Five Survive

by Holly Jackson

Maybe Maddy had learned to read her mind in all that time, more than seventeen years. Red really hoped not. There were things in there no one else could ever see. No one. Not even Maddy.

Simon had always been able to get away with anything, he was too funny, too quick with it. You couldn’t stay mad at him.

What was that like, to be in love? She couldn’t imagine it; that was why she watched them sometimes, learning by example.

Red looked at her hand. And it felt stupid to admit it to herself, but the sight of that little check mark did change something in her. Small, minuscule, a tiny firework bursting in her head, but it felt good.

The blue dot was them, the six of them and all thirty-one feet of RV. Thank god it wasn’t a red dot. Blue was safer.

“Seems a shame,” Oliver went on. “You had so much potential.” And there it was. The line that ripped her open. She’d lost count of the number of times it had been said to her, but there was only one that truly mattered. Red was thirteen and Mom was alive, screaming at each other across the kitchen, back when it used to be warm.

It seemed almost a waste, that a smile that nice was meant for Oliver.

There was no world anymore, only this RV and the six of them, and whatever the dark brought them.

The darkness held its breath, listening as they made their plans. Then the wind let go, dancing through Red’s hair, and the grass chattered and the trees whispered, and Red wondered what it was they were saying to each other.

Red wasn’t any help, was she? Standing here looking at the moon.

Arthur smiled, somehow staying with her. That was rare. Red lost most people at least a few times a day, sometimes a few times per conversation.

Always you and me with them, since before they could walk and talk and think.

Maddy wasn’t just her best friend, Maddy was family.

Pretending was half the game, and she should know. Her life depended on it.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, moving on to the next side, his hand accidentally brushing past hers. A tiny firework in her head. What a stupid little fucking firework.

Red took Maddy’s hand again, gave it a squeeze. Not quite an it’ll be okay anymore, but an I’m here too.

“If I want to die drunk, then I’ll die drunk, thank you and good night.”

“What’s wrong, Red?” Arthur had been watching her, he must have read it in her eyes.

Red pretended it was a surveillance mission and they took notes. Laughing. The kind of laugh that hurt during and after.

“Want to know a secret?” Arthur said, his voice dipping into whispers, eyes flashing from behind his glasses. “I think you’re smarter.”

She was just Red. Just Red and Just Arthur, and they should probably just stay that way, because she didn’t know how to be somebody’s someone.

That won’t slide easily, Red thought. “That won’t slide easily,” Arthur said.

That was when Red knew for certain that she and Oliver Lavoy did not live in the same world. She could never hear a helicopter and think it was sent for her. No one loved her enough for that.

Hers, her responsibility, keeper of the voice.

“You’re taking this too far,” Arthur said, shaking his head, taking a step in front of Red, almost like he was blocking her from Oliver. A barricade.

The RV wasn’t safety, but Maddy Lavoy was.

She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. And, oh god, she’d know it was coming, just like her mom did, lifetimes of regret and guilt and anger and hate in those last few seconds of life. No one’s world would fall apart without her, though, at least that was one good thing.

Was that fair? Maybe Red’s understanding of it was skewed, because it didn’t seem fair at all, her life in the hands of five other people. But when had life ever been fair to her, why should death be any different?

Arthur’s hand gripped around hers, scribbled checkboxes on his skin to match the ones on hers. Checked and unchecked. Things left undone and unsaid.

Arthur caught her eye across the way. He lifted his chin up, blinking slowly at her, his hands clasped together in front of him, squeezing, like it was her hand he was holding.

Red closed her eyes. What thoughts should be her last? The same as her Mom’s?

Arthur drew Red’s head back, brushing the wayward hair out of her eyes, and the dirt and the grit. “You’re okay.” His words against the back of her head, warm and spreading. One hand against her forehead. “You’re okay.”

One sniper. One gun. One red dot. And one liar.

Six of them in this RV, and at least five of them were liars, including Red.

He’d lied to her, he was a liar, but so was Red.

And here it was, the proof that she’d been wrong all these years. Red knew it was coming, just like Mom must have done, on her knees against the concrete, Red on her back against the road. But it wasn’t hate she felt, or regret, or guilt, or blame. They didn’t exist anymore, not here in this place, flickering in and out. She wasn’t thinking about last words, she was thinking about all the words, all the memories. It was love; thorny and complicated and sad and happy. But it was a red feeling too.

Red blinked away a tear, smiling up at the wide-open nothing of the sky. Time must move backward here in this in-between place, reversing, because the night was coming back, darkness reclaiming the sky, taking Red with it. But Mom stayed with her, right here in her hand, at the end of all things. Mom stayed, and so did the stars.

I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to protect you. I’m sorry I never got to tell you. I’m sorry I never kissed you.

I’m sorry I ran, I should have stayed and held your hand. It should have ended with you and me.

😭😭 oh my god

I do spend a lot of time outside, though, if I’m looking for silver linings. And you’re alive, that’s the biggest one of all. That’s all I ever wanted, for you to live through this.

I guess none of us—the five that survived—will ever be the same after that long night.

You are amazing. I’m not sure enough people have ever told you that, and I’m sorry about that too. You can do anything you want, be anything you want, and whatever road you go down, Red, I know your mom would be so proud of you.

But I’ll be there, I promise. Will you?