10
If there was one thing Dan Foster could do, it was lay low.
Back home, 90 percent of his existence was spent meandering between the same two physical spaces, completing mindless tasks in each, and then waking up grumpy and doing it all over again. He’d enjoyed eight years of this soul-crushing lifestyle so far, and he had expected to devote an additional thirty or so before inevitably succumbing to heart disease, or lung cancer, or choking on a Funyun or similar snack.
Then, while on his first vacation in a decade, the sun exploded, resulting in a substantial deviation in Dan’s schedule. But that’s the thing about schedules—once you fall out of one, you slip into another, and Lilyanna Collins had a few ideas on how to pass the time.
The next morning—Wednesday morning—the resort’s new daily schedule was printed on Tizoc stationery and slid under guests’ doors along with a note from the woman herself. Dan was awoken from his existential night’s rest by the soulful sounds of Rico driving a Jeep haphazardly over the pool deck, shouting muffled commands into a megaphone. He groaned and rolled over, searched for an authoritarian snooze button. His head pulsed like a nightclub as he tapped the bedside table for his phone.
Assuming clocks could still be trusted, 5:30 a.m. on the dot.
Mara was sitting straight up in bed like one of Dracula’s brides, her hair wrapped in a messy bun. She placed the schedule on Dan’s lap. “They’re really doing it,” she said.
Dan was furious as he read through it, and the bruise over his left eye throbbed, swollen and black. He took a deep breath though and steadied himself. It was routine. Dan could do routine, especially if it was his best hope of saving Mara. He could hide in the ho-hum, tiptoe through the tedium. Just avoid Rico, do whatever they say, and keep your mouth shut. For one week.
He crumpled the schedule and threw it across the room.
He was made for this.
Mara, on the other hand, sprung from the bed like a boxer beating the ten count. Dan knew that look—she wanted to fight. Plan a sit-in, lead a march, lie in front of some golf carts like a low-stakes Tiananmen Square. He rolled from under the covers and clutched her shoulders just as guards began banging on their door.
“Hey. Hey . Look at me.”
Mara squirmed in place, her fists clenched, eyes wild.
“We stick to the plan,” Dan said, giving her a little shake. He crouched down, forced her to look at him. “When the plane’s ready, Alan will come for us. He will. Until then, we lay low. Keep our heads down. Model prisoners. Okay?”
“I don’t like it,” she said, and the banging outside was louder.
“I don’t either.” Dan pulled her in for a hug. “But I’m getting you home to your mom.”
She deflated in his arms.
Wednesday, June 7
Morning, y’all! Hope you got some shut-eye ’cause we got a BIG week ahead of us. You can expect a note from me each morning—even if it’s just to say howdy! The following schedule is in immediate effect for all Building B and C guests.
I can’t think of a team I’d rather be on this journey with. See y’all out there!
Lilyanna
P.S.: As a friendly reminder, anyone caught outside their rooms after lights out will face severe punishment. It’s for everyone’s safety!
Tizoc Grand Islands Resort and Spa Mandatory Schedule—Effective Immediately
5:30 a.m.
:
Wake Up
6:00 a.m.
:
Sunrise Yoga Hosted by Lilyanna Collins—Great Lawn
6:30 a.m.
:
Worship Service Hosted by Pete Collins—Great Lawn
6:55 a.m.
:
Grab ’n’ Grow Breakfast—Great Lawn
7:00 a.m.
:
Morning Pitch-In Assignments
11:30 a.m.
:
Lunch—Tlaloc Restaurant, Building B
12:00 p.m.
:
Afternoon Pitch-In Assignments
5:00 p.m.
:
Sweat the Day Away Hosted by Lilyanna Collins—Main Building Ballroom
6:00 p.m.
:
Building B Showers (30 Minutes)—Guest Rooms
6:30 p.m.
:
Building C Showers (15 Minutes)—Guest Rooms
6:45 p.m.
:
Guest Count—Pool Deck
7:00 p.m.
:
Dinner and Devotional Hosted by Pete Collins—Tlaloc Restaurant, Building B
8:00 p.m.
:
Tizoc Entertainment—Main Building Ballroom
8:30 p.m.
:
Individual Enrichment Time—Guest Rooms
9:00 p.m.
:
LIGHTS OUT
Dan and Mara were forced into some clothes and out into the dark. They sleepwalked shoulder to shoulder with fellow guests, moths bouncing off carriage lights, down three flights of stairs, past the breezy gardens, and onto the Great Lawn, where Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” roared from some speakers like the entrance music to hell.
Dan spotted Charles and Lenny—of course the old men beat the morning rush—and he wordlessly lined up beside them. He swayed in place as hundreds of other guests filtered onto the lawn. Mara’s hand occasionally brushed against his, and when it did, he grinned at her like everything was going to be fine, like You must not have read the brochure as closely as me, like This is all just part of Bahamian culture and we should try to be respectful.
Lilyanna Collins stood atop a Jeep, and the music died down. She was wearing a pair of denim overalls that had never seen a day of work in their lives, and her smile put the resort lights to shame. She had her hands on her hips and a bandana wrapped around her head, Rosie the Riveter live and in the flesh.
“Good morning, y’all, good morning!” After a lukewarm reception, she pursed her lips and clapped her hands together. “Now, I know y’all can do better than that. Come on, Tizoc. I said, ‘Good morning!’”
Some folks bellowed “good morning” like their lives depended on it. Maybe they did.
“We got a big day ahead of us, y’all. A big week! Now, I know I might look a little worse for wear up here, I know I look like a raccoon with these dark circles under my eyes.” She was literally glowing. “But that’s ’cause I’ve been up most the night finalizin’ this week’s schedule, which I hope you’ve already read. In a moment, we’re going to get started with some Sunrise Yoga.” Moans. “Oh, come on, y’all. Just cause the sun won’t rise and shine, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t!” She giggled. “But first, we’re gonna pass out pitch-in cards so we all know what we’re responsible for this week, okay?”
Staff members floated through the crowd, assignments were written in pen on Tizoc-branded sticky notes. Charles received laundry. Lenny was ordered along with other Building C men to chop down trees for firewood. Dan and Mara lucked out and received an assignment together.
“Inventorying shops in the Main Building,” Dan said, comparing his note to Mara’s.
“That’s a plum job,” Lenny said, looking over their shoulders and huffing. He glanced at his card again and then into the northeastern woods. “Whaddya know, the Building B people got all the plum jobs.”
Lilyanna returned to the Jeep and held her hands up for quiet. “Alright, y’all, who’s ready to rock their pitch-in assignment?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Now, I know we’ve got Worship Service in a bit—can’t wait for y’all to hear from my hubby—but before all that, would you join me in a teeny-tiny little prayer? Lord knows I could use the extra blessing. I have a good heart, y’all, but this mouth!”
She bowed her head. “Lord, I give You all that I am this week. Please brush away my weariness, so that I may be inspired in my work. Teach me to make good use of the time You give me for working. And Lord, please help us to do good work so that we may all earn full ration cards for the nourishment of our bodies. Amen!”
Dan locked eyes with Mara.
Yep. Fucking ration cards.
Thursday, June 8
Tizoc family: I loved seeing the passion everyone brought to their pitch-in assignments yesterday. And how about that mariachi band last night? I’m still tapping my foot!
If you received decreased rations as a result of your output, today’s your day to turn things around! Rations are evaluated at the end of every workday. Think of it like life—you get what you put in. You got this!
Lilyanna
“Hey, Mara. Mara—look.”
The following day, Dan and Mara sifted through inventory inside the disheveled Tommy Bahama in the Main Building. Shoulder-height stacks of brightly colored shirts and dresses and blouses lined the walls. Dan wore a straw hat he found in the dressing room.
Mara glanced up from her clipboard, and Dan laughed. He had removed a mannequin’s shorts and bent him into an inappropriate position. “It looks like”—Dan adjusted the mannequin’s hand a little bit—“it looks like he’s banging the Adirondack chair.”
She blinked at him and then returned to scribbling. “Did you count all the chinos, Danny? We need a count of chinos for—”
“Seventeen,” he said. “And there was a water bottle in the minifridge behind the register.”
He had been trying to get a smile out of Mara all morning, but she’d fallen into an even deeper funk since yesterday’s ration cards were distributed. They both received full rations—which they deserved, by the way, Tommy Bahama was the fourth store they’d inventoried—but several older guests’ rations had been cut in half or three-quarters because they couldn’t keep up.
Dan was about to add some locomotion to the mannequin because surely that would get her, but then a young guard appeared at the entrance of the store. “Lunch is in five,” he said, his hand resting on his pistol. That’s not something one needs to say with their hand resting on a pistol, but okay, we get it, you’re in charge.
Five minutes later, they were queued up along with everyone else working in the Main Building and then ordered outside toward B. The temperature had dropped again, a cool breeze nibbled at Dan’s legs and weaved its way through the marching guests. The sun had only retired three days ago, but Tizoc had already transformed from a tropical paradise to an inhospitable work camp. Guests shuffled in single-file lines between buildings, fires burned in steel drums and reflected off pools. Plants, like people, were beginning to wither. Palms fell from their trees. Ahead of them on the sidewalk was a twitching overturned iguana.
Mara stopped in her tracks. “That poor thing,” she said. “Do you think—maybe it just needs…” Before Dan could stop her, she broke from the group, which was a huge no-no, and she folded onto her knees and pulled the water bottle from her pocket. She filled the cap with water and placed it near the iguana’s head, but it didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey,” the young guard said, his gun unholstered. “ Hey! You! Back in line!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dan said. He seized Mara, pulled her away, guided her back to the line. “Sorry,” Dan said, his grip tight. He frowned at the guard. “Sorry, man. Soft spot for animals. We’re good. She’s good.”
The guard grunted as they turned near the lazy river.
“What are you doing ?” Dan hissed once they were out of earshot.
Mara rubbed her wrist. “It was dying, Danny.”
Friday, June 9
Y’all, I wanted to address some of the feedback we received yesterday afternoon during Sweat the Day Away. Now, I know some of y’all think you’re too exhausted for a fitness class following your pitch-in assignments, but remember: the best project you’ll ever work on is you. We need healthy minds, bodies, and spirits if we’re going to make it through this thing together. Give it your all today!
Lilyanna
P.S.: Rico Flores, head of security, has reported a pistol missing from the armory. This is a serious offense. Any guests that provide tips leading to the recovery of the weapon will be rewarded with full ration cards, no questions asked. Thx!
Mara used a pair of fabric scissors to slice open a weight bench.
On Friday afternoon, Dan and Mara were given a new assignment in the fitness center. There were tons of soft surfaces in there—weight benches, recumbent bikes, foam rollers—and their task, along with several other guests, was to collect the insulation contained within and bag it for winter clothing. Dan had to give it to Lilyanna—it was a smart idea. If he had been put in charge of the postapocalyptic dictatorship, he probably wouldn’t have thought of it.
They had entered the second full day of rationing, and the effects were starting to show on some of the sixty-five-and-older crowd. The man working alongside Dan, with droopy eyes and a face shaped like a crescent moon, nodded off every few minutes. Dan repeatedly nudged him awake before the guards could spot him, because that wouldn’t be good news for anyone.
It seemed as though guard cruelty had an inverse relationship with the temperature. As it got colder, they got meaner, and a swift boot from Rico or one of his men was now a constant threat. Just that morning, during Pete’s Worship Service, Rico had dragged a man by his hair into the gardens. The man had interrupted the sermon, shouting something about the regime needing God’s forgiveness, and, well, that was that. The remainder of the service was punctuated by the man’s indistinct wailing. Dan held Mara’s hand and sang “Our God Is an Awesome God” loudly enough to drown him out.
“Mara,” Dan said, grabbing a yellow yoga mat and draping it over his head and shoulders. He double-checked that the guards had stepped out and then equipped a ridiculous Southern accent. “Welcome to Sweat Your Life Away, y’all! The temperature may be dropping outside, but in here, all we’re dropping is stubborn belly fat! Teamwork makes the regime work!”
The man with the crescent face laughed, and even Mara cracked a smile, which was a massive win. “You better cut it out before they see you,” she said, scooping up her insulation and dumping it into a pile next to the row machine. “They’re in a particularly bad mood tod—”
“Whose is this?”
From the front of the gym, a mustachioed guard reached into a trash bin and plucked something out. He studied it and then shook it above his head, the object catching the fluorescent lights. Looked like a candy wrapper. Dan prided himself on being able to identify any candy wrapper up to a football field away, but even he couldn’t place it.
“Whose is this?” the guard repeated.
No one spoke. No one moved.
“This is an unauthorized snack,” the guard said, stepping between some treadmills, waving it in terrified guests’ faces. “This wasn’t here this morning. I’ll ask nicely one more time: Whose is this?”
A woman near the front pointed to the man with the crescent face. Dan’s heart dropped.
“I—” the man stammered. “I found a protein bar under one of the bikes. I’m on half rations. I didn’t think—”
The guard grasped the man’s shirt and dragged him to the stretching mat, he yelped as he was thrown to the ground. Another guard pinned his shoulders, screamed for him to stop resisting.
Mara instinctively stepped forward, but Dan blocked her.
“Please—please,” the man begged, “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I didn’t—”
“We are on a ration system,” the mustachioed guard said.
“I know,” the man said. “I just—”
“Quarter rations until further notice.”
The room gasped. Over a protein bar ? The guard turned to them.
“All food is eaten with permission from Building A. Anyone caught—”
“I didn’t know,” the man said, writhing. “It’s just a protein bar!”
“I don’t think he gets it,” the other guard said.
The mustachioed guard snorted his concurrence and stomped to the free weights section. Oh, no. Dan’s pulse quickened. The guard slid a forty-five-pound plate from a barbell, and Dan reached backward, securing Mara in place. He wasn’t really going to—was he? Dan clamped his eyes shut and turned his head as the weight fell atop the man’s foot with a nauseating crunch. The man squealed, and several people cried out, and Mara pulsated with rage in Dan’s grasp.
“Now he gets it,” the mustachioed man said. He barked for everyone to get back to work, and they complied. Dan turned from the whimpering man as he was dragged from the room. Before slicing open another seat, Dan caught his reflection in one of the gym mirrors. His bruise had turned a yellowish green.
Saturday, June
Lights out means LIGHTS OUT, y’all. And before anyone goes fussin’ about the power to Building A after 9 p.m., please know that we’d much rather be asleep. A lot of work goes into making sure this place runs smoothly!
I will ask Brody to turn down the bass in his music though. That’s fair.
Lilyanna
“Not a peep,” Charles said, pulling his face from Mara’s shoulder. He sniffed loudly and rubbed the tears from his eyes. He sounded like a baby elephant when he blew his nose. “Not one. I keep asking the guards in the laundry about him every day, twice a day, but they insist they don’t know anything. I just—what if he’s hurt?”
“He’s not hurt,” Dan said, sitting on the bed next to them.
Dan was beginning to wish there wasn’t a door that connected the Ferrises’ room with theirs. He liked Charles, quite a bit, actually, but he liked sleep more. This was becoming a nightly thing. The lights would power off, he and Mara would settle into bed, and just as Dan felt the warm embrace of sleep, footsteps atop the tile. There was Charles, a child with a monster under his bed.
“If something happened to him—and I didn’t go—”
“I understand,” Mara said, rubbing his back. “But imagine he is fine—which he is—and then you get hurt trying to reach him. Alan would never forgive himself.”
He’d never forgive us either, Dan thought.
Mara’s last point seemed to hit home. Charles closed his eyes and nodded, which usually indicated he was all cried out. Finally. Just as Dan was about to say, “Welp, good night,” the sound of something sweet came from the gardens. They shared a puzzled look. Dan tiptoed to the balcony and cracked the sliding door.
Ukulele.
It was beard man, standing out in the gardens after lights out, softly playing ukulele over Julio’s grave.
“What is he doing ?” Dan whispered. Charles and Mara’s heads stacked atop his like a sitcom trope. Beard man played the only song he knew the whole way through, his back to Building B, and a cool breeze swept through his hair, disrupted the shrubbery, and carried the tune downwind. “He’s insane.”
Dan felt Charles’s hand on his back. “Shh. It’s nice.”
“It is nice,” Mara said, and none of them spoke the whole rest of the song, they just stood there quietly, cheeks pressed to the doorframe, listening. And then when it was over, there was a smattering of applause from other Building B rooms, because they must have been listening too, and beard man turned around, shocked, thinking this whole time he was alone. He waved to everyone, laughed, and then started the song from the top. Halfway through though, Dan heard several balcony doors seal shut, one after another, and then it was evident why. A flashlight illuminated beard man, and it belonged to Rico Flores, who was trudging across the gardens, rifle strapped to his chest.
“Oh, no,” Charles said, pushing himself inside. “I can’t watch this.”
Dan couldn’t make out all of what was said, but it ended with Rico snatching the ukulele and slamming it over the man’s head, its splintered pieces falling to rest besides Julio’s plot.
Mara, outraged, yanked their door wide open and screamed. “Hey, you can’t—”
Dan covered his girlfriend’s mouth and pulled her back into the room, her feet kicking out from under her, her ferocious cries muffled beneath his quaking hand. He tossed her on the bed next to Charles and swung the door shut behind them.
Mara curled into herself, and now it was her turn to cry on Charles’s shoulder.
Sunday, June 11
This ain’t going to be popular, but sometimes leading means making the tough calls.
Starting today, water will be rationed. We’re going through it too quickly, y’all. I barely had enough to fill my hot tub last night. (That’s a joke—trying to keep things light!)
Water will be available during designated bathing times per our schedule.
Let’s have fun today!
Best, Lilyanna
“Mara—I just—I don’t know how to explain it any simpler to you. It’s like—am I doing something wrong, here? What don’t you get ?”
Dan had walked a tight figure eight in front of their bed so many times that his feet threatened to carve a trail. At dinner earlier that night, he had caught Mara sneaking a portion of her meal to an elderly couple who stayed on the floor below them. She was slick about it too, sliding her turkey sandwich onto the husband’s tray just as Pete asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Dan’s head was up of course, his head was always up, and he saw it.
Mara sat on the edge of the bed, her knees rubbing against each other. She hadn’t spoken in several minutes.
“These guards—they’re not fucking around, Mara. Rico is insane, that’s well established. You’ve seen what he can do. What his men can do. Why—” Dan realized he was shouting. He rubbed his face in his hands and sat down next to her. Somewhere outside, glass shattered, and guards howled with laughter.
Dan lowered his voice. “What if they’d caught you?”
Mara shrugged, her body loose like a rag doll. She collapsed backward onto the bed, the fire in her eyes extinguished. “They’re hungry, Danny. And desperate.”
“So are we,” he said. “And if you’d been spotted, they would’ve cut your rations. Or worse. Do I need to remind you about the guy in the gym?”
“No,” Mara said. She crawled away.
“And who’s to say the old people won’t rat? What if they start rewarding people who rat? That’s Fascism 1, Mara.” Dan could go on for another half an hour, but his anger was melting into weariness. He tugged off his shirt, closed the door that connected their room to Charles’s. He flipped on the faucet to brush his teeth and then threw his hands up in frustration.
The building’s power cut as he crawled into bed beside her.
They lay quietly for some time.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I just need you to be more careful, okay? Just a few more days. Then, when the plane’s ready, Alan will come for us, and I’ll get you back home to your mom, and we can forget this place and everything that happened here. Okay?”
“Okay,” Mara said.
Dan searched for her hand in the dark, but it wasn’t there.
He slept on his left side. The bruise only hurt if he thought about it.