We avoided town after the initial invasion, as insisted by Aunt Brooke. This made sense, considering she was probably one of my most commie-fearing relatives and she wouldn't even be able to behave normally around people that even looked Russian and sometimes she was afraid of people for simply drinking vodka. Quite ironically, I'm pretty sure that I'm her favorite niece. That being beside the point, her and my Uncle Will had been converting the basement into a fallout shelter and the pantry was stocked with at least a month's worth of food. This was more than lucky, considering the guests that Andy had brought.
"I'm hungry," Maci cried, looking grumpy, her eyeliner smeared from sleeping in it. Just in case, we were only letting one person shower each day. We were drawing straws for the luxury, and she had gotten the shortest one. It was day three, which meant that Billy, Chelsea, and I had all had the opportunity. I was day two, immediately following Chelsea.
"We can't afford to waste the food," Andy hissed, the pistol sitting ready on his lap. His seemingly permanent position with a pillow between the wall and his shoulders, looking directly up the stairs from the floor, was starting to take a visible toll on him.
This statement was met with an exaggerated groan from Maci as she lazed on the couch. The diminished diet didn't seem to be taking any kind of physical toll on the girl's slender frame quite yet, though that fact had yet to stifle her incessant whining. "If eating the food is wasting it, then what the hell are we supposed to do with it? Are you planning to throw cans and boxes at the commies?"
"Oh, just shut up!" I snapped before Andy had a chance to reply to his excruciatingly ungrateful spoiled brat of a girlfriend. "You're lucky you're even here, with food to eat at all. Not satisfied with eating enough to live right here? Then leave."
Oh, how I'd love to rip her smug little face off. She may have been a bit taller than I was, but I could take her. She wasn't exactly athletic. Of course, her reply didn't help her case. Twirling French-tipped fingers through dark ringlets, she spat, "Why don't you just go join them?" Her thin lips then drew themselves up into a satisfied little smile. "I mean, hiding here has got to be compromising some area of your beliefs. Or are you just some rebellious little…what's the word…bourgeoisie in some kind of phase? Stop trying to be tough, little girl. Go up there and shake the comrades' hands."
If I was happy about anything at that moment, it's that Aunt Brooke and Chelsea were in the other room, where my aunt was finally trying to explain to her daughter exactly what was going on. That gave me the freedom to kick Maci's head hard against the wall with my boot in retaliation.
"Cool it, you two," Andy called from the lookout position, shifting his gaze to face us. "We can't afford to try and diagnose a concussion in this basement, Farrah. Nobody here is a nurse."
Being scolded by my cousin brought to Maci's throat a satisfied grunt and to her lips a satisfied smirk, quite the change from her stunned expression a moment before. It was enough to keep me going, however, that she continued to rub at the back of her head for a good half hour before putting her hand back down.
"At this rate, there's no way in hell that either of you is going to make it out alive without killing the other," Andy remarked as the two of us focused our eyes away from each other. "And no offense babe, but I've got my money on my baby cousin over there."
"Six months!" I reminded him, sticking my tongue out and brandishing a pillow as if I was about to throw it. "You're only older than me by six months!"
"Still counts!" Andy insisted, adjusting his wire frame glasses so that they didn't magnify quite as much of his freshly sprouted dark circles. He hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep since before we had all cooped ourselves up in this cramped basement, insisting on guarding the only entrance and exit.
Despite the situation, this argument was always one of our favorites. I was right. We were only six months apart in age, but he was a senior and I was a junior. He turned eighteen in May, I turned seventeen in November. Facts aside, he knew the term 'baby cousin' bothered me on some level and it was his way of friendly teasing.
"No," I insisted. "No way. Baby cousin is something that I would call Chelsea. It is not suited for conversations between you and I."
"So?" This activity, ignored by a snoozing Billy and scoffed at by an annoyed Maci, seemed to be putting Andy right back into his usual good spirits.
"Chelsea is barely nine," I pointed out. "I'm almost eight years older than she is. That would be the appropriate time to add 'baby' to 'cousin'. If my mom would have gotten knocked up a few months earlier, we would even be in the same grade!"
After a few moments of reflection, Andy laughed. It was even the hearty, good-spirited laugh that he would have use before all of this chaos. "I'm still calling you baby cousin."
"Fine," I mumbled, fake pouting and hiding my head away in my olive-colored jacket like usual. If I believed in God, I would have thanked him for my built-in pillow at this instance. Big boobs have so many uses.
After a few moments of this, a loud "hmph" was audible from the other end of the couch. This was followed by Maci standing up, straightening her black leggings, and marching into the bathroom with a sour look on her face. From peeking out of my little 'nest' amongst my own body, I could see her tanned feet and neon toes crossing the plain, navy blue carpet.
"She always like this?" I asked Andy, picking up my head when I heard the door slam shut. "You know, unpleasant."
After a few moments of Billy's half-conscious mumblings, Andy flashed me the finger and rolled his eyes. His liking of unpleasant company aside, I was enjoying spending excess amounts of time with my cousin. Unfortunately, I had to cherish the time I was getting then and there greatly. It was finite, with the end in clear view.
On that third night, it rained hard. Andy was, as always, propped up against the wall and he was nodding off. The thunder and raindrops kept me awake, along with the bright flashes of lightning that were visible to me through the frosted windows up near the ceiling. I watched quietly as my cousin drifted into a deep snooze and the gun slipped down between his legs. My mind preoccupied with a delightfully dirty 'sex pistol' pun that I was tempted to call out, I was caught off guard by a large, meaty hand forcing my face into my pillow.
Panicking loudly inside my head, I stayed dead quiet as I smelled the familiar tobacco-ridden breath and listened to the same forced southern accent. My breath was caught in my throat when I felt something cool and sharp press against the exposed back of my neck. "You say a single thing and I'll slice your neck up real good," my captor growled as he took me up into his arms before throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "And if you scream, I break your commie neck. Ya hear?"
After he carried me all the way up the steps and began fiddling with the locks, I managed to choke out, "W-what are you doing?" I was trying my best not to wake Andy or anyone. I really didn't like my odds this time around.
He chuckled darkly as the door swung open and he stepped through, not even bothering to shut the basement door before explaining, "See, this is what y'all call some good, old-fashioned patriotism." I didn't like the sound of this already.
I was almost sure of what was going to happen, but I couldn't bring myself to even think the word. I just trembled, hanging limply as he walked outside and into the puddle-ridden driveway.