The Longest Night

Doctor Anderson had apparently rehearsed a speech for all twenty-eight new inhabitants by the next day. He recited it to Catherine. “I know this is a hard time for you, but I would like to start assigning you to some public duties. Unfortunately, with our facility being as complicated as it is, we are in need of everyone to contribute to the upkeep and management of its system.”

“I have a degree in Child Psychology,” she said flatly to his desk. “I could work with the kids.”

“That would be of great help.” He started to write something down on the desk. He stopped mid-thought. “By the way, where is your cane? It’s not a good idea to be walking around without it.”

“I’m fine.”

He stared at her staring at his desk. “All right.”

He gave her a short list and she went to gather the names. They were not hard to find. The parents seemed ambivalent to her offer to teach their children, as if the will for watching them grow and letting them learn had never lived. The children came quietly, all but Michael, who chit-chatted the entire way. They sat themselves down at an empty table in the mess hall.

“I just wanted to learn your names and faces, and figure out where we should start as far as learning,” she said as she sat. “What grade was everyone in school?”

The gravity of their frail state came to mind when none of them replied but watched her warily. But small, fair-haired Michael beamed up. “I was halfway through the first grade when Dad and I had to go.”

“Thank you, Michael. And Penny, what grade were you in?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay, we can figure out where you’re at pretty easily. Tomorrow I’ll have everyone meet back here, and I’ll have some books for you to read.”

“Why?”

Catherine looked to Michael beside her, who peered up at her questioningly. There was no sarcasm behind his voice; he was genuinely curious about reading books.

“So that you can learn to read well.”

“But why do we need to do that? How would that help us eat and stuff?”

She opened her mouth to respond before she had an answer. “I suppose you’re right.” Now is not the time. “All right, then. We’ll meet here tomorrow and then we’ll all go on a field trip outside. We can start by learning how to search for food.”

Penny’s dark and sunken eyes bore into hers questioningly. “I thought we didn’t have to eat people anymore.”

She went to the small library reserve that Doctor Anderson had pointed out to her and looked through the selection. There were two bookshelves full, and each shelf was of a different subject. Cooking…gardening…exercise…there, the outdoors. She panned the bindings for relevant titles. As she reached the end of the row a slate grey spine caught her eye on the row below. Though she was looking right at it she did not see it immediately. Her name in black print.

She slowly took the book from the shelf, looking at the cover. The art was done by a colleague of Archie’s. Two people stood on either end of a platform facing each other and the title stood between them. She opened to the first page. To the man I never knew. She had never decided who she was referring to. When she went to turn to the next page she stopped.

She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

That night she sat at the desk in her room, flipping through the outdoor books she had retrieved from the library. There was a swift and quiet knock on her door. It was late, most were asleep. After ignoring it for too long she stood and opened the door.

On the other side was a man she didn’t recognize. “May I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”

Suddenly it came to her. She attempted to smile. “You must be Michael’s father.”

“Yes. Colin.” He cleared his throat, looking to his feet before he continued. “I heard you were found with Jeffries.”

It struck a cord that had been ringing since he died. “Yes.”

“I…” Colin began, his voice breaking. “I wanted to apologize to you; I was led to believe he was important to you. It’s…my…” A hand went to his eyes, tears slipping through his fingers. “You have to understand. I was afraid he was after my boy. I had to protect my son, I thought that he was trying to eat—”

He rubbed his face desperately, trying to regain control of himself. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She bit her bottom lip as the sadness seized her. He whispered “I’m sorry” over and over. She opened her mouth to speak and started to cry instead.

He got down on his knees and touched his forehead to the floor in front of her. She was expecting to feel some sort of hate for Jeffries’s killer. She looked but couldn’t find it. This was the reason he was gone and this was the reason it was hard for her to take every breath, to put one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t about Jeffries, nor was it about her.

“I’m sorry,” he said again into the floor.

Catherine let her breath out slowly, and she knelt down, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Me too.”