by W. A. R.
The footsteps grew louder as they climbed the stairs until they reached the open doorway. There they stopped. Amber didn’t bother looking, she didn’t care.
“Which brother decided to play babysitter this time?” She asked. She had known that the two brothers had been occasionally checking in on her, watching her somehow and ensuring she didn’t run off and breakdown like she had before…ensuring that there had been no change in who she was. She was also sure this was because of Michael’s orders. She couldn’t blame him, hell, she lay stretched out in her own reminder of shattered shards of glass as padding. His lack of a response was answer enough and she smirked.
“What in the hell happened in here?” he asked and Amber chuckled lightly, still not bothering to look at the doorway. Her eyes were heavy, tired. They were red and puffed, she knew, and her lack of sleep and emotional rollercoaster was not helping her body heal. She felt as if she was losing her mind, but then again, maybe she was. Rusty stood at the door, she could tell by his teasing tone of voice and the stature she was sure he was holding. She remembered everything he had told her before, everything of these townspeople admiring her family, admiring her. She hated it, despised it because there was absolutely nothing about her that was admirable.
She shifted, crossing her feet at the ankles. She winced slightly at the sting that the motion brought with it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping within the room cautiously. His heavy feet snapped glass shards as they advanced towards her. She nodded her feet to the rhythm of her heart, the only rhythm she thought she would ever hear again. She missed music, she realized, and she missed how it made her feel. She missed the carefree days of dancing to the wind and rain, spinning with the music and the feel of certainty that even though she felt as if she couldn’t move past whatever point she was in in her life, she would make it. She could no longer feel that way. It had been lost to her. She turned her eyes to him, watching as he neared her, his boot brushing her leg and his face twisting into a scowl as he noted the broken pieces of glass under the length of her body.
She shrugged, shifting the weapons that remained on her person, guns and swords alike. “A little, but I’m alright. Nothing I can’t handle. I made the mess last night and just haven’t cleaned it yet.” She told him and it was the truth. It didn’t hurt much, if at all. She didn’t feel the sharp pain that should have been there from the pointed edges digging into her skin. She felt numb, emotionless, welcoming the feel of anything. Right now she was beginning to feel irritated. She only wanted to be alone; she would be fine, she thought, if she could get her silence, to get the opportunity to will away the haunting voices, their haunting voices, the voices of those that she had lost. They called to her, urging her to sleep, begging her to rest those weary eyes of hers. Miles’s voice whispered to her against the wind, telling her not to lose sight of herself, to not build those walls but she already had lost sight of herself, and those walls were already built. It all hurt. Rusty studied her with his dark eyes and she groaned, finally climbing to her feet. He wasn’t going to leave, and so she needed to either make him leave or be the one leaving. The concern in his eyes stopped her, however and she began dusting herself off. “Dude, I’m fine. Really.”
He motioned to the bed, clearly letting the destruction of the room reminiscent of her breakdown roll off his back. She was grateful for that. “There is a perfectly fine bed there. Why didn’t you just sleep there?” It was a reasonable question, she reasoned, one that, as simple as it should have been to answer, all it did was bring back a flood of memories. She thought of curling into her own bed, her two small children at her side and wrapped securely in her arms. She thought of the bed that her own father had hand built her whenever she was young. She thought of not sleeping in a bed since the outbreak, and how the last time she had even considered sleeping on one was whenever Miles had piled the blankets up under the two of them after they had made love for the last time, and how he had held her. She had wished they had a bed and pillows then, if only to give him comfort that he claimed he didn’t need because hey, how could life be any better than it was with her right then and there? That was what he had told her against her ear before they had to get up for the hunt.
She shrugged again and stepped around him, avoiding his gaze. She would offer him some variation of the truth, she reasoned, and hoped that he wouldn’t ask her any details of it. “I don’t sleep well, and I haven’t slept on a bed since the outbreak. I am more comfortable on the…”
“On a bed of glass?!” he damn near shrieked. Amber stopped short, his voice behind her causing her to react without even meaning to. The doorway was so close…she could just walk out and leave him standing there to deal with what he saw however he pleased, but something told her not to, not yet.
She glanced over her shoulder at his horrified face as he stared after her. “Actually yes…it is better than pretending nothing has happened.” And with that, she decided then would be the best time to leave the room.
“You could have slept in my bed.” She heard him call as he rushed after her and she groaned in irritation. She could practically hear the wink and smirk in his voice.
“Not now, Rusty.” She groaned as she kept moving forward. Her feet were sluggish, and she tried desperately to remember the last time she had gotten good sleep, or even sleep at all. She may have dozed off for a few minutes here and there, but the nightmares were still there, and at that point they had grown worse. They made her sick, and she felt the fever cover her body even then as she hurried down the stairs and away from Rusty. It was no use, however, as the man was heard following right behind her, his heavy feet pounding down the stairs. She groaned and threw open the front door, the bright and early morning sunlight temporarily blinding her. She grimaced and stepped back, throwing up a gloved hand over her face to keep the sunlight from blinding her even more so. As she did this, however, she ran into Rusty, who grunted from the impact. She growled beneath her breath and rammed her elbow back in frustration, catching him lightly in his ribs. Of the three brothers, he was the one that got on her nerves the most. Riley was like a mother hen, and she knew that his eyes were watching her from the porch next door. Ryder was like…Ryder.
“Ow! What was that for?” he asked and she grunted, rushing forward onto the porch and beginning across the yard without answering. She squinted against the sunlight until her eyes grew accustomed to it, and once they did she noted how beautiful it was there. There were trees surrounding them, and the orange light covered their tops like snow. She shivered against the cool morning air and searched around her for what she was going to need. There was a task that she was going to complete and had planned on completing once she had been able to get the voices to stop their screaming and desperate whispers in her mind. Rusty had ruined all of that however, and whenever she heard his footsteps behind her, she grew even more frustrated. She jerked her eyes to him, their depths flashing, but he spoke first. “What are you looking for?”
She studied him, narrowing her eyes. “Who says I am looking for anything?” She asked and it was a stupid question judging by the lift of his brow and the smirk on his face, as if she hadn’t been rude at all with him. Finally, she sighed and glanced around them at the lack of people milling about. She crossed her arms and shifted her feet, knowing it would be better if she just asked him where to find what she was looking for. “Fine.” She heaved an annoyed sigh and looked at the walls and the houses, at the people and absolutely anything else besides him. He crossed his arms in interest until she spoke. “I need some wood.”
He lifted a brow at her. “What kind of wood?” he asked suggestively.
Of course he would ask that, she thought bitterly and she shifted on her feet. “Will they let me out to get some?” And at this his face twisted in regret and uncertainty. She couldn’t leave? This infuriated her and as if he could read her mind he thrust his hands forward, his face dropping in what see
med to be a plea.
“No, no, no it isn’t what you’re thinking!” he shouted at her and she huffed a heavy breath at him, the cool peppermint of her breath skating over her cracked lips and stinging her slightly from her earlier brushing before she had lain down.
“You mean I’m not a prisoner here?” she asked and she knew that she was laying it on thick. She understood that these people needed the safety. If everyone went out whenever they pleased it would only draw attention to the town as a whole. And after that…there was no telling how easily someone or something uninvited could get in. Still, she wanted him uncomfortable so he would leave her alone; otherwise it was going to be a long day and it was very possible it would end with him receiving a broken nose.
“No! Of course not! It’s just…we can’t just let people in and out…” he hesitated and ran a hand across his face. She watched him, studying the little movements he made with his uncertainty and regret that he couldn’t allow her the quiet or leave that she so desperately wanted. He reminded her of George in a way, of Kyle in others. Her heart felt like an uncrossable chasm, and she felt guilty for how she had bitterly treated him. He had done nothing wrong, nothing untoward and she had instead pushed him away. Why? Because the more people she cared about the more people that got hurt. Still, that was no excuse for her rudeness.
She sighed, then, deciding that if she wanted to do what she needed to do, that he deserved an explanation. “Look, I’m sorry about my attitude. I understand you and your brother are both worried about me, and that seeing that mess in the house doesn’t help matters.” His face dropped and his brow furrowed in yet even more concern and for some unexplainable reason she felt as if she wanted to cry once again, even though her body was out of tears.
“It’s not that…we just…we are amazed by you. Given the circumstances…how can we not be?” he asked and she looked away, not wanting to hear it. She only saw it all as a curse.
She cleared her throat and continued, ignoring the fact that he had spoken. “I understand why you can’t let people out. I do. I just…” she looked at the ground at her feet, hearing the sounds of shutting doors and low voices as people began waking up and milling about. “They deserve a memorial…a cross…something. I…I need somewhere to go to be alone with their memory.” She said simply before dragging her eyes up to meet his and whenever she did, she saw a tender smile on his lips. He glanced around them at the people that were watching them and she suddenly felt uncomfortable.
He turned back to her and impishly grinned wider, stepping forward and slinging an arm across her shoulders. “Let’s get some breakfast first and then I will take you exactly where you need to go to get what you need.” Her stomach lurched at the thought of eating, and she felt weak and sluggish. No, she hadn’t eaten in days, hardly at all since Michael and the others had come to take her family away.
“But I’m not…” she began protesting, her depression refusing to allow her body to want, to accept the nutrition that it needed.
He urged her forward then, causing her to stumble on her feet but his hold on her kept her upright. “You need to eat.” He chided her playfully. She groaned, realizing that just by offering an explanation, by offering him an olive branch of truce, he had taken it and ran with it, treating her as the long-lost friend that he had missed. Still, she said nothing, knowing that as long as she complied, he would take her to get the tools she needed. After that, she hoped that he would leave her to the task at hand.
There was no such luck of that happening however. After breakfast with Riley where she had only nibbled on a piece of bread, he had kept to his word and taken her across town to a man’s house. On the way there, Rusty had excitedly pointed out the pigs and horses that they were raising, the few cattle and even the chickens. There were some women that also handmade bread from wheat that was grown. There were gardens galore, and food was plentiful. If she were honest, she was amazed at the fundamental foundation of a community that these people seemed to exuberate. They worked together, taking trades learned from previous generations and applying them to their world now, surviving and doing so well. It was such a stark contrast compared to their lives before and she knew that her people would love it there. Rusty’s undeniable enthusiasm was palpable. As soon as they reached the lumberjack’s (for lack of a better term) home, Rusty had toned it down a bit, explaining as best he could what Amber needed. The man went by the name of Lawrence and he was the wood guy. He had just what she needed, and his wife had the twine to hold the pieces together. Amber felt a surge of relief hit her and for a brief moment she felt like caving again but she couldn’t. She needed to complete this task before she could.
She had asked for six smallish pieces of wood, and enough twine to anchor them, and the couple had readily obliged. Their eyes were wide with excitement and awe and Amber had known that they wanted to ask so many questions, to express to her…something…that she was sure she didn’t want to hear. They had given her everything that she needed and had even offered her more than that, which she had gratefully turned down. They had offered their assistance and again, she respectfully declined, expressing to them that the task that she had set forth before herself was one that she needed to do alone. She hoped that Rusty would catch the hint and leave as soon as he showed her which secluded place she could place these precious memorabilia. They had left the couple’s house, and she noted the many stares that were cast her way and the many whispers that contained her name. She wanted to express to Rusty that they all, the entire town, needed a new hobby, but she didn’t. She remained silent as they walked, occasionally glancing at Rusty who was carrying the logs (as he refused to let her carry them). She couldn’t blame him for that either, noting also how her feet drug the ground beneath her, the occasional stumble causing his brow to lift in concern, but he remained silent…or well, indifferent. The man wouldn’t stop talking. She had lost track of what he was saying about half an hour before when he began discussing the types of fish that were in the surrounding bodies of water.
Finally, finally, they arrived at a wall behind some building that Amber hadn’t noticed before and he dropped the wood. There was no one around as far as she could tell, no voices to be heard and she felt grateful for the silence and the absence of stares. Before Amber could begin, however, Rusty bent over, grabbing two pieces of wood from the pile and some twine from his pocket. Immediately Amber stilled, watching as he bound the two pieces into the form of a cross. She swallowed thickly. No, this was her job; this was her own way of accepting a death that she knew she wouldn’t accept, death that she would only move on from. As if feeling her eyes on him, as if sensing the tremble of her hands and the quiver of her lips, he turned his dark eyes up to her and offered her a sincere smile.
“You aren’t doing this alone. I am going to help you. I will prepare them and you place them wherever you want them to be. Alright? You aren’t alone in your grief.” He told her and the words made tears that she wasn’t even aware of spill over. No, she realized, she wasn’t alone in her grief. She had Michael; Michael who had cried with her, she had these brothers that were desperate for an escape from the hellish asylum Adrian ran, and she had what was left of her family. Still, the memories of Miles and Shelly, of Kyle and Jackson, of heartache and loss, carried with her and tormented her and so silently, she waited until he extended his hand, cross held tightly in his grip, and she took it. She stepped forward to the wall as he grabbed more pieces and she shoved it into the dirt, twisting and turning the end until it was steady. Only then did she retrieve the knife from her thigh and carve the first name into the wood.
Shelly
She was first; of course she was the first one Amber put up. She was Amber’s best friend, her brother’s rock. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned back to Rusty as he glanced at the name on the first cross. He lifted a brow at her and she knew then that he was wondering why she needed three. He wanted to ask, and he was going to, she could tell by the way his hands slowe
d their methodic twisting of the twine and the way his eyes drifted over the wood. She watched his mind as he delved back into his memory banks, recalling how they had buried Jackson and given him his placing, and even how he had witnessed the still turned dirt over Kyle’s body and the cross that marked his place. She knew what he was thinking; and honestly, she hoped he would ask. For some reason the question, or the answer to it, she thought, would bring her a sense of peace that she needed. She wanted to teach him a lesson, one that she was sure he would never forget.
Finally, he sighed and spoke. “If you don’t mind me asking…” she turned her eyes to meet his and he grimaced as if uncertain. He cleared his throat, finishing the second cross. She gratefully took it from him and stepped a clear space away from Shelly’s marker, leaving an empty space in the middle for the last one.
“Go ahead.” She prompted him as she shoved the cross into the dirt. He remained silent for another moment before leaning forward to gather the last two pieces of wood.
“Why…why are there three?” he finally spit out, spluttering over his words and running them all together. He reminded her of a little boy then, and she couldn’t help but grin at his innocence. She knelt down in front of the cross that she had just steadied in the dirt and sighed, pulling her knife up and slowly, without answering him right away, she began carving the second name. Once she finished she stood and turned to him, waiting patiently for him to finish the third cross. He had stopped however, looking past her, and reading what she had written.
