Together, we practically pounced. There were smiles and moans all around as we crunched and laughed and licked the oil from our palms and fingers. Except Tater, who ignored his pile and stared off at the mountains.
“Eat,” I whispered, nudging him.
“I don’t want—”
“Damn it, Tater,” I hissed. “Eat the stupid chips!”
“I don’t want them!” His shout caused everyone to stop and turn. Again, his jaw set and he glared around at our group. Then he stomped to the car and got in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut.
“So . . .” Mark said. “Does this mean he doesn’t want his chips?”
“Have them,” I said. Each of the guys happily grabbed one from Tater’s pile, and it hurt my heart to see his portion dwindle away until not a crumb was left on the hood of our car. We passed around a water bottle until everyone had had a few gulps. I took the last of it to the driver’s side and opened the door.
“Drink this, or so help me.” He snatched it from my hand and tipped it back. I heard his stomach give a massive growl, and I fought a rush of tears.
“Tater,” I whispered.
“I’m fine.” But he wouldn’t look at me. “Just ready to be there.” When he reached for the door handle, I let him close it.
“Hey,” I heard Josh say to the group. “If they abandoned this car ‘cause of the tire, I bet it still has gas.” He walked to the van and began pulling things out.
I didn’t know anything about siphoning gas, so it was fascinating to see Josh work. He stuck a long hose down into the abandoned car’s tank, then pushed a short black tube in next to it. He put the other end of the long hose into a red gas canister on the ground. He blew hard into the short tube, and we all cheered a second later as gas began to flow through the long one. It seemed to go on forever, which made me giddy. Between the chips, water, and gasoline, everyone was cheering, clapping each other on the backs.
When I saw a rare grin grace Rylen’s face, I threw my arms around his shoulders in a spontaneous hug. The second he stiffened, I became self-conscious and nearly backed off. But then I felt his arms slip around my waist, his hands splayed across my back. He pulled me to him and everything was right in that moment when the side of his face pressed into my neck.
“Let’s fill up and get the hell outta here,” Tex said.
I exhaled and let my arms fall to my sides as Rylen did the same. He moved away without looking at me. Remy was watching, biting her lower lip. She gave me a small, sad smile. Even moments of happiness were fleeting and awkward, dripping with guilt and loss.
If I had my cell phone I would have texted Remy: FML. It felt like ages ago that we had technology, when it’d really only been a month. I let Remy pull me by the fingertips back into the car. We were silent as a beautifulgluggingsound came from the gas tank.
“What do you think the date is?” I asked.
Remy shook her head. She opened her door and called out to the nearest guy, Officer Sean. “Do any of you know the date?”
He looked down at his watch and his eyes widened. “Damn. It’s December twenty-sixth.”
Remy gasped and it felt like I’d belly flopped hard into a pool, like my skin was stinging and the breath had been knocked out of me.
They’d killed our family on Christmas.
Rylen walked over, crossing his arms as he examined our faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Christmas was yesterday.” I struggled to get the words out. He blinked and his eyes narrowed, as if what he’d heard couldn’t possibly be true. The fact that a day so important in our old lives, an event we counted down for and focused so much of our energy on, could bypass us without a blip in any of our minds was so shocking I felt literally spooked. And to have something so wretched happen on that joyous date.
Remy pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. It felt as if the universe had turned on us. And how had we lost track of time? Holidays—those special moments with loved ones were the essence of who we were—we couldn’t lose that.
“What?” Tater was there now, and Rylen mumbled something to him.
Tater’s hand went into his curly, unruly hair and he grimaced. The look of loss on his face struck me like a blow as he met my eyes. Our Christmas traditions. Our family. It’s like we expected all of that to be put on hold while we figured out the mess of the world, and then we could go back to being normal. But things would never be normal again. We would never have a family Christmas again. No more American-Mexican hodgepodge of stuffing a turkey and rolling tamales. Sugar cookies and flan.
But would we ever celebrate again? Or would Christmas forever become the day of the bomb? If it hadn’t been clear before, it certainly was now. Our enemy did not cherish the things we cherished. They were not like us. And they clearly wanted to strip us of everything we held dear.
“They’ve taken everything,” Remy whispered.
“Not everything,” I told her. “We won’t let them.”
