November 2nd, 12:02
Nov. 24th, 2006 03:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_history“Do you think you’ll be writing one of your reports on these events, when all this is over?”
James glanced at Marlene, whose knitting needles were clicking away industriously as she spoke, gazing up at him somewhat myopically through her red-rimmed spectacles. They were sitting in the back room on a beaten-up sofa, and he could feel every individual spring digging into his legs. He envied Kitty her nice soft pile of blankets and sleeping bags on the floor. Marlene had long since she’d her shabby grey coat, revealing a pretty powder-blue turtleneck sweater that brought out the colour in her eyes. He guessed she must be in her mid-forties, only a few years younger than he was, and suddenly wished he’d been wearing something other than a very worn shirt under his CBC jacket which was faded and too small. At least he’d left the CBC jacket far behind.
“Maybe. Why do you ask?”
Click-click-click. “I was wondering. My husband and I used to listen to your reports every time they came on the air. They were always so interesting, and you have a way of looking at things from new and unexpected angles. I would love to hear your perspective on this when it’s all over.”
He found himself growing unaccountably warm. Click-click-click. She wasn’t looking at him, and to his surprise he saw that her own face looked rather flushed. What on Earth? Was he flirting with a married woman in the middle of a disaster? He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and the springs in the sofa creaked and groaned beneath him.
“Uh, well, thank you. First I’d like to survive this whole ordeal, mind you. I’ll think about writing some sort of in-depth report after that. I’m not really sure what sort of light I could shed on the matter. I mean, I’m sort of caught in the thick of it, and I’ve always preferred to come at a story with a fair amount of perspective. I don’t know that I’d be able to contribute anything that hasn’t already been said.”
He was surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. A few years ago and he’d have been salivating at the prospect of a story like this one. Now, all he wanted to do was get out safely, and make it out along with the people he knew and counted among his friends and family. Getting some kind of exclusive coverage no longer seemed like the enviable opportunity he might once have thought it. He must be getting old. Time to retire, maybe, if he didn’t get eaten by zombies first.
Click-click-click. The sound was beginning to get on his nerves slightly, and he wished she’d put down the knitting. She held it demurely in her lap, forming a small and colourful but ultimately impenetrable barrier between them. Maybe it was best this way. This wasn’t the time or place for the kind of thoughts he was having, and besides, she wasn’t really his type: he’d never gone for the shy housewife kind.
“That’s too bad,” she was saying over her knitting needles, pausing in her rhythmic hand motions to do something mysterious on the left-hand needle. He seemed to recall that for more complex patterns knitters had to count their stitches. “You always had a great deal of insight into what you were reporting. It was refreshing to see reports that didn’t attempt to sensationalize, and which obviously had a lot of thought and preparation and research put into them. I was especially impressed by your reports on the genocide in Rwanda. I bought your book at the time,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Thank you. I’m glad someone read it,” he joked lamely. She nodded absently, and he groped for something else to say. “So, your husband... have you any news of where he might be?” he regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them. Just great, James, he thought, remind her of the fact that her husband is probably in mortal danger. Good job. So much for being the smooth reporter: put him in front of a middle-aged housewife and he became completely tongue-tied.
She paused to think about it. “Well, I suppose he’s my ex-husband, now,” she said, her tone as indecipherable as her expression. “I haven’t seen him in two days at least. We were in the process of separating,” she told him quite seriously.
He ignored the excited leap his heart gave. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, you needn’t be. I’m not. To be honest, I’m a lot more worried about my son. I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened in the past forty-eight hours, and I think it may already be too late for him.” She attacked her knitting with a vengeance. “When he came home the other night, I thought he’d just made a mistake with a girl, but looking back...” she drew a shuddering breath. “I think he was bitten by one of them.” She pressed her lips together tightly.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Marlene,” and this time he meant it. He put a hand out and patted her knee.
She nodded, and sniffed quietly. “Thank you.”
“Oh, here,” he fumbled in his pocket and produced a kleenex. “It’s crumpled, but it’s clean.”
She accepted it. “Thank you,” she repeated. “You’re very kind. I’m trying not to think about it just yet. I may be mistaken, but even if I’m not,” her voice trembled, “I can’t afford to fall apart just now. I’ll do that later, when it’s safe. That poor girl has enough problems on her hands without having to deal with my hysterics on top of it all.”
“You mean Michaela?”
Marlene nodded. “I don’t know how she did it. I don’t think I could have done what she’s doing at her age.”
James, who’d been out reporting on wars and since he was younger than Mickey, gave a noncommittal shrug. Still, credit where credit was due, he supposed. “She’s certainly risen to the occasion,” he agreed. “I expect her job made it easier for her than for many others to deal with this kind of crisis.”
“Do you suppose she has an idea for what we’re supposed to do after this? I don’t think we can really stay here indefinitely, do you?”
“No,” James agreed with her. “We’re going to have to find a place where we can effect a tactical retreat, to coin a military term. In the city we’re too exposed, too liable to be surrounded by the enemy. We should try to find people who are trained to deal with this sort of large-scale crisis: maybe one of the army depots.”
“There are army depots in Montreal?” Marlene’s eyes widened, as though she’d never even given the matter any thought at all. She probably hadn’t at that.
“Well, there are several armouries, at the very least, and I’m assuming that any self-respecting military man or ex-military would fall back to those positions to regroup and arm themselves in order to form a proper response to the crisis. Wait for orders, that sort of thing.”
“Should we go there, then?”
James grimaced. “I don’t know. My experience with the Canadian army tells me they won’t welcome a group of untrained civilians. They might take us for zombies and shoot first rather than run the risk of infection. No checking to make sure we’re alive, or uninfected, first.”
Click-click-click. Marlene appeared to be turning thoughts over in her head. The scarf she was knitting seemed ridiculously long to James —at least six feet already. Who on earth needed a scarf that long?
“How long is that thing meant to be, anyway?” he blurted.
She looked up, surprised. “This? I don’t know. I just knit until it feels right. There’s no rule for how long scarves should be. This one’s almost done,” she said sadly. He didn’t reply, sensing that for some reason the topic was a sensitive one. Better not to say anything.
“I think we should talk to that Chuck guy,” he said finally, for lack of anything better to say. “He seems like he’s in charge here, and he probably has a better idea of how to get out of this mess than Michaela. She’s a good kid, but it’s not like she’s got the right kind of experience.”
Marlene looked up at him and wrinkled her nose in a slight expression of distaste. “If you think that’s advisable. She’s done a very good job under the circumstances. What do you mean by the ‘right kind’ of experience?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. Obviously Marlene liked the girl, and that was fine, but he for one wasn’t planning on following around a kid who hadn’t even been born when he was dodging bullets on a different continent. “Like I said, she’s a good kid, but she doesn’t have any real experience with this sort of thing, no matter how good she is at taking emergency phone calls.”
“And who would you suggest who would have ‘real experience’ with an invasion of flesh-eating undead things?” Marlene retorted archly.
James started at her tone. She’d seemed so mild-mannered before, it was hard to credit that she’d argue with him at all. “Uh, all I meant was that, you know, there are people better-equipped to handle this sort of thing. Like the army.”
“The army you said would shoot us first and ask questions later?”
He felt like a butterfly being stabbed through the thorax with a pin. He had to restrain himself from putting a hand behind him to check for cardboard. Where on earth had he gone wrong? A few minutes ago, this conversation had been going just fine, and now she was glaring at him with those beautiful blue eyes, and he found himself looking around for the nearest exit and stammering something that was somewhere between an explanation and an apology and a defense. Damn the woman, who did she think she was, to snipe at him as though he was somehow the enemy for expressing doubts about the ability to lead of a girl who was barely out of her teens?
Marlene’s expression softened after a moment. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Now he was even more uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve withstood worse.” He stood up quickly. “I think I’ll go, uh, check on the others. See if we can put together something for lunch that’s a little better than trail mix.”
“All right.” She nodded, then looked back down at the knitting in her lap.
He waited for a moment, hoping she’d tell him to stay. “All right, then. I’ll see you later.”
“Yes.”
James glanced at Marlene, whose knitting needles were clicking away industriously as she spoke, gazing up at him somewhat myopically through her red-rimmed spectacles. They were sitting in the back room on a beaten-up sofa, and he could feel every individual spring digging into his legs. He envied Kitty her nice soft pile of blankets and sleeping bags on the floor. Marlene had long since she’d her shabby grey coat, revealing a pretty powder-blue turtleneck sweater that brought out the colour in her eyes. He guessed she must be in her mid-forties, only a few years younger than he was, and suddenly wished he’d been wearing something other than a very worn shirt under his CBC jacket which was faded and too small. At least he’d left the CBC jacket far behind.
“Maybe. Why do you ask?”
Click-click-click. “I was wondering. My husband and I used to listen to your reports every time they came on the air. They were always so interesting, and you have a way of looking at things from new and unexpected angles. I would love to hear your perspective on this when it’s all over.”
He found himself growing unaccountably warm. Click-click-click. She wasn’t looking at him, and to his surprise he saw that her own face looked rather flushed. What on Earth? Was he flirting with a married woman in the middle of a disaster? He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and the springs in the sofa creaked and groaned beneath him.
“Uh, well, thank you. First I’d like to survive this whole ordeal, mind you. I’ll think about writing some sort of in-depth report after that. I’m not really sure what sort of light I could shed on the matter. I mean, I’m sort of caught in the thick of it, and I’ve always preferred to come at a story with a fair amount of perspective. I don’t know that I’d be able to contribute anything that hasn’t already been said.”
He was surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. A few years ago and he’d have been salivating at the prospect of a story like this one. Now, all he wanted to do was get out safely, and make it out along with the people he knew and counted among his friends and family. Getting some kind of exclusive coverage no longer seemed like the enviable opportunity he might once have thought it. He must be getting old. Time to retire, maybe, if he didn’t get eaten by zombies first.
Click-click-click. The sound was beginning to get on his nerves slightly, and he wished she’d put down the knitting. She held it demurely in her lap, forming a small and colourful but ultimately impenetrable barrier between them. Maybe it was best this way. This wasn’t the time or place for the kind of thoughts he was having, and besides, she wasn’t really his type: he’d never gone for the shy housewife kind.
“That’s too bad,” she was saying over her knitting needles, pausing in her rhythmic hand motions to do something mysterious on the left-hand needle. He seemed to recall that for more complex patterns knitters had to count their stitches. “You always had a great deal of insight into what you were reporting. It was refreshing to see reports that didn’t attempt to sensationalize, and which obviously had a lot of thought and preparation and research put into them. I was especially impressed by your reports on the genocide in Rwanda. I bought your book at the time,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Thank you. I’m glad someone read it,” he joked lamely. She nodded absently, and he groped for something else to say. “So, your husband... have you any news of where he might be?” he regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them. Just great, James, he thought, remind her of the fact that her husband is probably in mortal danger. Good job. So much for being the smooth reporter: put him in front of a middle-aged housewife and he became completely tongue-tied.
She paused to think about it. “Well, I suppose he’s my ex-husband, now,” she said, her tone as indecipherable as her expression. “I haven’t seen him in two days at least. We were in the process of separating,” she told him quite seriously.
He ignored the excited leap his heart gave. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, you needn’t be. I’m not. To be honest, I’m a lot more worried about my son. I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened in the past forty-eight hours, and I think it may already be too late for him.” She attacked her knitting with a vengeance. “When he came home the other night, I thought he’d just made a mistake with a girl, but looking back...” she drew a shuddering breath. “I think he was bitten by one of them.” She pressed her lips together tightly.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Marlene,” and this time he meant it. He put a hand out and patted her knee.
She nodded, and sniffed quietly. “Thank you.”
“Oh, here,” he fumbled in his pocket and produced a kleenex. “It’s crumpled, but it’s clean.”
She accepted it. “Thank you,” she repeated. “You’re very kind. I’m trying not to think about it just yet. I may be mistaken, but even if I’m not,” her voice trembled, “I can’t afford to fall apart just now. I’ll do that later, when it’s safe. That poor girl has enough problems on her hands without having to deal with my hysterics on top of it all.”
“You mean Michaela?”
Marlene nodded. “I don’t know how she did it. I don’t think I could have done what she’s doing at her age.”
James, who’d been out reporting on wars and since he was younger than Mickey, gave a noncommittal shrug. Still, credit where credit was due, he supposed. “She’s certainly risen to the occasion,” he agreed. “I expect her job made it easier for her than for many others to deal with this kind of crisis.”
“Do you suppose she has an idea for what we’re supposed to do after this? I don’t think we can really stay here indefinitely, do you?”
“No,” James agreed with her. “We’re going to have to find a place where we can effect a tactical retreat, to coin a military term. In the city we’re too exposed, too liable to be surrounded by the enemy. We should try to find people who are trained to deal with this sort of large-scale crisis: maybe one of the army depots.”
“There are army depots in Montreal?” Marlene’s eyes widened, as though she’d never even given the matter any thought at all. She probably hadn’t at that.
“Well, there are several armouries, at the very least, and I’m assuming that any self-respecting military man or ex-military would fall back to those positions to regroup and arm themselves in order to form a proper response to the crisis. Wait for orders, that sort of thing.”
“Should we go there, then?”
James grimaced. “I don’t know. My experience with the Canadian army tells me they won’t welcome a group of untrained civilians. They might take us for zombies and shoot first rather than run the risk of infection. No checking to make sure we’re alive, or uninfected, first.”
Click-click-click. Marlene appeared to be turning thoughts over in her head. The scarf she was knitting seemed ridiculously long to James —at least six feet already. Who on earth needed a scarf that long?
“How long is that thing meant to be, anyway?” he blurted.
She looked up, surprised. “This? I don’t know. I just knit until it feels right. There’s no rule for how long scarves should be. This one’s almost done,” she said sadly. He didn’t reply, sensing that for some reason the topic was a sensitive one. Better not to say anything.
“I think we should talk to that Chuck guy,” he said finally, for lack of anything better to say. “He seems like he’s in charge here, and he probably has a better idea of how to get out of this mess than Michaela. She’s a good kid, but it’s not like she’s got the right kind of experience.”
Marlene looked up at him and wrinkled her nose in a slight expression of distaste. “If you think that’s advisable. She’s done a very good job under the circumstances. What do you mean by the ‘right kind’ of experience?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. Obviously Marlene liked the girl, and that was fine, but he for one wasn’t planning on following around a kid who hadn’t even been born when he was dodging bullets on a different continent. “Like I said, she’s a good kid, but she doesn’t have any real experience with this sort of thing, no matter how good she is at taking emergency phone calls.”
“And who would you suggest who would have ‘real experience’ with an invasion of flesh-eating undead things?” Marlene retorted archly.
James started at her tone. She’d seemed so mild-mannered before, it was hard to credit that she’d argue with him at all. “Uh, all I meant was that, you know, there are people better-equipped to handle this sort of thing. Like the army.”
“The army you said would shoot us first and ask questions later?”
He felt like a butterfly being stabbed through the thorax with a pin. He had to restrain himself from putting a hand behind him to check for cardboard. Where on earth had he gone wrong? A few minutes ago, this conversation had been going just fine, and now she was glaring at him with those beautiful blue eyes, and he found himself looking around for the nearest exit and stammering something that was somewhere between an explanation and an apology and a defense. Damn the woman, who did she think she was, to snipe at him as though he was somehow the enemy for expressing doubts about the ability to lead of a girl who was barely out of her teens?
Marlene’s expression softened after a moment. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Now he was even more uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve withstood worse.” He stood up quickly. “I think I’ll go, uh, check on the others. See if we can put together something for lunch that’s a little better than trail mix.”
“All right.” She nodded, then looked back down at the knitting in her lap.
He waited for a moment, hoping she’d tell him to stay. “All right, then. I’ll see you later.”
“Yes.”
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Ouchies...
Date: 2006-11-28 04:33 pm (UTC)... Ouch...
That's not exactly what I had in mind...
Re: Ouchies...
Date: 2006-11-28 05:06 pm (UTC)