I step out the front door and close it behind me.
In the hallway I struggle not to imagine the blanket slipping off, her pulling the towel from her head, the golden dandelion wisps of her hair springing back and falling on her shoulders. The Dandelion in my thoughts is even more beautiful, if that’s possible.
My mind opens up and I see things, mysterious but familiar, that I know come from behind the door. The overpowering feeling of seeing her happy has cracked it open again, and I see others like me, hundreds of others lined up, something almost remembered about seeing myself in a mirror, a row of mirrors. My heart jumps in my chest as the door slides closed, the sliver of light disappearing.
I’m kneeling, my whole body leaning on the wall when she finds me.
“Are you all right?”
She is completely outfitted in the clothes I gathered for her, all black and dark gray because we will need to keep to the shadows—a tight black hat that pulls down and ties under her chin, a black scarf over her mouth and nose, a fitted waterproof jacket, mittens, the snow pants tied into the boots. She’s very small, compared to me, but if another glanced at her from far away, she would look like one of us. That’s the idea. If we are seen, and not looked at too closely, the others might ignore us. Seeing her makes me feel better about going out into the world.
I shake off the unease of the vision, and stand.
Good forever. You?
“Great. How do I look?”
You look like you’re getting ready to leave me, Dandelion. But she doesn’t know all the signs for that so I just sign good.
RAVEN
He suggests, instructs rather, that I nap in the afternoon.
Sleep now, please.
“I’m not that tired.”
Then he makes a long series of signs, most of which I’ve never seen before. But somehow the meaning is clear anyway.
Sleep now or you’ll be so tired I’ll have to carry you all night.
He laughs along with me, tipping his head back as I curl up on the sofa. When I wake, it’s dark and quiet in the apartment. Moonlight trickles in from the terrace as I sit up and pull on my boots, taking a last look around.
If this were another world and I were another person, this place would be a dream come true—a million-dollar penthouse in the clouds. In the dark it looks almost as though it could still be that, though I know by daylight it’s a bit of a mess. Clothes piled everywhere, food packets discarded on every surface. Neither one of us is very good at housework. He’s been throwing the dirty dishes over the railing, after all. We’ve basically trashed the place, like a couple of drug-addicted squatters. I feel a twinge of guilt then. What if the owner, the bald, single accountant, survived somehow, in a refugee camp or something? What if, when all this is over, he comes back and finds this mess? Maybe I should leave him a note. I wonder how I could explain what happened here.
“August?” I say then, suddenly uncomfortable in the dark. There is no answer. He’ll be back soon, I tell myself. He always comes back, no matter what.
I feel my way down to the bathroom, light a candle, and use the toilet one last time. Digging through the drawers, I collect a few toothbrushes and some toothpaste. I grab some moist disinfecting wipe things and some sunscreen.
I can’t help but smile at the assortment of skin care, hair oil, and shampoo gifts August gathered over the weeks. I picture him scouring store shelves, taking any bottle or box with a model that looks vaguely like me. I have enough African hair products to last two apocalypses. I wish I could carry it all, but one jar of shea butter will have to do. For now I take some time to properly comb my hair, styling it into flat twists that will be comfortable under my hat. I figure I’ve earned a little pampering.
When I’m done, I slip everything into a small case and carry it back into the living room, tucking it into my backpack, which beyond all reason, I still have. It’s been through everything with me, barely the worse for wear. I shake my head, looking through the window at the stars.
“August?” I say to my reflection. It seems I’m still alone. I fuss with the zipper of my backpack—it’s always been a bit stubborn. When I look back up at my reflection, there is a large shadow behind me, just inside the door.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me.”
A second later I know it’s not him.
I dive down to the floor, sliding my hand under the sofa, searching for the knife that I sliced into the upholstery. My hand feels around as the shadow moves toward me. I have only enough brain cells left over to realize this is a probably a girl Nahx before my hand closes over the knife. She gives the coffee table a shove with her foot, and it goes sliding across the room.
“AUGUST!” I scream, swinging my leg around. Her feet go out from under her, and she crashes down onto the floor in front of me. I have to make a split-second decision. I could jump her and try to lodge the knife into her neck, or I could run.
Ah, run or fight. Either way my chances are basically nil.
“AUGUST!”
The girl grabs my ankle, like the one in the stadium did. I pull my other leg back and kick her hard in the head. Maybe this one is not quite as robust, because this seems to stun her. Gripping the knife, I leap to my feet and vault over her, heading for the door.
Throwing the door open, I launch myself into the hallway. I catch a glimpse of the girl Nahx clambering to her feet before the door swings closed. It’s almost completely dark in the hall, and I don’t have a light. In fact, I have nothing but the knife in my hand. I don’t even have that fantastic coat on. All I’m wearing is the snow pants, boots, and a couple of sweaters. Damn it, where is August?!
I race down the hallway, dragging my hand along the wall to find my way. When I reach the stairwell, I glance back to see the Nahx emerging from the penthouse. Oh God, I’m dead, I think, and even have the logic to remember that Nahx don’t usually travel alone. Whoever this Nahx is, her partner, a boy, likely much larger and stronger than her, is somewhere nearby.
I leap down the first flight of stairs, my ankles jolting painfully as I land. Then I slide down the banister to the next level and fly out into the hallway. Thankfully, August has kicked open all the doors on this level too. I’ve never been more grateful for this particular one of his peculiarities. I run halfway down the hallway and, pulling the scarf from around my neck, toss it into an apartment. Then I double back and duck quickly behind the door of the first apartment. I’m not sure that the Nahx work by smell, but I’ve long suspected it. Maybe this will be how I find out once and for all.
The apartment I find myself in is similar to the penthouse, but smaller. I run to the kitchen first and take a second to arm myself with another sharp knife. Then I bolt down to the bedroom, into the en suite bathroom, and lock the door. I crawl into the bath and pull the sliding glass across.