Elliott watched despondently as Higgins walked away to find Shavian. He wanted to go with the cop, not because he didn’t trust him of course but because he wanted to know sooner rather than later that Shavian was okay.
Dr. Irons sounded like bad news. McNabb hadn’t come right out and said it, but he didn’t care much for the doctor. It was clear in his tone. And while Elliott in turn didn’t care much for McNabb, the general wasn’t a black hat: Elliott was inclined to follow his lead on whom to trust on this base. It didn’t change a feeling of helplessness Elliott couldn’t shake. He wanted his band of friends to be together again, but he couldn’t seem to keep them all in one place for longer than a few hours. The world had gone mad, and despite all reason these people were the only sanity he had left.
Not only that, but he was beginning to realize he’d been obsessed with Shavian all this time. It felt like love but it hadn’t been; he knew that now because his feelings were changing and he had a good basis of comparison now. He sighed. He couldn’t afford to give the thought the time it deserved. He needed to keep his head in the game…
The mess hall sounded like a room of people charged with a terrible task and trying in vain to forget it. Laughter rang all around but there was desperation to it, like if they did it loud enough it would become genuine. It never did. They could pretend the ugly new world was only on the other side of these walls but with all they’d seen in the last few days, they had all secretly carried it with them when they came through the gates.
Fipps was listening to some story Junie was telling, and he looked like a man dying of dehydration staring at an oasis: Junie was not oblivious to their plight but she was capable of forgetting it for a few minutes. In fact, she was beginning to attract a crowd. A few soldiers were standing behind Fipps with their backs to the group but looking over their shoulders and smiling. Eventually they all turned around to listen.
“So we were standing there on that little patch of sand, with the tide rising all around us. Esther didn’t want to get her shoes wet but she was having a hell of a time getting them off with that huge sombrero on her head!” she was saying. Elliott couldn’t help smiling and wishing he’d been paying attention to the rest of the story. To his right, Aubrey and Roger had their heads together, talking quietly.
“And I’ll bet that bowl of cereal she was holding wasn’t helping either!” one of the soldiers added.
“Not at all! And none of us would hold it for her either. No one wanted to get close enough.”
“I wouldn’t either,” someone else piped in. Junie laughed, and it was the first laughter in the hall that didn’t carry that pall of gloom. More people turned and wandered in their direction, seemingly against their will. They were drawn in.
Elliott was enjoying the story even though he’d missed the first few minutes of it, but he didn’t think they should be drawing this much attention to themselves. He reached over to tap Junie on the shoulder but to his surprise, Roger’s beefy hand rested a moment on his arm and he drew back.
“I don’t like bein’ here any more than you, my boy, but look around,” the Scot said. Elliott did, and saw that the soldiers were all smiling, laughing and sharing in Junie’s story. They looked truly happy now. “We got McNabb on our side for now. It won’t harm nothing. Let them enjoy themselves.”
Elliott quirked an eyebrow at his no-nonsense, brash, occasionally violent friend. He shrugged, and then Aubrey leaned over and whispered loudly, “He’s just repeating what I said to make me happy. He wanted to break some bottles over people’s head to start a fight. He said they needed to blow off some steam.” Elliott looked at Roger, aghast.
“What?” Roger demanded. “It’s my coping mechanism.” When both Elliott and Aubrey looked at him like he was insane he added, “I’m Scottish.”