She laughed, leaning on Arthur’s shoulder with her elbow. “I’m showing him off to you now, aren’t I? In fact, here. You take him for a while.” With a nudge she sent Arthur forward, and he yelped in surprise. “He could really use a haircut.”
“I can see that, believe me.” Émile folded his arms as he scrutinized Arthur’s mane.
Arthur grimaced, backing up. “What’s happening?”
“Émile is kind of the town barber, on the side.” She put her hands on Arthur’s shoulders and leaned in. “I figured loosing you on him would work out pretty well. One, your hair needs professional help, and two… he’s the town barber. Gets all the good gossip. It might be the best way to introduce you to a lot of the town without running you ragged—and I know how much you love people.”
She paused before putting her lips closer to his ear. “No nasty rumors about my boyfriend, though, all right? Give yourself a chance.” With a squeeze, she let go. “All yours, Émile.”
Arthur’s eyes were still glazed with confusion as the barber guided him by the elbow. The archer shook him off and followed instead. He kept a good distance, seeming more interested in his nails than in whatever comments Émile was making.
“If I come back with a mohawk, I’m shooting you both.”
Charlotte grinned. “You should know by now that doesn’t work on me.”
Arthur crinkled his nose at her before vanishing behind the restaurant. Hopefully we wouldn’t be gone too long. But she could always barge in on him if she needed to.
“Does he make a habit of threatening you?”
She took a second to register Timothy’s voice before turning toward him. “No.” She chuckled. “He kind of accidentally shot me a while back, but I healed up. And now that he knows there are other survivors, he’s not likely to try it again.”
“Hmph.” Timothy folded his arms, staring at the spot Arthur was last seen.
“I mean, he’s still off in the head—there’s no denying that—but he’s a nice guy in the end.” She clasped her hands together and smiled. “Do you think he could stay at our place for—”
“No.”
She blinked.
Timothy was still staring into the distance. “If he’s your boyfriend, he’s not staying in the same house as you.”
She snorted. “You know we’ve been traveling together for months.”
“You’re not traveling anymore. Nor do I need another person to make a mess of the house.”
Scrunching her mouth to one side, she watched him. On one hand, he had called Arthur her boyfriend without gnashing his teeth. On the other, she wasn’t going to be able to hide Arthur in the laundry room when her brother cleaned the house so often.
She folded her arms. “We’ve at least got to find him a decent one, then. Nearby, too.”
Timothy nodded and stood for a moment before facing her. He exhaled before saying, “I’m sorry.”
“Eh?” She pulled back the slightest bit. “No, I understand. There isn’t that much room in the house, anyway.”
He shook his head and pulled her into an embrace. “I was sure you wouldn’t leave if you had to do it alone.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around him.
“By the time I knew you were really gone, there wasn’t enough of a trail left to fetch you.” He rested a palm on the back of her head.
She took in a breath and looked up at him. “I made it back safe, though. And I met Arthur, and I—I even got to see Blake for a little while.”
He tensed before pulling back. “You found him alive?”
“For—” she dropped her gaze—”a while.”
Timothy grunted. “All right.” Folding his arms again, he asked, “Do you want some water? I’d imagine you wouldn’t mind seeing the house again.”
She smiled. “Sounds great.”
They only got a bit of walking done before she glanced back up at him. “Arthur is allowed to join us, right? Even if he and I are under the same roof?”
He kept his gaze straight ahead. “As long as all three of us are there.”
“Sure thing.”
“And you never leave my sight.”
She caught herself rolling her eyes.
“I have to be strict enough for three parties.”
She took a second to wave at Judy, out walking her schnauzer. “Oh, Mom wouldn’t be that strict.”
Timothy kept walking.
Shaking her head, Charlotte kept after him as the house pulled into view. It was the same as it had ever been. Light bricks, windows blocked with mattress remains, garage door hiked up on one side. She had no doubt it was the same inside, too.
She’d have to give Arthur a tour around the rooms. Show off what possessions she hadn’t brought with her, point out the doorframe growth chart that proved—if only for a moment—she had been taller than Timothy. Then the three of them would settle in the living room with their drinks and talk. Just like a cozy little family.
Actually, if it all worked out, they would end up being family, wouldn’t they?
Smiling, she followed her brother into their home, ready to tell him all about her—and Arthur’s—journey.
Epilogue
“I swear,” Dalton panted, “somebody gets heatstroke in this village every six seconds.”
Charlotte glanced at her wrist. “Good job—you missed two saying that.”
“Ha, ha.” The medic’s newest apprentice poked Arthur in the arm. “You weren’t one of them, were you?”
Arthur, his forehead pressed to the table, didn’t budge. As such, his words were rather obstructed. “I only wish.”
Charlotte grinned sheepishly at Dalton. “He’s still getting used to working the fields.”
Dalton crossed his arms. “Must be real rough, staying in one part of the village all day.”
Arthur managed to lift an arm and wave it. “Shoo.”
“Yeah, I’ll be leaving you alone soon.” Dalton sat in one of the chairs without scooting it in. “Dr. Sarem has an innate sense of knowing when I’m done with my lunch.”
“Well, don’t get in trouble for our sake.” Charlotte got to her feet. “I should head back, anyway. Wouldn’t want to keep Armando waiting.”
Arthur made a low growling sound at his name.
She responded by flicking him on the temple a few times. “You’re going to have to stop that.”
He heaved a sigh strong enough to lift his shoulders. “I’m working on it,” he muttered.
“Would it help—” Dalton leaned across the table— “if I found Armando his own woman? Because I might have just the thing.”
“Do you, now?” Grinning, Charlotte rested a knee on her chair. “Who, who?”
Dalton tapped the side of his nose with one finger. “Not naming any names. But she might be a redhead.”
Charlotte watched him as Arthur continued to lie as limply as an unwatered plant. “Wait—Bridget?”
Dalton sniggered and pulled back. “I’ll hook them up before the end of the month. Don’t think it’ll be too hard.”
She laughed and didn’t trail off until Dalton clicked his tongue.
“I’ll catch you guys later, then.” He backed up.
“See you,” she responded as Arthur mustered a grunt.
Chuckling, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around the archer’s shoulders. “I’ll set out, too, then. You work hard, okay?”
He finally sat up a bit, though he still slumped. “As if I have a choice.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t have put you there if you couldn’t handle it.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Just remember you get to see me again when you’ve finished up.”
He squeezed her hands before she pulled back.
“Later.”
He nodded, giving her a brief smile. “Bye.”
With that, she strode out of the picnic area.
She strayed back onto the street before music met her ears. Thankfully, it grew stronger as she w
ent towards the walls; she didn’t need to take a detour to pay Jordan a visit.
“How’s the business going?” she called as his violin happened to trail off.
The young man faltered before turning his head to see her. Smiling, he greeted her and responded, “The music business or clothing business?”
She grinned. “Either.”
He lowered his instrument into its case for a moment. “I’m still no good with the needlework, but my options are pretty limited, with my condition.”
“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” She whistled. “If you practice instead of shredding your bowstring all day.”
“Hey, I’m just taking a breather.” He jabbed his bow at her, winking. “And I don’t see you shooting any monsters.”
“Touché.” Smiling, she added a loose salute. “I’ll get right back to work, then. See you around, Jordan.”
“Have a nice day.” He only paused a moment before he began to play again. Somewhere he was upset at the interruption between movements, but music wasn’t his real job anymore. He was here to enjoy it, so he would.
A thunk in his violin case caught his attention. He finished the piece out of courtesy before looking down. A steaming meal, plate and all, sat on the velvet. Sniffing, he looked up to see Émile.
“It smells like beef,” Jordan commented, blinking.
“Maybe it is.” The blond winked.
Jordan couldn’t help staring at him. “And you’re giving it to me?”
“I think so.” He looked down at the plate. “It’s the thirteenth, isn’t it?”
“Ah—” Jordan’s arms lowered.
Émile smiled softly. “I’m sure Silas wouldn’t mind you eating better for his birthday.”
Jordan choked a little, putting his right arm around Émile’s back. “Th-thanks.”
Émile gave him a quick hug. “Don’t mention it.” He pulled away before squeezing Jordan’s shoulder. “We’re lucky to have had them. People who would die for us.”
The blond took a step back, grinning. “Now you’d better eat that before the heat spoils it. I worked hard on that sauce.”
Jordan smiled as Émile walked away. “Will do!”
The chef gave him a last wave and hurried back to his restaurant. He had already fed the lunch rush, but he wouldn’t want to miss a few late eaters. There may have been more than usual if word of the killed cow had gotten around.
No sooner was he in the kitchen than a cry rang out.
“You took long enough!”
With a sigh, he shut out the hot sunlight behind him and faced Rosalind. “Did I miss some emergency?”
She let out a long breath, running a hand back through her hair. “Your shirtless friend spread the news about the cow to a few too many people. I’ve been holding them off, but we’re going to have to ration the rest pretty small, and do it quickly.”
He sighed. “Well, better than wasting it.”
“Yeah,” she conceded, nodding towards the main room behind her. “Let’s get cracking.”
The two peeked out of the kitchen to find a dense and disorganized line across the back counter.
She sighed. “Single-file, please. Two lines—one if you want vaccine or guinea pig and the other if you want our newest shipment. And anyone fighting for a spot will get nothing.”
As she shooed Émile over to the other half of the counter, someone outside put his head through the window. The rearranging crowd didn’t notice until he laughed.
“Having trouble in there?”
Rosalind sniffed before recognizing him. “Thanks to you, yes. You’re not welcome here at the moment, sorry. Come back for dinner. And put a shirt on.”
Armando chuckled, leaning on the sill. “Only if it’s cooler then.”
“Fine. Have fun at work.” She started counting heads in her line.
He gave her a two-fingered salute. “You, too. Don’t work Émile too hard, huh?”
Émile sputtered. “You mean, don’t let Émile work you too hard.”
“Sure.” Armando gave Rosalind a wink and ducked back outside. The wall was a short, if hot, walk away, but he still ran into another villager en route.
“Timothy!” Arms akimbo, Armando smiled. “How are you doing today?”
The brunette stabbed at a piece of litter without making eye contact. “Shouldn’t you be working?” He paused and pointed his paper picker at him. “Did you throw this in the street?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I have no reason to make your job harder.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He laughed and slapped him on the back. “I haven’t been littering; relax.”
Timothy flared his nostrils as the other man took a step back.
“I’ll see you around, then.”
Timothy didn’t respond as Armando hurried ahead to meet with his sister. With an exhale, the brunette continued to scour the road. It was about time to quit the outside work and head for the sanitation building, but he had one more street to go. The street heading towards the gate, as a matter of fact.
He ended up following Armando at a distance, and Charlotte greeted the Latino before waving at her brother.
“Hey!” she called.
Timothy gave her a nod.
“I forgot to tell him earlier,” she continued, “but, if you run into Arthur, tell him he’s invited to dinner tonight. He can help with the corn pone if he feels up to it.”
He nodded.
She gave him a smile and turned to the wall. Then she and Armando started over for another afternoon of hunting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marlee Pagels is a biology graduate of Oklahoma Christian University. ALONG THE WINDING ROAD is her debut novel. She writes from her home in Oklahoma City, where she lives with her parents and Eddy (a Jack Russell mix).
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