Along the Winding Road

by Marlee Pagels

  She chuckled. “Calm down, it’s not the million-dollar question.”

  “R-right. Um…” He tugged at his collar. On the second pull, the top button went flying off with a pop. The off-white circle shone in the candlelight for a moment before it fell somewhere on the tarp with a faint tap. Too panicked to know what he was doing, Arthur found himself on his knees, his hands thumping over the crinkling surface, feeling for the button. Chomping on another piece of grapefruit, Charlotte tried to laugh as she pulled her feet out of the way. He finally managed to slow his pursuit and sat up, his cheeks a shade of red worthy of a pomegranate.

  “I think Dalton might need some help,” he choked out, not looking at Charlotte as he hopped to his feet and ran off.

  “Arthur—” she started, but he was already gone. Sighing, she chewed up her last slice of grapefruit and got to her feet.

  Dalton did seem to be having a bit of trouble with a trio of infecteds, but Arthur wasn’t shooting any down. Instead of drawing arrows, he hid behind a tree by the side of the road.

  Firing on one of the infecteds, Charlotte made sure Dalton could handle the rest before she hurried over to Arthur.

  “Arthur?” She called his name again but had to shake his shoulder before he turned around. The dim light of the moon made the bark-shaped dents on his forehead look even stranger.

  “What?” he snapped, voice breaking.

  She dragged him by the elbow back towards the road. “Just seeing if you’re okay.”

  “I could be much better, thanks,” he muttered, stumbling over a clump of weeds.

  She stuck out her other arm to keep him from falling. “What is it? Just stressed out?”

  He mumbled something and stomped back over to the tarp. “You can have the rest of my grapefruit.” He stacked up the larger, empty plates and put them in one corner.

  “That’s okay,” she started. “I had plenty; go ahead.”

  He dug up the candlesticks. “I’m not hungry.”

  She folded her arms. “Really? We’ve been walking all day, and you didn’t exactly have a huge lunch. There’s no reason—”

  He turned on her. “I made this date a complete disaster! How’s that for a reason?”

  “Whoa, whoa—hold your horses.” She leaned towards him. “Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t end with food poisoning, you trying to grope me, or somebody bleeding out on the ground. Not a total disaster by my standards.”

  Flushing, Arthur briefly wondered why he was putting things away when they were about to leave the area. Regardless, he started to gather the smaller candles by the big ones. “F-fine, it was a moderate disaster. That better?”

  She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “It wasn’t all bad, okay? Your nerves kind of shot the atmosphere, and it wasn’t a traditional date, but—”

  “But what?” He put her grapefruit plate on top of the larger stack with a sharp clack. “But it still worked out somehow? How? There was no romantic conversation, none of the dinnerware matched, we didn’t eat anything special, we had no drinks, we sat on a bloody tarp, I didn’t get to do so much as pull out your chair for you, the napkins have fast food logos on them, the vase is full of random weeds and wildflowers, I can’t even buy your meal for you, and—and do you want these stupid grapefruit pieces or not?” He thrust the other small plate in her direction, and she finally picked up the last two slices with her hands.

  She frowned, but he looked too close to tears for her to snap back at him. “I don’t doubt,” she started before he could go off on some other bitter tangent, “you did the best you could. That’s good enough for me.”

  “But you deserve better than this!” He slammed the small plate down on the others, cringing when it split. “The date was supposed to be something special, but it’s all just more of the same. Scraping up enough to survive.”

  “It was special!” She swallowed one of the grapefruit slices. “The meat may have been as gamey as everything else, but you made it up nicely—”

  “Dalton did it!” Arthur gave up on his cleaning and just threw the tarp over the remaining evidence. “Go marry him.”

  Eyebrows lowering, she made a sound, but Arthur didn’t look at her as he stomped off towards that tree he had hidden behind.

  “I’m sorry,” she started, stalking after him, “I thought you were trying to gain my approval.”

  “Well—” He sucked in a breath before crossing his arms. “Well, I respect that you had reasonably low standards of me, but that doesn’t change anything.” He glared at the moon. “It’s late; let’s go build some shelter.”

  “F-fine!” she spluttered. “Dalton, shake up your flashlight. Let’s find a good tree.”

  At the frustration in her voice, Arthur flinched. A wave of panic rose at the back of his throat as he wondered what on earth he was doing. Sabotaging a relationship before he could ruin it by accident? Like he always used to do?

  He swallowed down the jitters, but the resulting seared-numb feeling wasn’t much better.

  So he was going back to the usual him now? All those solid walls he’d built to keep others at bay had crumbled with disuse long before Charlotte came into his life. Yet now they were pulling themselves together again—he could feel it. But never before had someone made it so far past those walls in the first place. It would be safer for the both of them if he just threw her out. And she’d be angry, but…

  He didn’t want her to be angry…

  But it would have to happen eventually, right? She was smart enough to figure him out in time, and he would be a disappointment no matter what her expectations were. He just had to push her away before she could get any closer, because no matter how much this would hurt, delaying would only make it worse.

  But he didn’t want to push her away at all! What on earth was he doing? What on earth…

  He started to call her name but found himself mute. Was he really going to hope that it would all work out? Could he even?

  Feeling strangled from the inside, he just gathered up his bags and followed the others into the trees.

  ~*~

  Jolting into awareness, Arthur nearly rammed his head into a branch sitting up. Disoriented, he had to grip rough limbs to keep from falling headlong. That didn’t keep him from scrambling to Charlotte’s nest. He was hardly aware of what he was doing, but the horror of his nightmare compelled him to do something.

  He shook her shoulder for a few seconds before she started to stir. Once her eyes cracked open, she started mumbling and reaching for her rifle, but he stammered, “We’re not under attack.” He didn’t remember to drop his voice until the end, but he wasn’t particularly concerned about Dalton at the moment.

  She let her arm go limp and yawned, not quite keeping her eyes open. “Okay. So wha—” a yawn “—at couldn’t wait until morning?”

  He hesitated, starting to feel stupid now that his memory of the dream was fading. “You—G-go back to sleep. Sorry.”

  Blindly swinging her arm out, she managed to grab his wrist. “Well, I’m awake now. What is it?”

  He nearly barked, “Nothing,” but he held his tongue and didn’t pull away. “U-um…” Flushing, he wasn’t even sure if he knew the answer to her question. “I just, um, uh, wanted to… talk to you?”

  “Talk away.” Letting her hand slide off his wrist, she interlaced her fingers under the back of her head.

  “Um.” He had no idea what to say next. That he had some bizarre nightmare concerning her and wanted to make sure she was still in one piece? That he was so shaken up by some REM hallucination he couldn’t figure out it wasn’t real?

  What was he doing? He could have at least had the courtesy to let her sleep as much as she needed before he went out of his way to say nothing. He should have pushed the emotion down to a reasonable level and… And crawled back behind his stupid barriers… It actually sounded worse the more he thought about it.

  Swallowing, he gripped his knees. “Um, I—I’m sorry for being a
n idiot. Uh, l-last night in particular.”

  She waited for a moment, but he just sat there taking deep breaths. “We’ve been over that stuff,” she sighed. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Not—not just everything being shabby. Me acting, er, like… that. Um, like I did.” Heart pounding faster than it had been from the nightmare, he tried to control his breathing. “I was panicking, and, um, I—I didn’t want to look like, u-uh, more of an idiot than I already did, so I… I a-acted unnecessarily harsh. Wh-when I shouldn’t have. Um, not that I ever should, just…” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut now that he could see some of her face in the dim light. “Sorry,” he murmured, not sure she heard. His stomach was twisting too much for him to say any more without throwing up.

  “Okay,” she murmured. “I mean, people snap when they’re stressed out, and you were definitely stressed out. Try not to do it again, of course, but…”

  He reopened his eyes enough to see her lips curve up. “You’d have to try a lot harder than that to make me hate you. You’ll still have to try hard to make me love you, but—maybe not quite so much.” She patted him on the knee and rolled onto her side, away from him. “Good night.”

  “Uh—” he tried to echo her, but his mouth was too dry “—yeah.”

  She didn’t respond, so he crawled back towards his set of branches. Twigs rattling from his shaking grip, he made it back to his perch before realizing he wasn’t breathing. He let out a wheeze of an exhale and stared out at the inky sky.

  He couldn’t analyze the conversation with his neurons firing so rapidly and incomprehensibly. He just tried to relax and listen to the voices—a lot quieter than usual.

  18

  By midmorning, the sun was conspiring with the muggy atmosphere to launch a full-fledged assault. Glaring light bounced off car windows and the faded white paint on the asphalt. Any standing water from the day before had vanished. The travelers were left with precious few sips remaining in their water bottles.

  “I’m starting to think,” Charlotte croaked, “we should lay low for a while. Maybe head off again come evening.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “To be honest, I really don’t feel like walking today.”

  Arthur frowned, glancing over her. “Why? Are you all right?”

  She coughed a laugh. “Yes and no. Let’s just say it’s been about another month out here.”

  He stared at her for a second before it clicked. “O-oh.” He looked off to the side, wiping some sweat off his bow hand.

  “There’s another street ahead,” Dalton started. “I bet we can find a building to stop in.”

  “Yeah,” she panted. “Some shade and walls would be nice.”

  A crossroad came underfoot, and not enough trees bordered the street to obscure the house ahead. A few others seemed to be farther behind it, but the first house seemed sturdy enough as they approached. Although, at this point, any structure that didn’t scream “death trap” was good enough for her.

  Exhaling, she tried the front door and found it closed but unlocked. Mumbling a thanks to the heavens, she turned the knob and stepped inside. The door opened straight into a living room. A mass of rumpled white carpet encumbered by a television, bookshelves, and a large, bluish couch greeted them. The air inside was so brisk her knees nearly buckled just standing in front of the entryway. No infecteds were in sight, and no heavy footfalls were coming to check the door.

  “Looks okay.” She stumbled over to the couch and collapsed on the nearest cushion. The others followed her inside, eyes widening as the sunless chill hit them. Dalton quickly shut the door behind him, throwing the room into near-darkness. A few glowing slats of sunlight cut up the carpet opposite the blinded window, but that was all. The two men had to stumble through the darkness to find the couch, but neither complained.

  “There’s room for you up here, too,” Arthur breathed, glancing at the side of Dalton’s head before shutting his eyes.

  Dalton lay back on the carpet. “I’m fine where I am, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” Arthur rested the back on his head on the top of the couch. “This tacky fake leather is wonderfully cool.”

  “It’s almost cold in here,” Charlotte mumbled, holding her bangs away from her face for a moment.

  “I like it,” Arthur said, stretching his arms.

  She swatted at his elbow. “Stop it. Your pits smell terrible.”

  He deliberated for a moment without putting his arms down. “Dalton, I’m just going to join you on the floor.” Arms still up, he stood for a second and flopped onto the carpet. “Ow—and that is your shoe.”

  “Why, yes, it is.” Sunlight glinted off Dalton’s hair as he shifted.

  “Thanks for confirming that; I was so unsure.”

  She laughed. “If you two are having enough fun over there, I’m going to take up the whole couch.”

  “Go right ahead,” Arthur grunted, rolling onto his back.

  As she slid down, the couch made a zipping sound, eliciting a snort from Arthur.

  The three lay in dazed silence for a while before Arthur announced, “This was a good idea.”

  “Thanks,” Charlotte and Dalton said at the same time. Giggling, she exchanged a glance with him, and he flashed a grin.

  With a pleased sigh, she thumped her head back on the armrest and swished the water bottle in her hand. She waited a while longer before daring to take another sip. The water was lukewarm, but it took enough of the strain off her dry throat that it was hard to stop herself. She screwed the lid back on with shaking hands.

  Was she shivering? Good grief, this house was wonderful. She hadn’t taken shelter in any place so cool since the journey started. Then again, most houses had open doors or windows and didn’t seem as new as this one.

  At this point it was hard to think of leaving this place. Between her monthly inertness and the fatigue from days of nothing but walking, she wouldn’t want to get up from any sort of shade. Add in the heavenly frostiness of this place, and she was pretty much frozen to the spot. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. Going on in this heat without enough water would turn lethal. Rest was not only what she wanted but also what she needed.

  Some part of her was still itching to get out and run to Blake, but he was a while away yet. Motivation was important, but so was common sense.

  She started to wonder if she was going to fall asleep. She had already been having enough troubled dreams without Arthur waking her up in the middle of the night. If she had the chance to sleep well now, it was an opportunity worth taking. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes. With three fighters in the room, someone would have to be ready if an infected or two came knocking.

  The click of the doorknob almost sent her tumbling off the couch. The other two sat up as well, but no one had a weapon raised before someone stepped inside.

  “Oh!” he said, stopping in the doorway, where the sunlight silhouetted his short but broad figure. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

  19

  Arthur had an arrow nocked before Charlotte could get her rifle out. The owner of the house moved slowly, holding his hands up, as he flicked on the lights.

  “Good morning,” he started, stepping inside. No longer faced with a stark silhouette, Charlotte could finally get a decent glimpse of the newcomer. Wavy brown hair, thick but short beard, bright eyes, soft smile. His grey T-shirt was sweaty enough to cling to him, but he slipped a tan coat off the coat rack as he entered.

  “Or is it afternoon yet?” He cast a glance behind him before shrugging.

  Charlotte got to her feet. “I think it’s still morning, so good morning.” She slipped her bags over her shoulders. “Sorry, we didn’t realize someone was still living here.”

  The owner shut the door behind him in a snap. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it! It’s been so long since I’ve had any company—Have you eaten lunch yet?” He spread his arms out as if to hug them. “I could treat you!”

  She paused, looking over at her c
ompanions. Dalton frowned, both hands on his staff. Arthur relaxed his bowstring but kept the arrow nocked and aimed at the newcomer.

  “You guys don’t seem too happy with the idea,” she started.

  “He’s a stranger,” Arthur said, frowning harder the more the homeowner smiled. “We’re not supposed to take candy from him.”

  She folded her arms. “You used to be a stranger. Should I have run away from you?”

  He shifted his shoulders with a grimace. “Well, he is not I.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t just shoot me when he came in.”

  With a sigh, he put up his arrow. She patted him on the crown and turned to Dalton, who let his hands drop but continued to give the newcomer a grave look.

  “Come on, don’t be rude.” She pouted. He opened his mouth but seemed unable to say anything while keeping up his hairy eye.

  “So, lunch is okay?” the homeowner started, clapping his hands together.

  “If you want.” She wiped some chilled sweat off her forehead. “We can throw in some of our food, too, just to be fair.”

  “If you’d like.” He smiled. “Keep cooling off, and I’ll find something—oh! I never gave you a proper introduction. I’m Hektor. Charika gia ti gnorimia—Nice to meet you.”

  Charlotte giggled, and for a second Arthur panicked. Had he had just lost his one romantic advantage of having an accent she liked? If his own posh pronunciations charmed her, how much more would she like someone with a much more reasonable accent—and knowledge of another language to boot?

  “Charlotte.”

  Arthur didn’t make eye contact. “Arthur.”

  “Dalton.” He only glanced at Hektor’s eyes.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she finished with a little bow.

  “You as well,” Hektor replied, smiling wide. “I’ll get something started, then! Do any of you have food allergies?” he called as he stepped backward, into the kitchen.

  “Not me.” She looked at the other two, who shook their heads. “Nope, we’re all good.”

  “Okay.” Hektor opened his refrigerator door. “The last travelers didn’t have any, either. Can’t help to check, though. I’d hate to kill you when you just got here.” He retrieved a plastic container from a low shelf.