“You think what we did was wrong?”
“Well… sure as hell wasn’t right.”
“But do you think we were wrong?”
Gibs shook his head as he considered. “I do not know. Maybe not right or wrong but… maybe… I think maybe it’s possible there was another way through. And maybe we were once a group that could have found that way. Maybe once we could have. I don’t know, now. I do not know. I can’t fault the individual acts or the outcome, even if certain points give a man pause. It fucks me up, though. At every single fork, I can’t see a way toward an alternate path. It seemed to me every decision was one carefully made. Every reaction reasonable. Didn’t it? I’m not fucking crazy, am I?”
“No.”
“No. Yet I feel as I do. And it fucks me up.”
Amanda shrugged, not looking at him. “I can see that, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he agreed.
“But you’re coming back,” she prodded.
“Christ,” he smiled. “Maybe, okay?”
And then she looked up at him and smiled, and he knew it was okay. His chest unlocked, and he began to feel better about things.
“You haven’t been around to see Jake,” he said.
“No.” Her smile faded.
Gibs nodded. “Okay,” he said and left.
Jake descended the steps of the porch and shook hands with Gibs. Of all the people in the valley, only Jake had refrained from trying to convince him to stay. Gibs wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. His instincts told him to be grateful, and so he was.
“Amanda’s still not talking?” Gibs asked before Jake could open his mouth. He didn’t want to discuss anything else; he’d been over it all a hundred times already.
“No.”
“The bunker.”
“Yes,” agreed Jake. “She’s angry I kept it from her.”
Gibs let his hand go and cocked his head in confusion. “Jake… why the hell did you keep it from her? I don’t give a shit, personally; it’s not like we needed it for anything. But why her? It makes no sense.”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t make any sense at all to someone like you.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Jake’s eyes softened. “The one who built this place was a very secretive man, Gibs.”
“Billy.”
“Yes, that’s right. Very secretive, almost as a reflex. I never learned what it was that made him so but, given my own experiences, I’m inclined to say he had his reasons and that’s good enough for me. You never met him, but… it took a while for us to trust each other. He took a shine to Amanda and Lizzy almost instantly, but it was different with him and me. On the first night, he sat poised with his shotgun pointed at me the entire evening; even slept with his hand on the receiver and that barrel lined up on my chest.”
“Hang on a minute, that’s not right,” Gibs said.
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s not what you told Brian, anyway. I read his notes when I was trying to figure out what the fuck to talk about with him. You said Billy set the shotgun aside and then you guys got shitfaced.”
“Oh, we did that, sure. But he kept the shotgun leveled on me, too. If the record says, he laid it aside, well… either I made a mistake or Brian did; I don’t know. I guess whosoever reads it will have to make their own decisions regarding accuracy. The point is, Billy had his secrets. We eventually became family, the four of us, and loved each other in very specific ways. But he never stopped keeping his secrets. Habit, you see.”
“What the fuck does this have to do with you telling Amanda about a bunker?”
“Only to say that I understand his habits and why they might come about. Billy shared the bunker with me before he died; his final act. At the time I didn’t understand why. Recalclass="underline" it took me quite a while before I realized what he’d told me. Even longer to crack the secret. But I didn’t understand why. Why me and not us? I didn’t get it until I descended down into the belly, down underground. Then I think I may have understood.”
“Well?” Gibs prodded.
“I think Billy identified my need. He understood that he and I were similar in a lot of ways. I got down in that bunker, Gibs, and it was a dark, quiet place. I didn’t have to be anyone down there; didn’t have to be a certain… way. I could just exist. Just be no one at all. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Gibs nodded slowly. “I think I might.”
“Anyway, that was a thing comfortable to have. The group didn’t need it, so I kept it for myself. And when the group finally did need it, I opened it and gave it up. I don’t regret these decisions.”
“But Amanda’s pissed because you kept it quiet.”
“That is a part of it…”
Gibs snorted and shook his head. “You inscrutable prick. Well, I guess she’ll come around.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’ll be here in case she does.”
“Fine, then.”
“I’ll be here in case you do, as well. We’ll all be here, Gibs. You’ll always have a place here. We’re not going anywhere.”
Gibs cleared his throat and nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah.” He gestured at the truck and said, “Best be going. I’ll burn through all my wood before long.”
Jake looked past him and said, “Looks like you have one more goodbye…”
Gibs turned and saw Alan leaning against the small trailer stacked high with logs and wood scraps. He had a rifle and a bag at his side.
“Oh, hell…” Gibs muttered. He nodded at Jake and walked back to the truck double-time.
“Nope!” he shouted as he closed the distance. “Nope! You can just put that shit out of your head! This is already dumb enough; there’s no sense in compounding stupidities!”
“Slow down,” Alan called; almost shouted. “I only caught the first word! Unless you were saying ‘rope,’ in which case why the hell are you saying ‘rope’?”
“EA-sy,” Gibs exaggerated. “Turn… the… volume… down. I’m right here.”
Alan rolled his eyes; handed over a notepad and chewed-up pencil. Gibs grabbed it and scribbled out the following missive:
“IDEA STUPID AS DOGSHIT PANCAKES. FUCK OFF HOME.”
Alan glanced at the sheet and said, “Why?”
Sighing, Gibs yanked the notepad back and wrote, “NEEDED HERE. UNCLE SOON. DON’T WANT TO SHARE COFFEE.”
“I’m not needed around here. Greg and Alish are good; I spoke with them both. They’re not excited about it, but they’re going along. You’re going out alone, dude. You need someone to watch your back.”
“COULDN’T HEAR GODZILLA BUTTFUCKING A HORSE!”
“Yeah, dick, I said watch your back. Watch.” Alan pointed at his own eyes before flipping Gibs the bird.
Gibs considered this a few moments, slowly deflating as he did. “DON’T KNOW WHEN COMING BACK.”
“That’s alright. I’m not in a rush.”
Gibs shook his head, made to write out more, then stopped. He found himself at a loss as to what more he could say. Alan reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. It was a new tick the kid seemed to be developing; dealing with others as though their hearing was as impacted as his. It seemed he was more comfortable getting people’s attention through gestures or taps than speech, perhaps aware that he had a tendency toward high volume. Gibs looked at him and mouthed, “What?”
“Please let me come? I’m… I’m really not ready for this to be the last place I ever see, you know? I need… I need to get the fuck out of here a while, do you understand that? Seriously. And you fucking need someone watching your back, man, don’t bother saying you don’t. If these last weeks have proven anything, it’s that. Please. Please, Gibs.”