Al looked at his former boss, squinting even though the sun was behind him. “Thought you didn't believe any of it.”
Marty looked at him. His expression was tight, the lines of his face flattened. “No,” he whispered. “I believe it. After that rain in April, well, I have to, don't I?”
Al wasn't sure how to respond. Weakly, he waved towards the ark. “Why... don't you get onto the list?”
Marty laughed. “In four days, do you think the list would ever get to me?”
“No,” Al said. “No, it won't. But - “
“But nothing. How's Margaret?”
“She's fine. Wonders why you haven't come by. Thinks you avoid her when she comes into the station for stuff.”
Marty smiled. “Yeah, well. You know.”
Al didn't, but decided to drop the subject. “You've helped us, helped her, more than you had to. Thanks.”
Marty looked at him for a while, a long penetrating stare which Al returned silently. Finally, the fire chief said, “The way you just up and joined like that. Dropped everything. Your career, your future.”
Al shrugged, and his mustache twitched in the only semblance of a smile Marty had ever seen on him. “I'm not a big fan of coincidence. It was too much not to believe.”
Marty wrinkled his brow. “You take care of Margaret, okay? Whatever happens, I can tell she's come to depend on you. I can see it, even if it's just from the station window.”
Al just nodded. Marty pressed on, as painful as it was for him to say. “Maybe, well, who knows? You two can get together after. She's been alone too long.”
Al 's face broke into a wide grin then, making him look even more the part of the Marlboro Man as others often likened him to. “That's one thing you won't have to worry about, Boss.”
“I never said I was worried.”
Al patted him on the shoulder, still smiling. “Yeah, well, regardless. She’s not exactly my type.” He looked as if he was about to say something else, but only walked towards the ark, swinging the bag full of weather stripping packages beside him. Marty rubbed the spot where the man had had hit his shoulder.
Margaret emerged from below deck, saw Marty and waved. He waved back, thought of going over to her. Instead, he turned and walked slowly back to the station, feeling her gaze on his back. He couldn't say goodbye. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe never.
In a few days, they'd be sailing away. He had no idea how, but they would. They'd leave him and everyone else behind. He kept walking, feeling more weary with every step. For a moment he had an irresistible urge to lay down there on the grass and sleep. The town common swayed around him. He wasn't going to fall down. He was going to stay focused until the end. Five days, God, that's all I ask. Five lousy days.
The exhaustion faded. He continued towards the station with only a minor wobble in his stride. Maybe he'd lie down when he got inside, see if a few minutes’ sleep might present itself.
4
“Receive the body of Christ.”
Nick worked around one of the beams, brushing against a harness as he moved to the next person; hands were raised before them as they awaited the Host.
“The body of Christ.”
“Amen.” Jennifer took the communion wafer with her right hand and put it into her mouth. Like everyone attending Mass inside the ship, she was kneeling. Those not receiving had moved towards the back, though continued to kneel like the others. Nick stepped aside and gave communion to Margaret's daughter Katie, who had completed her First Communion class just prior to the start of this nightmare. Beside her was Robin, only four years old. Nick had the urge to offer her the Host anyway, but it was a fleeting whim. He put his hand on her head and said, “May God bless you and keep you all the days of your life.”
She smiled gleefully at this, like most younger children did when they came with their parents for the Sacrament.
“The body of Christ.”
Margaret said, “Amen,” and took the host.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing me this day , Nick thought. He continued moving among the tiny congregation.
3
“Attention, please. It seems we're slightly overbooked this afternoon. If anyone would like to give up their seat, we'd be more than happy to give you passage on the next available flight to your destination plus vouchers for free air travel to any destination in the continental United States.” The flight attendant looked nervous behind her smile.
“Damn greedy airlines,” Neha muttered. “Always asking favors from passengers but never supplying product.” Suresh nodded but said nothing. He had not been very talkative these past few days. Neha watched a family of four work their way excitedly up the aisle, dreams of a second vacation to the Grand Canyon or other such tourist trap dancing in their heads. Neha's own seat offered a sense of security she found discomforting. She didn't like her situation feeling so tenuous. It wasn't as if anyone had the power to force them off the plane, not now. When she and Suresh had waited in the hard plastic chairs in the terminal, they watched a line of people argue for seats. “You sold us the tickets!” they shouted, or “I have my online confirmation right here” waving a sheet of paper in the clerk's face.
So many people, arguments at booking counters, flights sold out. Looks of desperation on everyone’s face, even those who’d already checked in and held their boarding pass in trembling hands. One red-faced man had scanned the seated crowd. From what Neha had heard of his argument, he'd been screwed over and was plainly thinking of how to screw someone else in return. When his sweaty gaze met hers, she returned the look and thought, Mess with me and I'll cut out your heart. She continued with the telepathic barrage until he looked elsewhere.
Meanwhile Suresh took it all in from his seat beside her with a calmness that infuriated her. Now, thank God, they were sitting in the plane, watching the desperate flight attendant move back towards the microphone. Again, she asked if anyone else would like to take the airline up on its generous offer. No one did.
Neha wasn't surprised. The flight was non-stop to Denver. Mountain country. High above the fray. Safe haven.
Morons .
Eventually, all trays were raised into their upright and locked positions. The attendants did their how-to-breathe-if-the-plane-smashes-into-a-mountain dance and the airplane mercifully backed away from the terminal.
Neha wondered what she'd expected to happen. Perhaps the red-faced guy would storm inside, gun in hand. People were hurting each other a lot lately. As the plane accelerated along the runway, she felt her fear fall away. The plane rose, banked slightly to the right, and sailed away from Logan airport, away from Boston and the East Coast. Leaving it all far, far behind.
She’d been staring through the small window since they took off. Now she looked at her husband. Suresh was holding her hand. When her eyes had adjusted to the interior light, she saw he was crying.
“What's wrong with you?”
She tried to sound comforting. Just a few days more, she reminded herself. Just a few more days.
Suresh smiled, a single tear finding its way down his dark face. “Nothing,” he said. “Everything is perfect.” He squeezed her hand. Neha couldn't stand it any longer. She pulled her hand away and reached under the seat for her bag. She'd picked up a random book at the gift shop. If Suresh was going to be weeping for the next five hours, at least she could mentally escape to a world other than the one containing her husband's sad, lonely face.