One week later
Megan raised the plastic cup to her mouth and took a sip. She coughed as a stream of lukewarm water went down the wrong pipe. Ouch. She winced and touched a hand to her chest. Her ribs ached. No. Throbbed. Not as bad as yesterday, thankfully, but not much better.
The doctor had said it would be several weeks before the pain went away, weeks until she healed, weeks until she would feel normal again. Whatever that is.
She balanced the cup on her knee and stole a glance at Jack. He sat slowly flipping through one of Cesar’s notebooks in a leather recliner beside the bed. He murmured to himself, lost in his own bubble of concentration, oblivious to her gaze. Megan took another sip, taking care not to choke this time. A child laughed somewhere outside, and she smiled.
Despite her attempts at learning Jack’s story, he somehow managed to always turn the conversation away from himself and back to her, to the community. Something terrible had happened to him, she now realized, something so traumatic it had burned away his capacity for intimacy and left behind a hard, pragmatic core with no capacity for love.
He would heal eventually, she knew. She hoped. In the meantime, she would wait. Still, it pained her to watch him, so strong, yet so distant, trapped inside himself, struggling to exist in a world not of his making. Gone was the shame she had felt the morning before Pringle’s attack. Now, when she gazed into Jack’s eyes, something she did as often as possible, she was overcome with a sense of calm and strength more powerful than any drug. She was afraid she was falling in love. And the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Humanity hung by its fingertips, feet dangling over the precipice of extinction, yet here she was, thinking about this man who had been thrust into her life, dreaming of a future with him despite the staggering odds stacked against them both.
The undead were only a symptom, she had finally realized, a symptom of a broken society that would rather battle each other to the death than compromise for the greater good. It disgusted her.
Megan tried to recall the population of the United States before the collapse. A few hundred million? Maybe more? How many are left now? A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she shook her head in sorrow. It doesn’t matter now. It’s all gone...
Megan could handle the undead. As long as they were careful and avoided drawing any swarms to the community, they would survive. But to be challenged by another group of people? That was beyond belief. It violated everything she had ever believed about humanity. In their time of greatest need, it was inconceivable that they would fight amongst themselves, severing the tenuous thread of humanity that connected them all. It was all they had left.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to push the thoughts aside, to focus on her immediate needs, to trust that everything would work out in the end. It was no use. Her heart pounded in her chest. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. It’s time.
She unfolded her legs and slid to the edge of the bed. Sensing her movement, Jack looked up.
Megan held out her hand. “Could you help me up? It’s time.”
He leaped from his chair, put her arm around his shoulder and gently lifted her to her feet.
“Are you sure?”
Megan leaned her head against his neck, feeling the whiskers of his beard brush against her face. “I’m ready...”
Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. His acceptance was unconditional. Arm in arm, they shuffled down the hall and out the door onto the porch. The courtyard was full. It was early, but already hot. People milled about, sticking to the shadows, dodging the late-morning sun.
She slipped from Jack’s grasp and patted his shoulder. “I can do this.”
“Okay.” He stayed close, shadowing her in case her strength faltered.
In halting steps, Megan shuffled to the railing, gripping the warm tubular steel with both hands for support. She steadied herself, her knuckles blanching with the effort. Cords of muscle stood out on her forearms. She stood there for a moment, surveying the community, taking in the mundane bustle of people going about their daily lives.
Across the courtyard a young man noticed her. He stopped. The roll of barbed wire he carried tumbled forgotten to his feet. He called out to a cluster of nearby women and pointed in Megan’s direction. Her stomach flip-flopped with anticipation.
Word spread quickly, and within a few minutes, the entire community stood before her. An excited murmur raced through the crowd. People smiled, raising their children on their shoulders and trying to get as close as possible.
Jack’s hand brushed her elbow. He whispered, “They need you…”
Megan scanned the crowd; her eyes slid from face to face until they became one. A hush descended. Feet shuffled on asphalt. Gravel crunched underfoot. Biting back her pain, Megan stood as straight as she could. She cleared her throat.
Then, with a final glance over her shoulder at Jack, she began to lay out her plan to reclaim humanity.
About the Author
William Esmont lives in Southern Arizona with his wife and their three dogs and one cat. Fire is his third novel. He is currently working on the sequel to his espionage thriller, The Patriot Paradox, and sketching out both the sequel and prequel to Fire.
If you enjoyed this story, please take a moment to leave a positive review. Good reviews help sell stories, which in return allows William to work less and write more.
If you’d like to contact William, you can reach him thorough the following channels:
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.WilliamEsmont.com
Twitter: @WilliamEsmont
Facebook: tinyurl.com/WilliamEsmont-Facebook
Fire: The Collapse Page 37
