by S. M. Shade
“Fine. After my hands heal, I’ll punch you in the face if it’ll make you feel better.” Jayla laughs with me. “Jayla, are you sure you want to do this? I can manage it.”
“It doesn’t bother me, and I can do a better job than you can with your hands wrapped up.”
The cuts on my hands are shallow, and Jayla cleans and coats them with antibiotic ointment before she bandages them.
“You were born to be a doctor, you know that?”
“I wanted to be a doctor.”
“You still can. We’ll get you all the medical books you can read.”
She smiles as she asks, “Are you ready?”
There are five small pellets just under the skin, a few inches apart. They aren’t deep, thank goodness, but they do have to be removed. We have a topical anesthetic we’re going to try. It should numb the area enough to get me through the excisions. Before it numbs, however, it burns like hell for about ten seconds.
“Do it.” I clench my teeth in anticipation, and she rubs the anesthetic up my arm, over the holes caused by the pellets and the shallow cuts they caused by grazing my arm on the way in. It’s agonizing. My arm is on fire. I instinctively try to jerk away, but she holds my arm down and Airen grabs my shoulders. She rubs some more up the other side where there are a few more spots, and I hiss.
“It really hurts,” I whimper, blinking back the tears building in my eyes.
Airen squeezes my shoulders and reassures me in a soft voice. “Hold on, it’ll pass.” He’s right, of course, and I’m embarrassed by my reaction.
“Let’s get started. We don’t want to have to do that again,” Jayla declares.
After the anesthetic, the actual removal isn’t that painful. Jayla takes the smallest scalpel we have, makes a tiny cut above each pellet and gently removes them. She applies the antibiotic ointment and uses adhesive butterfly closures to seal the wounds instead of a suture. My arm is then coated in antibiotic ointment and covered with a layer of gauze. It feels like overkill, but an infection is one of our worst fears, with no doctors to help.
“You’re an amazing, brave girl.” I hug her.
“Thank you. Now go lie down. You look like hell,” she replies.
I stretch out on the couch, and Carson brings me a soda and a sandwich.
“You haven’t eaten,” he says.
“Sit with me. I know you saw what was happening, and I’m so proud of the way you reacted.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he argues.
“You kept Jayla and yourself safe. You stayed calm and listened to Airen when he told you to wait here. You did exactly the right thing. I know I can count on you and that sure helps me sleep at night.” I hug him.
* * * *
I don’t know what I would have done without Jayla over the next couple of days. While my hands heal she takes over the cooking and cleaning. Fortunately, my palms heal quickly, and I’m able to cook Thanksgiving dinner with her help. The turkey is delicious. It’s the first time I’ve ever had one that wasn’t store bought. I also make homemade noodles, dressing, mashed potatoes, and a green bean casserole. Jayla makes an apple pie and a huge bowl of chocolate pudding. After dinner, we all lounge around the living room, too stuffed to move.
“Don’t we usually take turns saying what we are thankful for?” asks Carson.
“We used to do that at my house, too,” Jayla adds.
“Sure. Who wants to go first?” I smile even though this is the complete opposite of how I actually feel about the idea, and I see resignation on Airen’s face as well. We both do our best to hide it as if publicly sharing how we feel is a wonderful idea.
“You first,” Carson says.
I take a minute to look around the room at Jayla snuggled up with a blanket in the recliner, Carson lying by the fire, and Airen draped across the couch. It’s been such a short time that we’ve all been together; only five months since we met, but the experiences we’ve shared, the trauma, worries, and fear make it seem much longer.
“I’m thankful I have all of you. Jayla, I love you like my own daughter. Carson, you’re turning into a man right before my eyes, and I’m so proud of both of you.” I regard Airen shyly, and continue. “I’m thankful to have someone I can count on, even to rescue me from a smelly maniac.” A lovely smile blooms on his face as he nods almost imperceptibly. “I’m thankful to be alive.”
“Can I call you Mom?” Jayla blurts.
“Are you trying to make me cry?” I accuse her, laughing. Her thin arms wrap around my neck, and I pull her down to sit beside me.
“Airen says I can call him Dad. Carson can too, if he wants.”
Carson bites his lip and nods without looking up. Airen raises his eyebrows at me, silently questioning whether I approve of the idea. Airen wants to be his father. A lump forms in my throat for the second time in five minutes and I nod, flashing him a quick grin.
“I believe it’s your turn, Airen,” I chirp.
He looks uncomfortable as he clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I’m thankful I’ve found a new family. I’ve always wanted a son to go fishing with me,” he says to Carson. “Jayla, you amaze me every day, and I couldn’t love you more if you were my flesh and blood.” He looks around the room and announces, “I love all of you.” His eyes settle on mine for a moment before he looks away.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I immediately have to talk myself down. Just stop. Don’t even begin to believe he loves you. I can believe he cares about me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he does. You don’t risk your life to come and save someone you don’t care for at least a little. Still, I will not be so stupid as to believe anything more than that.
The kids go on to say they are thankful to have two parents again and to be safe. Carson wraps it up by professing his gratitude for peanut butter cups, which breaks the tension in the room and everyone laughs.
The next month drags by. The weather has turned cold, and it seems the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows will never cease. We spend most of our time indoors studying, reading, watching movies, and playing seemingly endless games of Monopoly. When Christmas comes, we have a big dinner, and the kids open presents we chose for them. Somehow, it’s not the same when they know they can walk into any store and get whatever they want, but we want to keep things as normal as possible.
Jayla helped me pick out a new fishing pole and tackle box for Airen. He exclaims over them and thanks me, though I know he has a dozen more. He surprises me with a beautiful deep blue robe with matching slippers. It’s incredibly soft and comfortable.
“I love them, thank you.”
“Check the pocket.” His lips curve in an adorable grin. I pull out a fat roll of one hundred dollar bills from inside and everyone laughs. It takes a while to get used to the fact money is now completely worthless.
“Lovely,” I remark dryly. “We can use them to start the fire.”
The night after Christmas I wake abruptly. Did I hear something? I open my bedroom door and listen hard. Just when I’m convinced I must’ve been dreaming, I hear a noise coming from Airen’s room.
I peek around his door, terrified I’ll see someone in his room, and it’ll be like the Mr. Disgusting incident all over again. It’s just Airen, and it looks like he’s having a nightmare. I quickly step in and close the door behind me so his shouting won’t wake the kids. Whew! The room reeks of whiskey. He must have been drinking before he went to bed.
“No!” he shouts again. I turn on the battery powered lantern by his bed. Dressed in dark sweats and a white t-shirt, he’s covered in sweat and tears run down his face, which is screwed up as if he’s witnessing something horrible. He probably is. “Please,” he moans, and my heart breaks for him.
“Airen. Airen, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.” When I shake his shoulder, he wakes in a panic, sitting up, wide-eyed and panting. “You’re okay,” I reassure him softly. “It was just a dream, Airen. Everything is okay.”
He finally re
cognizes me. “Abby,” he whispers and falls back onto the bed, an arm across his face, trying to get control.
“They die,” he moans as I sit beside him on the bed. “They die in my head over and over again. I can’t save them. I can never save them.” His voice cracks, and he wipes his eyes.
“Who can’t you save?”
“Mom, Dad, Samantha, everyone.” His chest hitches on a deep sigh.
“Oh, Airen, you know there was nothing you could do. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.”
“They died, and I lived.” His laugh is hollow, his eyes haunted. “I’ve always been the lucky one,” he whispers.
“I’m very glad you survived. I know you feel guilty, but I’m sure they wouldn’t want that for you. They would want you to live and be happy. You saved my life and probably Jayla’s as well. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t lived, Airen. You have to let it go.”
I put my hand on his, and he seizes it, a lifeline in the darkness. I can feel him trembling, trying to hold in those emotions he loathes to display, fighting not to expose his vulnerability so openly.
Impulsively, I climb into bed and put my arms around him. He buries his face in my chest and wraps his arms around my waist, holding onto me desperately. I’m in his bed, but there’s nothing sexual or exciting about it. We’re just two survivors clinging to each other to make it through the long night. We hold one another, and eventually his breathing becomes slow and even. He’s asleep.
I’m wide awake, however, and my brain just doesn’t want to rest. It must’ve been so hard for him and Jayla. They were alone until they found each other while I had Carson with me the entire time. My brain conjures up the image of them alone and scared, surrounded by bodies with no voice to break the silence in the middle of the night. It’s horrifying.
My gaze falls on Airen’s face, now slack and vulnerable in sleep. He doesn’t realize how amazing he is, or how far he has come. He grew up with money. He was a successful model and actor, and probably never so much as washed his own laundry. This disaster has to be so much harder on someone who is accustomed to comfort and stability. Yet, he has adapted so well. With the way he looks after Jayla and Carson, all the things he has learned to do, he doesn’t give himself enough credit.
I know I’m staring at him, but how often do I get to really look without him catching me? Oh, he is the definition of sexy. His pitch black hair is getting long, and I want to run my fingers through it so badly I almost dare. Afraid I’ll wake him, I resist the urge, but it’s difficult. My fingers gently rub his back, feeling the outline of the firm muscles through his shirt. He moans lightly and shifts his body, loosening his grip on me a little. When he scoots his head up to my shoulder, I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and it feels so good.
It occurs to me that I’m a terrible person. I’m supposed to be here to comfort him and make him feel safe the way he’s done for me. I’m not supposed to be turned on. It’s not just his attractive face and enticing body I’m lusting after now. I really care about him, too much if I’m going to be honest with myself. I have to be careful. I’ve never been so inexplicably drawn to a man. I’ll admit there are times when I just want to tear his clothes off and ride him until I can no longer walk, but it’s more than a simple sexual attraction. I feel like a different person when I’m near him. He has never uttered one hurtful word against me, nor looked at me in the disdainful way men tend to look at me. He’s good to me.
In my head, I scold myself. What am I doing? Am I such a glutton for punishment I’d fall for a guy so far out of my realm of possibilities? I can’t be that stupid. I can’t imagine any girl in existence could spend time with him and not fall head over heels in love. However, I’m a realist, and the plague may have brought us together in the same house, but it didn’t change my appearance. I promise myself no matter how I feel, I won’t show it. I won’t humiliate myself and embarrass him. We’ve built a family, and I don’t want to destroy that.
He’d surely run like hell if he thought for a second I want him the way I do. Some beautiful woman will come along, just like the ones he’s dated in the past. Someone who will hold him in the night and make him feel safe and happy. He deserves that, and I want it for him. I swear to myself I won’t be jealous.
Tonight though, he’s mine for a few more hours, and I’m going to let myself enjoy the feel of his warm firm body against mine. I have no intention of leaving him before the sun rises. I don’t want him to wake up alone in the dark again. His hand rests on my stomach, and when I cautiously slip my hand into his, he responds, tightening his fingers on mine. I doze in and out until it’s light outside, then carefully untangle myself from him and pull the cover up to his chest before slipping quietly back to my room and into my cold bed.
At breakfast, he apologizes for waking me in the middle of the night.
“Don’t be sorry. You had a nightmare. I can relate. Sometimes I hate to go to sleep because I never know who or what is going to haunt me. Even the good dreams are torture when you wake up and realize it’s all gone. They’re getting less and less though, and I’m sure yours will too.”
“Well, thanks for coming...and um...staying with me,” he mumbles. So he does remember. I thought he may have been too drunk or out of it to realize I’d spent the night with him.
“Anytime,” I reply and instantly regret it. Did it sound like I was too eager to get back into his bed? We’re saved from the rest of an awkward conversation by Jayla, who plops down at the table and pours a bowl of cereal.
Abraham
Finally, he leaves the house without her. I want to speak to him without the girl present. She’s sleeping when he comes outdoors with a lawn chair under his arm.
“Hello.” I nod at him. He’s understandably shocked at my abrupt appearance. “My name is Abraham.” I offer my hand and after a slight pause, he shakes it.
“I’m Cole.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cole. May I join you?”
“Uh…yeah...of course.” He offers me the chair and takes a seat on the step. “Are you alone?”
“Not anymore.” I grin. “God has led me to you and your friend.”
“God?”
“Of course. Everyone is dead, but for a select few of his chosen. Also, those he left behind who aren’t too far gone for us to save,” I explain.
“Which category do I fall into?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.
“You’re one of his chosen, Brother Cole. If I’m to be honest with you, however, I’m not certain about your friend Katie.”
His head jerks, and his eyes narrow as he studies me. “How do you know her name?”
“God told me. He sees far, Brother.”
“God talks to you?” he asks skeptically.
“Yes.”
“What does he say?”
“He told me I’d find you and other chosen people. We’ll join together to save the lost souls and lead them back to him.” He doesn’t seem convinced. “He also told me you’re a good man, that you read the bible and pray, and you’ve resisted the temptation he’s placed in your path.”
“What temptation?”
“Katie. You never took her to bed. You prayed to find people. You wanted to meet other survivors. You prayed for company, and God has answered your prayers. He sent me, and we’ll be joined by others as the Lord sees fit.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” He sighs and bows his head. “Katie’s a good person, too. I know she isn’t particularly religious, but she’s never had a chance. Her family wasn’t Christian.”
“Then perhaps she needs only to hear his word.”
“Would you like to stay and have dinner with us? It’s not much, but it’s hard to get good meals together.”
“We’ll be eating far better soon for God will provide. I’d be delighted to stay. We have much to discuss. There’s so much work to be done.”
Troy
I hear his rifle fire a split second after mine.
“I sa
id I had it!” I huff as the buck falls to the ground.
“And you missed. Face it, man, you’re a lousy shot.”
“Yeah, well, you fart all night in your sleep,” I grumble.
“Stop watching me sleep. I’ve told you that you aren’t my type.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, buddy. I hear you from three rooms away. Besides, I like my guys a little thinner around the middle.”
“Just help me string him up,” Micah gripes.
I never get used to this part and I turn my head as the deer’s guts plop onto the ground in a steaming pile.
“Why don’t you go start the gennie and fix us some supper?” he suggests, letting me off the hook. He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I stoke up the fire in the fireplace of the small house we share. It’s not enough to heat the entire place. We have two generators to power the electric heaters in the bedrooms, plus a microwave and an electric stove we nearly broke our backs procuring. Three large coolers sit on the back porch. It’s cold enough outside to keep our meat fresh.
Micah’s a big guy. He’s over six feet tall with wide shoulders and tree trunks for legs. I’m not exactly small, but he could break me in half if he had the inclination. Fortunately, he’s a nice guy, and we get along for the most part, though we live to give each other shit. For example, last month Micah darted into the house, cursing a blue streak because there was a snake in the yard. I expected to kill a huge cottonmouth or even a rattler from his exaggerated response. When I came in laughing and carrying the eighteen inch long harmless garden snake, he found a few more creative curse words to hurl at me.
It tickles me that such a large guy is so terrified of not just snakes, but most bugs and reptiles. When we camp, I have no problem sleeping rough. Just give me a blanket to wrap around me and a fire, but Micah insists on a tent and an air mattress. The world may end if a spider crawls on him. He screws with me about my lack of hunting skills, and he’s right. I can’t shoot for shit, and I hate cleaning and butchering the animals. The first time he skinned a deer, I puked. Don’t think for a second I’ll ever hear the end of that.
