvement.
When he finally left the room, he was surprised to see the sun was higher than he thought. Maybe he had fallen asleep at some point? Hands in his pockets, he made his way downstairs. He could hear raised voices from the lobby as he passed by and the smell of a grill. But Blake didn’t stop.
Crunching through the parking lot, with his shoulders up by his ears, he made his way out onto the main street.
For as long as he’d spent here, he had no idea what town they were actually in.
It probably wouldn’t be difficult to find out, but Blake was stubbornly refusing to learn.
As if acknowledging the place meant it was home.
In any other circumstance, he’d probably like this little pit stop of a town.
Nestled along the Potomac, it was an older community, full of big trees and homes that had been built with care, rather than speed.
Besides the motel, there was a thick copse of woods with hiking trails and some Civil War monuments, labeled with faded brass plaques.
There were a few strip malls, two bait and tackle shops, a hardware store, and a library with a park overlooking the river.
By the time they’d arrived, the place was mostly deserted. It was far enough from DC that people had time to get to the refugee camps, for whatever good that did them.
The aliens seemed content to stay in the cities for now. Every now and then, they heard about a group of Monkey Cats going out farther, rampaging along highways or on the outskirts of the city. It was only a matter of time before the aliens started spreading out.
While the smaller towns were safe from the aliens, they weren’t safe from other people.
It didn’t take long before people began looting and killing.
Whether it was desperation or greed, Blake didn’t know.
He’d heard some real horror stories from people passing by.
Sometimes one of the soldiers volunteered to take smaller groups toward the border and to the bigger camps for some protection.
People had become desperate. And there was nothing worse than a desperate person. In high school, he had an ambitious English teacher who tried to teach a room full of hormone-addled teenagers about philosophy. He kept bringing up some scenario about a man stealing bread.
Turns out when faced with annihilation, humanity will kill, steal, and rape without remorse.
Sometimes Blake wondered if they deserved to live at all.
Crossing the main road, he broke the frosty dew clinging to the grass and made his way down the grassy slope toward the river. The Judge was moored to a small dock, bobbing in the gentle swells. Following a well-worn trail, he ended up settled just above the shoreline.
Ignoring the cold and damp, he sat. The sky was pale gray, the sun trying to pierce through the thick clouds. It might do it. They were at the tail end of winter now, and Blake tried not to think about what that meant.
Soon, it would be a year since he’d spoken to his parents. Sometime around Christmas—which ended up being just another day, despite Tommy’s insistence they slow down and celebrate—he’d come to terms with the fact that he would probably never see them again.
Blake wasn’t sure if it was easier to think they were dead, or happy and healthy somewhere.
As if, somehow, Florida had remained untouched, and one day his dad would look up from a documentary on invasive Lionfish and remember he hadn’t spoken to Blake in a while.
They’d turn on the news and realize what had happened.
See footage of DC in ruins, and they’d mourn him.
For someone who didn’t speak to his parents much before, he thought about them a lot now. Sometimes it hit him out of nowhere. He’d hear some random fact and reach for his phone to text his dad, only to remember a beat too late that he couldn’t. And then it would hit him all over again.
More than once, he’d imagined telling them about Gabriel.
His dad would like him. They both had that quiet stoicism about them, the kind people couldn’t help but gravitate toward.
No, it would be his mom who would be the problem.
She’d sit there with pursed lips, coldly polite to Gabriel, constantly pushing him to see which button would set him off.
And when it inevitably didn’t, she’d begrudgingly start to let him in.