Everything Under The Sun
Jessica Redmerski & J.A. Redmerski
For Gabriel.
Thank you for saving me.
PART
I
~HALLELUJAH~
1
THAIS
Seven years after The Fall…
I burst through the front door of my small house, my face alight with excitement, hair disheveled and dirty like it always was, a water-soaked backpack tossed over my shoulder. I closed the door with my foot and opened the bag, pulled out a string of fish dangling from a nylon rope.
“I caught dinner!”
Wrinkles deepened around my sister’s nose when the fishy smell reached her on the other side of the room.
“That stinks, Thais! Take ‘em outside—please.”
Sosie was too much of a girl—I stuck my tongue out at her. Eighteen and nineteen-years-old, we still acted like children at times, and that was just fine by us. Youth and innocence played an important role in keeping us optimistic in a post-apocalyptic world. Although, optimism was more difficult for my sister—she was totally blind.
Sosie lost her sight six years ago when she got The Fever and the world fell; she hadn’t seen a color or a light or a shape since. We were grateful that what took Sosie’s sight, didn’t take her life, too, like most who contracted it. I almost lost my big sister, my beautiful Sosie, with hair the color of cotton—just like our mother’s was—and an ever-smiling face as creamy-white as the milk my father once put in his coffee—when milk could be wasted on coffee.
“That’s a good catch,” my father said.
I handed the string of fish over to him; pink-tinged water dripped from the rear fins onto the floor as blood trickled from the wounds where the fish had been strung.
“You sure you don’t want to clean them?” Father’s mouth spread into a playful smile, deepening the lines around his lips and nose.
Feigning disgust, I shook my head. “No. I’ll never clean them. I’ll catch them and bring them home and cook them, but cutting off the heads and scraping the scales and removing the guts”—I shuddered something awful—“will always be your job, Daddy.”
He patted me on the shoulder with a filthy work-weathered hand.
My father, James Fenwick, had dark brown hair that hung over his ears, and a scruffy beard and mustache to match; deep blue eyes were set perfectly within his face, and freckles paraded his cheeks and nose. Just as Sosie was the mirror image of our mother, I was practically my father’s twin—minus the beard and moustache. And we were both incredibly stubborn when it came to matters of…well, all matters, really.
“I’m glad you know how to clean them, at least,” he said, heading into the kitchen. “You’ll have to one day.”
My smile disappeared—I didn’t want to think about that. I wasn’t afraid to clean fish; I just knew that if I ever had to do it myself, it would mean that my father wasn’t around to do it anymore. I never wanted to imagine life without him. It was difficult enough being without my mother, who died one year after The Fall.
I followed him into the kitchen, passing underneath the paint-chipped entrance flanked by stacks of tattered books. Books were everywhere in our house, stacked against nearly every wall. I spent a great deal of time reading, and often reading aloud to my sister. I didn’t get to complete school, end of the world and all, but because of my love for books, and an insatiable desire for knowledge and learning, I spoke fluent Spanish—also with the help of Fernando next door—and was teaching myself French; I was practically a walking encyclopedia with History and Science and all things Survival. The only subject I struggled with was Math. “Damn numbers!” I would say, slamming the books shut during my self-inflicted torture. “Who needs them, anyway?”
“Your tooth is hurting again,” I pointed out to my father.
Two of his teeth were rotting away. They were bothering him now. I could tell by the way his jaw hardened and stole his smile away for a moment.
“I’m fine,” he said, placing the flopping fish into the deep sink and removing them from the stringer. “Just a bit tender, but nothing like it was a few days ago.”
I knew he was lying.
“I’ll see if Ms. Mercado has anymore peppermint oil,” I insisted. “Has she come back with Fernando yet?”
Father shook his head.
“I haven’t seen Emilia or Fernando since yesterday morning,” he answered.
He laid one fish on the cutting board; his right arm moved back and forth in a sawing motion while the left held the fish still.
I sat down at the table. Where could Fernando be? I hope they’re okay.
“Why do you have to clean them inside the house, Daddy?” Sosie said, coming around the corner. “It smells terrible. And it clings to the walls. We’ll be smelling it for days.” She braced one hand against the paneled wall to help guide her, a stick in the other hand, long and sturdy and smooth and just her size. Father had made it for her, stripped it of its bark and wrapped a rubbery knob made from an old bicycle tire around the top to provide grip. The stick helped to keep her from bumping into things.
“You know why, Sosie,” Father answered as he scraped the dull side of his knife over the scales to remove them, the sound akin to the scraping of burnt toast.
“Yeah, I know, but it just really stinks.”
Sosie complained a lot. I hated it, but I never said much unless I wanted an argument I knew I’d never win—Sosie was always right, even when she was blatantly wrong.
“Well, I haven’t seen Alice or her inbred sons outside today either, so—”
“Sosie,” Father scolded, his voice sharp. He turned to look at her. “They’re not inbred, and you shouldn’t go around saying things like that.”
I sighed, and shook my head at my mouthy sister.
“Well, they act like heathens,” Sosie argued. “And I don’t say those things to anyone but the two of you.”
“You still shouldn’t say it.” He turned back to the fish; the sound of the blade sawing through another head made me wince. “It’s not the kind of rumor you want to be spreading,” he added.
“Fine, Daddy,” Sosie said with mild exasperation. “But I still haven’t seen them today, so please clean the fish out back.”
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t home,” I chimed in. “And if they are, the second Daddy goes out back to clean the fish, they’ll come right on over and invite themselves to dinner.”
Sosie huffed, and then walked farther into the kitchen, tapping her walking-stick against the floor out ahead of her. She sat down at the small table across from me.
“They can catch their own damn fish,” Sosie said with a sneer. “Besides, when you cook it they’ll probably smell it and come running over here anyway.”