Smolder, page 3
The cow didn’t move as Mack stepped in, crouched down, and then with one fluid move, stabbed him through the right eye, deep into the brain. The cow never made another sound as she died, and Tan was grateful for the mercy Mack had shown. “Thank you,” he told him.
Mack wiped his knife off at the rough grass. “I can’t stand to see animals suffer. I have no qualms at all about eating meat, but you have to be humane in how you treat them.”
They had to end the suffering of two more cows and found a couple more that had died already. “We should get rid of the carcasses,” Tan said. “They will draw vermin but also wild animals like coyotes. Though I have no idea how we can move them without a tractor.”
“Can’t we eat them?” Austin asked. “Since you said this was cattle and not dairy cows.”
“Better not,” Mack said. “We’re not sure if they died of hunger and thirst or something else, and if they were sick, we could get infected too from eating the meat. But we could consider slaughtering one of the better-looking cows. They’re thin, so the meat won’t be the best, but it’ll last us a while.”
“So Tan is right,” Austin said. “We should destroy these carcasses.”
Mack pursed his lips. “Ordinarily, I’d agree with you. I would’ve said burn them, but that’s clearly not an option. But I’m also wondering if we should clean them up at all.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Austin asked.
“Think about it. We assume that at some point, city folk will show up here, looking for food. If we leave everything tidy, they’ll know people are surviving here. The less attention we draw to our presence here, the better. At least, that’s what I think.”
Tan cocked his head. He loved how Mack looked at situations, always assessing, analytical, rational. Unlike Tan himself, who rarely thought before he acted, Mack seemed to do little without a reason.
“Does that mean you think we should stay?” Austin asked.
Mack hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. We should.”
4
They finished their tour of the farm and surrounding fields and headed back inside. Mack had laid out his reasoning for proposing staying, and Austin couldn’t deny he had valid points. They had food here, relative safety. With winter coming, a roof over their head and a soft, warm bed to sleep in were crucial aspects for their survival. Plus, they could cook, and the chances of them finding that option anywhere else were slim. And as Mack had pointed out, they were totally off the grid, so the odds of either people or aliens coming here were not that big. They’d head for easier targets first and wouldn’t set course north, Mack had reasoned.
Austin couldn’t argue against any of these reasons. Staying was the sensible option. The one thing that made him ache inside was the thought of his dad. What if his dad had escaped prison as well? He’d start looking for Austin for sure and would head back to South Dakota. His dad would never find him here, in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming.
“You must want to search for your dad,” Mack said. They were sitting around the kitchen table, enjoying a hot cup of tea. Austin nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to bring it up himself.
“The chances of him being alive and out of prison are small, but what if he is? He wouldn’t know how to find me.”
“Where would he go look for you? He knew you were arrested, so he must’ve concluded you’d been sent to a reintegration camp,” Mack said.
“Would he be stupid enough to head for the South Dakota Camp?” Tan said with his characteristic directness.
Austin smiled. “He wouldn’t exactly walk in through the front gate, but yeah, my guess is he’d start his search there.”
“So let’s say he goes there. He finds the camp in disarray. Now what? What would he think you’d do?”
Mack’s question was a good one, Austin had to admit. He tried to put himself in his dad’s shoes. His dad knew Austin would have a plan, that he would’ve taken the opportunity to get the fuck out of that hellhole. “If he finds out I’ve escaped, he’ll know I’d be heading to the border. He’d argue the same way we did that with winter coming, southwest is the only way to go.”
“That means he’d take the same route we did. You said it yourself, you guys drove this route, so he knows this is familiar territory for you,” Mack said.
Austin couldn’t find any faults in that logic. “That would mean he’d practically pass us. How can we let him know we’re here?”
Mack leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “It would have to be something only he would understand. Like, some kind of code or cryptic message. And it can’t hint at our presence here.”
“I’ll have to think about that. Nothing comes to mind right now.”
“Does that mean we’ve made the decision?” Tan asked, and he had a funny look on his face that Austin couldn’t place. “Are we staying here for now?”
Austin blinked. Why was Tan asking that again? Hadn’t they already decided that? And what was up with that undertone? Then it hit him. Oh god. “We never asked you what you wanted.” Bile rose in his throat. “Mack and I talked about it, but we never asked you.”
Tan crossed his arms. “No, you didn’t.”
Those three simple words pierced Austin’s heart. He’d been so focused on himself, on his own conflicted emotions about staying that he’d never even thought to ask Tan for his opinion.
“I was under the impression we were still talking about it,” Mack said, a hint of panic in his voice.
“This isn’t about you.” Tan’s tone was a bit snappy, but Austin couldn’t blame him. He deserved every bit of Tan’s anger.
“He’s right. This is aimed at me. I had made the decision already, if not verbally, then at least in my mind. And I never thought to consult him, and that’s plain offensive.”
“Why?” Tan’s voice cracked, and a heaviness settled in Austin’s chest when he recognized the pain in that statement. “I thought you were different. I thought you saw me as more than my body.”
“I do! You know I do, baby,” Austin said, pleading.
“Then why don’t you consider me an equal partner?”
He wanted to say he did, the temptation overwhelming to deny what Tan had said, but he couldn’t. It would not only be untrue but unfair as well. Tan deserved better. So he gave him the only answer he could provide. “I don’t know. I realize that’s a shitty answer that could easily be construed as me trying to deny responsibility, but I’m not. Give me some time to figure it out.”
Tan leaned back, his arms still crossed and hurt flaring from his eyes. “You do that. I’ll just wait for your verdict quietly, as apparently I’m supposed to do.”
Oh, the sarcasm was strong with this one, but how could Austin blame him? “Why do you think I treat you like…like this?” he asked, unable to come up with a pithy description. Maybe that was part of the problem, if not the whole problem in a nutshell. How could he explain what he couldn’t even define?
Tan huffed. “Now I’m expected to do the thinking for you?”
Austin leaned forward, his eyes pleading. “Help me understand this, baby. I know I’m wrong. I know I’m not treating you like I should, but help me figure out why.”
Mack cleared his throat. “Erm, this is something between you two, so maybe I shouldn’t interfere, but—”
Tan looked away from Austin, and the fire in his expression turned soft as he faced Mack. “You always have the right to say what’s on your mind, honey. That’s how relationships work.”
Austin recognized the barb, but he let it go. Speaking up would distract from whatever Mack was going to say, and considering how hesitant he already was, that wouldn’t be smart.
Mack fidgeted with his hands, looking down at the table. “I don’t see Tan differently than I see you, Austin. You have very different personalities and different strengths and weaknesses, but to me, you’re equals. Maybe that’s because I met you at the same time and I don’t have a history with either of you? I had a cousin who was a couple of years older than me. When we were on a hunting trip once, he had one of the largest bucks I’ve ever seen clear in his sight…and he froze. He couldn’t pull the trigger for whatever reason. He told me later the buck had been too majestic, but I don’t know if that was the truth or if he’d just made that up because he felt it would be a good reason. But after that incident, people saw him differently. Like, his dad and my dad, they were always distrustful of him, even though he never missed a shot after that. He was an expert marksman, yet the opinion of him would always be defined by that single moment of inaction. Anyway, I’m rambling a bit, but I just thought that maybe the opinion you have of each other has been tainted by events that were exceptions, not the rule. I mean, I’m about the furthest thing there is from an expert on relationships, so feel free to ignore this whole speech, but—”
“Shut up, sweetie,” Tan said mildly, and Mack did. “I think you hit the nail on the head.”
“I did?” Mack asked, surprise and happiness coloring his voice.
“I think Austin here has an opinion of me, of my character that’s been heavily influenced by events in the camp. Or maybe I should say tainted.”
Cold fury crept into Austin’s heart. “If you’re suggesting that I see you differently because…” Again, words failed him. How could he describe what had happened to Tan without making it sound judgmental? Every word that popped into his head had negative connotations. “…of what happened to you, you’re wrong.”
It wasn’t the best way to define it, but it beat everything else that had raced through his head.
Tan uncrossed his arms, and his anger made place for a sadness that was even worse and stung so much deeper. “But that’s it, don’t you see? You see me as a victim, as someone who’s passive, who let things happen to him. But I’m not. I chose that, Austin. I chose to do whatever I had to do to survive. That doesn’t make me a victim who needs coddling and who can’t make up his own mind, who needs a big, strong man to save him and make the decisions for him. It makes me a survivor.”
Tan was wrong. That thought came with a crystal clear quality to Austin. Tan was wrong. Yes, he was a survivor, but he was also a victim. A victim of this oppressive society, where a bunch of old, white conservative men had decided that everyone who didn’t fit their standard of Christian was not only sinful but also unlawful. They’d made being gay, being anywhere on the LGBTQ rainbow a felony. They were all victims of that.
But even more, Tan was a victim of the very system in the camp, or rather, the lack of a system to protect campers. His only choice to survive had been to cooperate, to bribe, using his body, and that hadn’t been a choice at all. If there were no alternatives, it wasn’t a choice. It was coercion, force, violence, whatever you wanted to call it. But if Tan had truly had a choice, he would’ve never gone down that path.
But Tan didn’t know. He wasn’t there yet in processing his past, and maybe he would never be. Austin would not judge him for how he coped with this, like he’d never judged Tan for what he’d done to survive. Had he been in his position, he might’ve done the same. There was no way he’d argue with Tan about his perception of past events. That was his truth, and Austin would respect that.
Tan did have one point, though. One that Austin could and should admit. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was why he treated Tan differently than Mack, but it could very well be the case.
“I’m sorry, Tan. I do see you as someone who needs protecting. Not coddling or saving so much, but I feel a deep need to take care of you, to protect you and make sure you’re okay. And it has led to me making decisions for you, and I’m sorry about that.”
Tan stared at him, his sadness slowly dissipating from his expression. He looked more pensive now, with little worry lines on his forehead. “I can understand that,” he said. “I may have sent off mixed signals as well because there have been times where I definitely didn’t want to make the decisions and was happy for you to make them for me.”
“I know, babe. But we’re all changing and adapting to the new reality, so we should give each other the space to do that. That means I should step back and let you figure shit out on your own rather than smothering you and deciding for you. But, babe, I did it out of love, out of concern and all that mushy shit I feel for you.”
Tan’s mouth curled up into a smile. “You feel mushy shit for me, big guy?”
“Very mushy shit.”
Tan cocked his head. “I guess I’ll forgive you, then. Because of the mushy shit and stuff. And I’m okay with staying. More than okay, in fact. But you still shoulda asked.”
Austin smiled at him, his heart flooding with relief that this crisis had been solved. “Not just mushy shit. Very mushy shit.”
5
The tension that had sunk its hooks into Mack’s body when Austin and Tan had been arguing slowly seeped out during the day. He’d been worried about lingering discord between them, but their talk seemed to have cleared the air. And how cool was it that he’d been able to help with his stupid story about his cousin? He hadn’t even known what had made him think of that, but apparently, he’d been spot on. Imagine that.
Following his suggestion, they spent the rest of the day making inventory lists of everything they had at their disposal. Food, blankets, tools, equipment, everything. Tan had asked why it mattered, but it hadn’t felt like he’d been second-guessing Mack, more like he’d been genuinely trying to understand.
So Mack had explained that it helped to ration their food but also to see what was possible otherwise. Knowing how much oil they had would help them estimate how long they could use the stove. Knowing how many batteries they had allowed Mack to calculate how long the radio would work. Knowing how much firewood Doug had stacked in the garage helped them guess how long it would be till they ran out. Tan had been both convinced and impressed, he’d told Mack, who’d felt himself blush like an idiot all over again.
Listing everything had affirmed the wisdom of their decision to stay. They’d never find a place like this anywhere else, or at least the odds were infinitesimally small. Together, he and Tan had rationed the food, making a list of what Tan could use daily for cooking—an activity he’d volunteered for, much to Mack’s delight. Mack could cook, but he didn’t like it, so this worked out well.
He’d been grateful to discover the farm had shutters at all windows except for the kitchen, and they’d shut all of them. This was not only the best way to keep the heat in but also a preventive measure to avoid anyone seeing light spill through if they walked by. To make that even more improbable, they’d closed all the curtains and nailed two thick blankets to the living room windows, since they faced the front of the house.
They’d have to live mostly in the dark during the day as well, but that was a price they’d have to pay. If someone saw the shutters open at some point and then closed again, they’d know people were still there. Not that he could think of any reason why someone would want to walk past the house, but you never knew. He shuddered as he thought of the spider bots that still had to be around somewhere.
They’d also collected every bucket, bowl, and pitcher they could find. Filled with water, they stood neatly lined up on the kitchen counter, to the left of the sink. It didn’t feel like enough, and hopefully they’d never need them, but Mack hadn’t been able to come up with more at the moment.
After dinner, when darkness had surrounded them and they’d lit up some oil lamps they’d found in the barn where Doug and Ruthie had kept their emergency stash—and god bless them for being diligent about being prepared for power outages—he turned his attention to another problem. No, not a problem. A challenge.
Tan had said that if he wanted something, he’d have to ask for it. Initiate it. So how did he do that? Because he wanted. He craved. He’d never felt like he had when Austin had… he didn’t even know what to call it. There had to be a sexual term for it, but if there was, he didn’t know it. Austin had brought him to a climax, that was the best he could do. An orgasm. He’d come—a term he’d learned from that novel he’d read.
He wanted more of that. He wanted more of the kissing, the touching, the exploring Tan and Austin had promised him. But they were right. It couldn’t always be them who initiated it. He had to take that first step as well. But how?
Austin sat hunched over by one of the oil lamps, reading a book. Mack had spotted the author earlier—some guy named John Grisham—but he had no idea what kind of book it was. He’d never been allowed to read anything but the Bible and a select range of nonfiction books. Even Christian fiction had been banned—not that it had ever appealed to him in the first place—since it was too focused on romance, his father had said. Mack hadn’t been sure why that was wrong, but he hadn’t been dumb enough to ask.
Looking at Austin always did funny things to his stomach, like a tickling inside, a swirl that should be uncomfortable, but that made his heart speed up. Sometimes it was because he showed off his arms, the smooth, strong muscles of his biceps rippling. Seeing his chest also made Mack feel weak, his bones turning soft. Austin’s chest was so tanned and just…built. He had defined muscles, broad shoulders, and a six-pack that made Mack weep with envy. And his eyes were amazing, these pools of blue that could be piercing or comforting or sparkling with amusement.
Mack took his fill of him, assured that Austin was too engrossed in his book to notice. Tan was focused on his project, which was sewing Austin a sweater out of two of Doug’s, which he’d cut into pieces and combined to make it big enough for Austin. Mack had seen his mother doing the same all the time—she’d sewn almost all their clothes—and judging by how nimble Tan’s fingers were, he’d done this before.
He was so different from Austin, and yet he had a similar effect on Mack. Where Austin was strong and broad, Tan was delicate, slim. He’d gained a little weight in the last few days, Mack thought, his cheeks just a tad rounder and his color better. But he’d always been beautiful to Mack, like the wildflowers that popped up between the stones of a wall, growing and blooming despite being in such a hostile environment. Tan was like that, brightly shining amid the harsh darkness of reality.
Mack wiped his knife off at the rough grass. “I can’t stand to see animals suffer. I have no qualms at all about eating meat, but you have to be humane in how you treat them.”
They had to end the suffering of two more cows and found a couple more that had died already. “We should get rid of the carcasses,” Tan said. “They will draw vermin but also wild animals like coyotes. Though I have no idea how we can move them without a tractor.”
“Can’t we eat them?” Austin asked. “Since you said this was cattle and not dairy cows.”
“Better not,” Mack said. “We’re not sure if they died of hunger and thirst or something else, and if they were sick, we could get infected too from eating the meat. But we could consider slaughtering one of the better-looking cows. They’re thin, so the meat won’t be the best, but it’ll last us a while.”
“So Tan is right,” Austin said. “We should destroy these carcasses.”
Mack pursed his lips. “Ordinarily, I’d agree with you. I would’ve said burn them, but that’s clearly not an option. But I’m also wondering if we should clean them up at all.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Austin asked.
“Think about it. We assume that at some point, city folk will show up here, looking for food. If we leave everything tidy, they’ll know people are surviving here. The less attention we draw to our presence here, the better. At least, that’s what I think.”
Tan cocked his head. He loved how Mack looked at situations, always assessing, analytical, rational. Unlike Tan himself, who rarely thought before he acted, Mack seemed to do little without a reason.
“Does that mean you think we should stay?” Austin asked.
Mack hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. We should.”
4
They finished their tour of the farm and surrounding fields and headed back inside. Mack had laid out his reasoning for proposing staying, and Austin couldn’t deny he had valid points. They had food here, relative safety. With winter coming, a roof over their head and a soft, warm bed to sleep in were crucial aspects for their survival. Plus, they could cook, and the chances of them finding that option anywhere else were slim. And as Mack had pointed out, they were totally off the grid, so the odds of either people or aliens coming here were not that big. They’d head for easier targets first and wouldn’t set course north, Mack had reasoned.
Austin couldn’t argue against any of these reasons. Staying was the sensible option. The one thing that made him ache inside was the thought of his dad. What if his dad had escaped prison as well? He’d start looking for Austin for sure and would head back to South Dakota. His dad would never find him here, in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming.
“You must want to search for your dad,” Mack said. They were sitting around the kitchen table, enjoying a hot cup of tea. Austin nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to bring it up himself.
“The chances of him being alive and out of prison are small, but what if he is? He wouldn’t know how to find me.”
“Where would he go look for you? He knew you were arrested, so he must’ve concluded you’d been sent to a reintegration camp,” Mack said.
“Would he be stupid enough to head for the South Dakota Camp?” Tan said with his characteristic directness.
Austin smiled. “He wouldn’t exactly walk in through the front gate, but yeah, my guess is he’d start his search there.”
“So let’s say he goes there. He finds the camp in disarray. Now what? What would he think you’d do?”
Mack’s question was a good one, Austin had to admit. He tried to put himself in his dad’s shoes. His dad knew Austin would have a plan, that he would’ve taken the opportunity to get the fuck out of that hellhole. “If he finds out I’ve escaped, he’ll know I’d be heading to the border. He’d argue the same way we did that with winter coming, southwest is the only way to go.”
“That means he’d take the same route we did. You said it yourself, you guys drove this route, so he knows this is familiar territory for you,” Mack said.
Austin couldn’t find any faults in that logic. “That would mean he’d practically pass us. How can we let him know we’re here?”
Mack leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “It would have to be something only he would understand. Like, some kind of code or cryptic message. And it can’t hint at our presence here.”
“I’ll have to think about that. Nothing comes to mind right now.”
“Does that mean we’ve made the decision?” Tan asked, and he had a funny look on his face that Austin couldn’t place. “Are we staying here for now?”
Austin blinked. Why was Tan asking that again? Hadn’t they already decided that? And what was up with that undertone? Then it hit him. Oh god. “We never asked you what you wanted.” Bile rose in his throat. “Mack and I talked about it, but we never asked you.”
Tan crossed his arms. “No, you didn’t.”
Those three simple words pierced Austin’s heart. He’d been so focused on himself, on his own conflicted emotions about staying that he’d never even thought to ask Tan for his opinion.
“I was under the impression we were still talking about it,” Mack said, a hint of panic in his voice.
“This isn’t about you.” Tan’s tone was a bit snappy, but Austin couldn’t blame him. He deserved every bit of Tan’s anger.
“He’s right. This is aimed at me. I had made the decision already, if not verbally, then at least in my mind. And I never thought to consult him, and that’s plain offensive.”
“Why?” Tan’s voice cracked, and a heaviness settled in Austin’s chest when he recognized the pain in that statement. “I thought you were different. I thought you saw me as more than my body.”
“I do! You know I do, baby,” Austin said, pleading.
“Then why don’t you consider me an equal partner?”
He wanted to say he did, the temptation overwhelming to deny what Tan had said, but he couldn’t. It would not only be untrue but unfair as well. Tan deserved better. So he gave him the only answer he could provide. “I don’t know. I realize that’s a shitty answer that could easily be construed as me trying to deny responsibility, but I’m not. Give me some time to figure it out.”
Tan leaned back, his arms still crossed and hurt flaring from his eyes. “You do that. I’ll just wait for your verdict quietly, as apparently I’m supposed to do.”
Oh, the sarcasm was strong with this one, but how could Austin blame him? “Why do you think I treat you like…like this?” he asked, unable to come up with a pithy description. Maybe that was part of the problem, if not the whole problem in a nutshell. How could he explain what he couldn’t even define?
Tan huffed. “Now I’m expected to do the thinking for you?”
Austin leaned forward, his eyes pleading. “Help me understand this, baby. I know I’m wrong. I know I’m not treating you like I should, but help me figure out why.”
Mack cleared his throat. “Erm, this is something between you two, so maybe I shouldn’t interfere, but—”
Tan looked away from Austin, and the fire in his expression turned soft as he faced Mack. “You always have the right to say what’s on your mind, honey. That’s how relationships work.”
Austin recognized the barb, but he let it go. Speaking up would distract from whatever Mack was going to say, and considering how hesitant he already was, that wouldn’t be smart.
Mack fidgeted with his hands, looking down at the table. “I don’t see Tan differently than I see you, Austin. You have very different personalities and different strengths and weaknesses, but to me, you’re equals. Maybe that’s because I met you at the same time and I don’t have a history with either of you? I had a cousin who was a couple of years older than me. When we were on a hunting trip once, he had one of the largest bucks I’ve ever seen clear in his sight…and he froze. He couldn’t pull the trigger for whatever reason. He told me later the buck had been too majestic, but I don’t know if that was the truth or if he’d just made that up because he felt it would be a good reason. But after that incident, people saw him differently. Like, his dad and my dad, they were always distrustful of him, even though he never missed a shot after that. He was an expert marksman, yet the opinion of him would always be defined by that single moment of inaction. Anyway, I’m rambling a bit, but I just thought that maybe the opinion you have of each other has been tainted by events that were exceptions, not the rule. I mean, I’m about the furthest thing there is from an expert on relationships, so feel free to ignore this whole speech, but—”
“Shut up, sweetie,” Tan said mildly, and Mack did. “I think you hit the nail on the head.”
“I did?” Mack asked, surprise and happiness coloring his voice.
“I think Austin here has an opinion of me, of my character that’s been heavily influenced by events in the camp. Or maybe I should say tainted.”
Cold fury crept into Austin’s heart. “If you’re suggesting that I see you differently because…” Again, words failed him. How could he describe what had happened to Tan without making it sound judgmental? Every word that popped into his head had negative connotations. “…of what happened to you, you’re wrong.”
It wasn’t the best way to define it, but it beat everything else that had raced through his head.
Tan uncrossed his arms, and his anger made place for a sadness that was even worse and stung so much deeper. “But that’s it, don’t you see? You see me as a victim, as someone who’s passive, who let things happen to him. But I’m not. I chose that, Austin. I chose to do whatever I had to do to survive. That doesn’t make me a victim who needs coddling and who can’t make up his own mind, who needs a big, strong man to save him and make the decisions for him. It makes me a survivor.”
Tan was wrong. That thought came with a crystal clear quality to Austin. Tan was wrong. Yes, he was a survivor, but he was also a victim. A victim of this oppressive society, where a bunch of old, white conservative men had decided that everyone who didn’t fit their standard of Christian was not only sinful but also unlawful. They’d made being gay, being anywhere on the LGBTQ rainbow a felony. They were all victims of that.
But even more, Tan was a victim of the very system in the camp, or rather, the lack of a system to protect campers. His only choice to survive had been to cooperate, to bribe, using his body, and that hadn’t been a choice at all. If there were no alternatives, it wasn’t a choice. It was coercion, force, violence, whatever you wanted to call it. But if Tan had truly had a choice, he would’ve never gone down that path.
But Tan didn’t know. He wasn’t there yet in processing his past, and maybe he would never be. Austin would not judge him for how he coped with this, like he’d never judged Tan for what he’d done to survive. Had he been in his position, he might’ve done the same. There was no way he’d argue with Tan about his perception of past events. That was his truth, and Austin would respect that.
Tan did have one point, though. One that Austin could and should admit. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was why he treated Tan differently than Mack, but it could very well be the case.
“I’m sorry, Tan. I do see you as someone who needs protecting. Not coddling or saving so much, but I feel a deep need to take care of you, to protect you and make sure you’re okay. And it has led to me making decisions for you, and I’m sorry about that.”
Tan stared at him, his sadness slowly dissipating from his expression. He looked more pensive now, with little worry lines on his forehead. “I can understand that,” he said. “I may have sent off mixed signals as well because there have been times where I definitely didn’t want to make the decisions and was happy for you to make them for me.”
“I know, babe. But we’re all changing and adapting to the new reality, so we should give each other the space to do that. That means I should step back and let you figure shit out on your own rather than smothering you and deciding for you. But, babe, I did it out of love, out of concern and all that mushy shit I feel for you.”
Tan’s mouth curled up into a smile. “You feel mushy shit for me, big guy?”
“Very mushy shit.”
Tan cocked his head. “I guess I’ll forgive you, then. Because of the mushy shit and stuff. And I’m okay with staying. More than okay, in fact. But you still shoulda asked.”
Austin smiled at him, his heart flooding with relief that this crisis had been solved. “Not just mushy shit. Very mushy shit.”
5
The tension that had sunk its hooks into Mack’s body when Austin and Tan had been arguing slowly seeped out during the day. He’d been worried about lingering discord between them, but their talk seemed to have cleared the air. And how cool was it that he’d been able to help with his stupid story about his cousin? He hadn’t even known what had made him think of that, but apparently, he’d been spot on. Imagine that.
Following his suggestion, they spent the rest of the day making inventory lists of everything they had at their disposal. Food, blankets, tools, equipment, everything. Tan had asked why it mattered, but it hadn’t felt like he’d been second-guessing Mack, more like he’d been genuinely trying to understand.
So Mack had explained that it helped to ration their food but also to see what was possible otherwise. Knowing how much oil they had would help them estimate how long they could use the stove. Knowing how many batteries they had allowed Mack to calculate how long the radio would work. Knowing how much firewood Doug had stacked in the garage helped them guess how long it would be till they ran out. Tan had been both convinced and impressed, he’d told Mack, who’d felt himself blush like an idiot all over again.
Listing everything had affirmed the wisdom of their decision to stay. They’d never find a place like this anywhere else, or at least the odds were infinitesimally small. Together, he and Tan had rationed the food, making a list of what Tan could use daily for cooking—an activity he’d volunteered for, much to Mack’s delight. Mack could cook, but he didn’t like it, so this worked out well.
He’d been grateful to discover the farm had shutters at all windows except for the kitchen, and they’d shut all of them. This was not only the best way to keep the heat in but also a preventive measure to avoid anyone seeing light spill through if they walked by. To make that even more improbable, they’d closed all the curtains and nailed two thick blankets to the living room windows, since they faced the front of the house.
They’d have to live mostly in the dark during the day as well, but that was a price they’d have to pay. If someone saw the shutters open at some point and then closed again, they’d know people were still there. Not that he could think of any reason why someone would want to walk past the house, but you never knew. He shuddered as he thought of the spider bots that still had to be around somewhere.
They’d also collected every bucket, bowl, and pitcher they could find. Filled with water, they stood neatly lined up on the kitchen counter, to the left of the sink. It didn’t feel like enough, and hopefully they’d never need them, but Mack hadn’t been able to come up with more at the moment.
After dinner, when darkness had surrounded them and they’d lit up some oil lamps they’d found in the barn where Doug and Ruthie had kept their emergency stash—and god bless them for being diligent about being prepared for power outages—he turned his attention to another problem. No, not a problem. A challenge.
Tan had said that if he wanted something, he’d have to ask for it. Initiate it. So how did he do that? Because he wanted. He craved. He’d never felt like he had when Austin had… he didn’t even know what to call it. There had to be a sexual term for it, but if there was, he didn’t know it. Austin had brought him to a climax, that was the best he could do. An orgasm. He’d come—a term he’d learned from that novel he’d read.
He wanted more of that. He wanted more of the kissing, the touching, the exploring Tan and Austin had promised him. But they were right. It couldn’t always be them who initiated it. He had to take that first step as well. But how?
Austin sat hunched over by one of the oil lamps, reading a book. Mack had spotted the author earlier—some guy named John Grisham—but he had no idea what kind of book it was. He’d never been allowed to read anything but the Bible and a select range of nonfiction books. Even Christian fiction had been banned—not that it had ever appealed to him in the first place—since it was too focused on romance, his father had said. Mack hadn’t been sure why that was wrong, but he hadn’t been dumb enough to ask.
Looking at Austin always did funny things to his stomach, like a tickling inside, a swirl that should be uncomfortable, but that made his heart speed up. Sometimes it was because he showed off his arms, the smooth, strong muscles of his biceps rippling. Seeing his chest also made Mack feel weak, his bones turning soft. Austin’s chest was so tanned and just…built. He had defined muscles, broad shoulders, and a six-pack that made Mack weep with envy. And his eyes were amazing, these pools of blue that could be piercing or comforting or sparkling with amusement.
Mack took his fill of him, assured that Austin was too engrossed in his book to notice. Tan was focused on his project, which was sewing Austin a sweater out of two of Doug’s, which he’d cut into pieces and combined to make it big enough for Austin. Mack had seen his mother doing the same all the time—she’d sewn almost all their clothes—and judging by how nimble Tan’s fingers were, he’d done this before.
He was so different from Austin, and yet he had a similar effect on Mack. Where Austin was strong and broad, Tan was delicate, slim. He’d gained a little weight in the last few days, Mack thought, his cheeks just a tad rounder and his color better. But he’d always been beautiful to Mack, like the wildflowers that popped up between the stones of a wall, growing and blooming despite being in such a hostile environment. Tan was like that, brightly shining amid the harsh darkness of reality.
