Beyond

I woke with a start - my mother's screams still ringing in my ears - and reached over tentatively with eyes still closed tight. I felt Hannah's small, warm body, firmly snuggled against her ratty, pink bunny. She breathed slowly and deeply, her sleep thankfully uninterrupted by my nightmares. The screaming instantly stopped, and the whole world was quiet once more.

I lay there still and silently, not quite trying to fall asleep again but still wishing for a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long, long time. Not since Daddy died three years earlier - most certainly not since the Bad-Men invaded our home.

The lofty melody of an old folk song jarred me to full wakefulness. A slow, familiar, but sad rhythm I'd long forgotten the words to. I glanced across the small bedroom and confirmed my immediate suspicions: a pile of weathered quilts seemed to melt away from the empty queen-size bed, it's occupants having long abandoned it before the stars said goodnight. Hannah to my own small bed, and Natalie to her guitar on the back porch.

I don't know how I managed to wriggle my way from Hannah's sleeping grasp, but in the end decided it was good that a five-year-old could still sleep so soundly. Especially when there were bigger problems to tackle.

I paused at the foot of the stairs, Natalie's sweet music lost to me for just a moment as I looked over the damage of our house:

Smashed pieces of furniture and glass sprawled across the floor, barely dodging the splintered holes punched into the wooden boards from a Bad-Man's pipe. What few pictures and knickknacks we had left from markets and food-swaps, lay scattered about the room in odd angles. Some were hurt but whole and others shattered beyond repair; a select few, meanwhile, were noticeably missing even among the catastrophe. There monetary value is something I'll never fully know, though the pangs of their loss still ring sharply to this day.

A hallow breeze of renewed despair swept through me before disappearing at the beckoning of Natalie's sweet melody, wafting through the house from her place on the back-porch. I followed the swelling notes through the equally wrecked and raided kitchen, and out the propped-open storm door, it's glass panels cracked into numerous spiderwebs, but otherwise unharmed.

Natalie didn't seem to notice me as she played. Not even as the chipped-white base boards creaked loudly under my feet as I neared. She simply faced the backyard, looking beyond the rusting swing-set at the very back and far beyond the chain-link fence that somehow still stood strong.

From where I stood, she seemed to be looking beyond the gray wilderness that suddenly surrounded us when New York finally fell. She seemed to be looking beyond our battered and broken present and into a more pleasant time in the not-too-distant past.

I listened to her play for a few minutes more, allowing the song the sweep and glide as memories of our father revived with bitter-sweetness. Daddy picking us up from daycare, preparing meals the kitchen when it was once new; dancing and laughing with Mama to forgotten songs of their past; protecting us first when the explosions thundered across the world, and then from the wave of looters that swarmed across our town, hungry, desperate, and afraid. Even now, I still imagine that Daddy was protecting somebody before the flames of the factory fire could rip him away from our lives.

The guitar fell silent when the song ended, and Natalie, still facing the world beyond, waiting for a moment before finally speaking.

"Where's Han?"

"Still sleeping," I answered, lowering myself next to her on the side of the porch.

"Hm," Natalie grunted softly. She rested her hands on the guitar, almost reverently, pondering her next song. At least that's what I thought, until she said,

"They took all the rations."

Shock dumped over me like a bucket of ice-water. I didn't even think about that possibility before that moment. I cursed under my breath before apologizing quickly to my little sister.

"Don't be sorry," she said flatly. "It was crappy thing to do." I ran my hands long the back of my neck.

"Yeah," I sighed dejectedly. "Well - it's nothing we can't fix. I can ask for an earlier share this week from the Shack. I'm sure given the situation they'd let us have ours early."

Natalie finally looked away from the horizon. She side-eyed me doubtfully, and suddenly I realized she was right: there's no way the town would give us extra food now- not when the start of winter coming around the corner.

"Well, I can always ask the Muelley's for a little help. I'm sure they'd..."

"The Muelley's don't care about us," Natalie spat, cutting me off. "Not enough to share their rations at least."

"Natalie! That's not very nice," I chastised.

"But it's the truth," she quietly argued. "They liked Daddy, not Mom - especially not after what she did to their garden."

"Mr. Don and Ms. Rita knew she was grieving," I defended weakly. "They- they knew she didn't really mean to."

"Terry Conrad lost his Dad in The End, and his Mom didn't lose her marbles."

"Well, Terry Conrad's also a lying jackass - and has been since we were in kindergarten."

A snicker escaped the nine-year-old's lips and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth - though she tried very hard to hide it. Encouraged, I quickly added,

"Besides, the Muelley's still owe me for fixing up those chores earlier this summer. I'm sure they'll make good on their promise."

"I don't think so," Natalie admitted. The shadow of her smile completely vanished as memory of our mother entered her thoughts. "I don't think grown-ups know how to do anything good, except lie."

"Nat, you know that's not true," I said, trying to wrap my arms around her shoulders. She leaned back a little before allowing herself to accept the embrace.

"Then where's Mom," she countered softly. Angrily. "If she promised to always watch over us, then where did she go?"

"I wish I knew," I lied. "Then maybe, I could convince her to come back." Natalie scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah right. Back to this little slice of hell?"

"Natalie!"

"Well, it's true, Audrey!" She jerked free of my embrace, nearly losing her guitar in the process. She clung to it tightly, as if afraid it would suddenly shatter, and cradled it helpless in her arms.

"I hate that you keep pretending any of this is going to be okay. It won't - that's why Mom took off in the first place!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but then instantly closed it. I realized I had nothing to say to that; that Nat was right, even if she didn't know the full extent of how right she was.

For a split second my thoughts returned to Mama's note- the one I'd so carefully hidden from my sisters before burning it out right - it's message still burned into my memory:

"Girls-

"You're still too young to understand this now, but I hope that one day you will. I hope that one day you'll grow into strong, happy women. Or that, if things can't get better, your end won't be as painful as ours.

"But I'm afraid I can't take you to that better world. I can't change the way things have gone so badly, and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I'm going to go be with Daddy now, but please know that I love you, with all my heart, and that I will always be with you.

Mama"

I waited for a moment, turning all the words over and over in my head until I could find the right ones to say.

"You're right," I said slowly. "None of this is okay." Natalie looked at me, suspicious.

"It's not okay that Mama deserted us like that. I don't know," I sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of the world all around me. "None this is okay. None of it..."

I looked out into the world we now called home - our little slice of Apocalypse - and realized, for the very first time I think, just how powerless I really was in the face of it all. Then I muttered,

"But just because it's bad now, doesn't mean we can't make it better,"

"How?" Natalie sighed, rolling her eyes again.

Without looking at her, I wrapped my arm tightly around her shoulder. This time she didn't try to resist.

"I don't know that yet," I answered. "But, we're still here right now, and we're okay. As long as the three of us are together, that's all that matters."

"Daddy used to say something like that," Natalie grumbled. Her voice rang with a hint of mournful nostalgia.

"Yeah," I muttered softly. Our reverie was then broken by the rhythm of little feet pattering through the house. Each footfall grew louder and louder until little Hannah flung herself at me from behind, her arms and legs wrapping themselves around me like ivy.

"Treeeees!! The living room's still a mess!"

"I know, Hannah," I cradled her bottom, holding her into a snug piggy-back as I slowly stood up from the porch.

"Can we clean it up now?" Hannah questioned excitedly. I chuckled before answering,

"Let's have something to eat first before we start." I glanced over at Natalie who raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"We'll check with the Muelley's after we get dressed. They might just have some extra rations."

"I doubt they'll let us have any," Natalie mumbled as she cradled her guitar in her arms.

"Hey now, you're too young to be so cynical," I reached over and quickly tussled her thick, dark curls. She pushed my hand away and, following us inside replied,

"And you're too old to be so hopeful."

"My dear Natalie, one can never be too old for a little bit of hope."

Then, as we crossed the kitchen and passed the chaos still lurking in the middle of the living room, I gave Natalie a little kick from behind. When she scowled and tried to counter I dodged before racing up the stairs, Hannah squealing delightedly on my back.

Natalie followed in hot pursuit, cursing me for being such a butt-head, and the fighting quickly gave way to laughter as we prepared for another day.