Briten might have died for this. Now comes the hard part, the part Chilras couldn't handle. The part the whole Council couldn't handle. You have to handle it alone. You have to be willing to make sure this Bynum lives, no matter what. That all his brethren live. No matter what.
She would need to name him.
What would this first Bynum be named? What would be fitting?
But the answer was clear, and needed no argument from any piece of her. She would name her first child after her husband. Briten.
----
W ren Hems was doing the same thing that much of the rest of the world was doing. He held a remote and his eyes focused on the television in front of him. This television resided in Tennessee, but that didn't matter. Wren didn't think it mattered where you were anymore. As long as you weren't in Georgia, you were most likely doing the same thing as everyone else. At least in America. You were watching the news, trying to understand how bad the situation was in Georgia.
That little bit actually separated Wren from the rest. He didn't need to understand anything; he heard the words on the television and knew they were all complete bullshit. Speculation of a nuclear meltdown in Savannah—but the President was supposed to speak on it this morning, to give everyone some clarity on the subject. Wren didn't need to be a political genius to understand the talking points were already disseminated to the networks; all of them said the same things.
The group had bought two motel rooms at some local mom and pop place. They paid cash and in the night moved Michael's sleeping body into Wren's room. They all huddled in his room now, waiting for the sun to come up, waiting for sleep to mercifully take them away, waiting for Michael to wake up, waiting for this to be over. They all waited for something, though none of them spoke about it. Only the television ruled over their silence, a small thing that looked like it had been bought in the nineties.
"They're lying," Rita said. "Just blatantly lying to everyone."
She had announced this fact three times already. Wren didn't respond, and neither did anyone else. He didn't know what to say, and truly didn't know why it amazed her so much.
He did look over at her for a second. She showered when they first arrived, in her and Glen's room, so she looked a lot better than when they found her. The bruises had faded some, for both her and Julie. Wren hadn't thought much about other people over the past decade. Instead, he sat in his trailer and thought about how he would love to be like Rita and Glenn. Love to be married and live in a normal house without a huge ape wrestling him to the ground every single day.
And now he looked at her, and wondered what in the hell he had been thinking.
This woman… was an idiot. He didn't know any other way to say it, and truly, he didn't like saying it. Glen was okay. He had lost a lot of the strength that pulled them through back in Grayson, but he held up long enough to find Michael and his own son. Rita? Wren's goddamn son was still unconscious, and if Wren were to pull his eyes open, he would see nothing but white orbs looking back at him. Yet she was concerned about the lies on the television, as if that affected any of them at all. The pretty woman sitting behind the desk and reading a teleprompter could say whatever the fuck she wanted; it wouldn’t bring Michael back. It wouldn’t bring Rita's son back either, who might be just a shade more here than Wren's.
Is that fair? Linda said.
Probably not. The woman, as well as the rest of them, had been through a tragedy none ever expected to experience, all in the course of a few days, but Wren wasn't sitting here concerned with the bimbo on the television. He was holding it together.
Your hatred of her isn't going to bring Michael back to you, either , Linda said.
And that shut him up.
"I think we should call the police," Rita said.
Wren's eyes widened, still looking at her.
"Do what?" he
She would need to name him.
What would this first Bynum be named? What would be fitting?
But the answer was clear, and needed no argument from any piece of her. She would name her first child after her husband. Briten.
----
W ren Hems was doing the same thing that much of the rest of the world was doing. He held a remote and his eyes focused on the television in front of him. This television resided in Tennessee, but that didn't matter. Wren didn't think it mattered where you were anymore. As long as you weren't in Georgia, you were most likely doing the same thing as everyone else. At least in America. You were watching the news, trying to understand how bad the situation was in Georgia.
That little bit actually separated Wren from the rest. He didn't need to understand anything; he heard the words on the television and knew they were all complete bullshit. Speculation of a nuclear meltdown in Savannah—but the President was supposed to speak on it this morning, to give everyone some clarity on the subject. Wren didn't need to be a political genius to understand the talking points were already disseminated to the networks; all of them said the same things.
The group had bought two motel rooms at some local mom and pop place. They paid cash and in the night moved Michael's sleeping body into Wren's room. They all huddled in his room now, waiting for the sun to come up, waiting for sleep to mercifully take them away, waiting for Michael to wake up, waiting for this to be over. They all waited for something, though none of them spoke about it. Only the television ruled over their silence, a small thing that looked like it had been bought in the nineties.
"They're lying," Rita said. "Just blatantly lying to everyone."
She had announced this fact three times already. Wren didn't respond, and neither did anyone else. He didn't know what to say, and truly didn't know why it amazed her so much.
He did look over at her for a second. She showered when they first arrived, in her and Glen's room, so she looked a lot better than when they found her. The bruises had faded some, for both her and Julie. Wren hadn't thought much about other people over the past decade. Instead, he sat in his trailer and thought about how he would love to be like Rita and Glenn. Love to be married and live in a normal house without a huge ape wrestling him to the ground every single day.
And now he looked at her, and wondered what in the hell he had been thinking.
This woman… was an idiot. He didn't know any other way to say it, and truly, he didn't like saying it. Glen was okay. He had lost a lot of the strength that pulled them through back in Grayson, but he held up long enough to find Michael and his own son. Rita? Wren's goddamn son was still unconscious, and if Wren were to pull his eyes open, he would see nothing but white orbs looking back at him. Yet she was concerned about the lies on the television, as if that affected any of them at all. The pretty woman sitting behind the desk and reading a teleprompter could say whatever the fuck she wanted; it wouldn’t bring Michael back. It wouldn’t bring Rita's son back either, who might be just a shade more here than Wren's.
Is that fair? Linda said.
Probably not. The woman, as well as the rest of them, had been through a tragedy none ever expected to experience, all in the course of a few days, but Wren wasn't sitting here concerned with the bimbo on the television. He was holding it together.
Your hatred of her isn't going to bring Michael back to you, either , Linda said.
And that shut him up.
"I think we should call the police," Rita said.
Wren's eyes widened, still looking at her.
"Do what?" he
Similar Books
