Population Control

Camille IV

Parea – a stage for the development of friendships and growth of the human spirit

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We were all together again. Sounds like the end of a teen novel, that we all met up either a few hours, months, years later. It had been hours.

Mr and Mrs Jones were delightful and so welcoming. Closing the blinds and curtains, locking the door after we entered, everyone sat in the living room. A weighty silence cascaded from above. "What do we do now?" Asked Jason, slumped and defeated alone sitting by the window. Dylan and I were resting on a wall, sitting on the floor. Matthew, Sam and his parents sat on the actual seats.

"Someone will find us." Mr Jones said, squeezing his wife's knee. "The police, helicopters will be looking."

"How will they know we're here?" Asked Sam.

The rest of the conversation fell on my deaf ears because a vibration took away my attention. Looking at my phone, it read 'Dad 🤡'. Vibrating once, twice, thrice, before I got up and left.

"Dad? Dad, is that you?" I rushed, covering my left ear so I wouldn't hear anything else.

"Camille, thank god." He sighed, taking in heavy breaths afterwards.

"Where are you? Are you safe?" He rushed, speaking closer to the mic than he would have normally. Normally, we don't call.

"I'm okay, and yeah, I'm safe. What about you and Noah?"

There's a pause longer than the Nile. "I'm okay now: got out the house through the backdoor, managed to get in the car and drive away." Wind rustled, "I'm on the roof of some shop right now, there are a few others."

"What about Noah?" I bit. He didn't mention my brother at all, how and why did he not mention him?

"He didn't-" static, "school-"

"What?" I pushed the phone closer to my ear. "Dad, you're breaking up."

"Noah-"

"Dad?"

"Dead-" The signal dropped off, and I dropped my phone. Collapsing to the floor in a heap of limbs and tears, there was another hole carved into my heart, right next to the other two. A huge gap so big a fist could easily fit through.

I remember feeling everything crumble around me, remember that I wailed and sobbed, that there was a set of arms around me when I was blubbering on the floor. My little brother, only seven years old. With cute curly hair and young, adventurous eyes. His energy, enthusiasm and all-round utter joy for everything. Anya, mom, Noah.

When I blinked my eyes open from darkness these previous memories flashed through my blurring mind. Like it was a recap reel from the end of a dramatic, melancholic last episode.

A soft hand was stroking through my hair, somewhat soothing the numbness I felt. It was like an air of nothing swallowed me whole. "Hey, welcome back." Dylan softly whispered, continuing to stroke my hair. I sighed, leaning back into his ministrations. A blanket was over me, so I pulled it up to my chin, wanting to go under it and never come out. "You went a bit crazy, Cam." He whispered, "I was worried for a sec." This wasn't him fishing for an apology, it was just him being honest.

"Do you want to... talk about it?" He asked and I knew I should. I sat and explained to him what I heard and what happened to my mom. Patiently, he sat and just listened, not touching me but keeping a small distance so that he could squeeze my shoulder if I needed it.

When Dylan left me to my own devices, Matthew came in, cradling a steaming cup of hot chocolate with him. I sat up cross legged on the bed, shuffling back slightly. "Thanks." I whispered when he handed me the drink. Planting himself on the bed, he didn't let his feet touch the quilt until his shoes were off. He didn't really ask me much, but he did start to tell me what happened to his mom, and, subsequently, his dad. Although it wasn't something to smile about, he sent a small one my way.