“I mean, at minimum, it’s sacred data.” Elouise lifted a brow at Dune and moved in closer to the east side. Dune saw the moment Elouise noticed the mold. It didn’t look like the artificial squares of grass. It looked fungal and buoyant, and it was all over the model, not universal, not chaotic, but in every neighborhood with territorial precision. Dune could not think of any explanation for it, or for why she’d given up trying to wipe it away. Elouise looked up from the mold and directly at Dune with intensity then, as if seeing her nibbling for the first time. Dune held her auntie’s gaze, explanations and mysteries piling up in her throat.

Eventually Elouise spoke. “There are others surviving, gathering data. Different. But I’ll have to connect you, these are streams that need to be flowing together.”

“What kind of data have they been gathering?”

“Information on the living. Skills. Tracking who’s here,” Elouise spun her hand around the model. Dune felt disappointed for a moment—data on the living wouldn’t help. The disappointment passed, though. She would share what she had. Who knew, maybe new eyes would see the pattern she was missing.

“How have you been living, Dune?” Elouise looked straight at her again. Dune had become quite proficient at foraging in the gardens people had left behind. She was good at shopping in the homes too, but she didn’t want to say this to Elouise, it felt dishonest somehow.

“Canning things.” She showed Elouise her storage of soups, stews, jams and sauces. She wanted to impress her auntie, she’d had no one to make proud in quite a while. Elouise had simple questions and they returned to the mundane with ease as they ambled up the stairs to see Mama Vivian.

After Elouise left, Dune went back to sit with her grandmother. The song slipped straight from Dune’s memory to her throat. Kama had created songs for Dune, her own special songs. Dune knew that she had been held and sung to, and if the memories weren’t precise it was ok. These sounds came through and she welcomed them.

Sleep now baby

Baby baby girl

You are the only dream I had

You are the night time hours

Oh sleep now

Hush with all that crying

Mama’s got the sweetest kisses

Mama’s got the honey baby

Mama Vivian loved lullabies almost as much as she loved gospel.

chapter nineteen: Grin, Grimace

The next morning Dune changed Mama Vivian, rolling up the soiled diaper and gauze cloth she was using to manage her grandmother’s scant waste, putting it in a lawn size trash bag she was now keeping in the hall. She had her systems down, she felt no revulsion at her grandmother’s papery fragile body, the baby shit and yellow stain. It was all tender life.