Every Dark Little Thing

by T. S. Ward

  I hold up a hand to the headlights but can’t see past them, so I step to the side, stand there, and wait as the driver’s door opens.

  Soldier steps out. He’s still for a minute, and then he throws his hands out to the sides, dropping them again. There is silence between us and the truck’s engine, and then he starts forward. Slowly, at first, and then I blink and he’s hugging me, arms wrapped tight around me.

  His hand rests against the back of my head.

  “Don’t go,” he says, and his voice is strained and broken. “Don’t. Please. We’re losing so much already. We can’t lose each other again. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and hug him back. I collapse against him. Every last drop of strength I had was holding me up, keeping me on a leg that won’t listen.

  He doesn’t hold me up. He sinks down to the ground with me. He keeps holding me. He cries with his face tucked against the curve of my neck, and it is the most heart shattering thing. It’s the heaviest weight to bear.

  After a while, I push him back and wipe the tears from his cheeks. He looks so terribly fucking sad, but he smiles. He smiles, and he rests his forehead to mine, and he kisses me, soft and long.

  I think I feel somewhat together again. Not whole. Just… all in one place.

  “Come back,” he whispers.

  I shake my head. “It’s too much.”

  “No, no, just us. Just us. The house with the honey. It’s ours, alone. I asked Macon if he had plans for it and said I wanted to take it for us. He asked about the us part.” He smiles hard then, his hands coming up to rest against my cheeks. “Might have called you my wife.”

  My heart is pounding. “Did you read…?”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  I watch him for a while. I try to judge if he really hates me or not, but—he isn’t looking at me like I’m the worst damn human on this planet, or like he blames me. He’s looking at me like it hurts him just the same.

  “It’s fucked, right?”

  “Yeah, it is,” he says, an uncomfortable laugh soft from his lips. “Really fucking fucked.”

  We don’t go back. Not immediately.

  Soldier drives to a field, parks the truck, and doesn’t say a word. At first, I think that maybe he’s about to put me out of my misery like some old, blind farm dog, but then he’s at my door. He pulls it open and offers a hand.

  I take it, tentatively, and slip out. I use the truck for support as he leads me around to the back, and then I exhale.

  “Oh. That’s what’s happening.”

  “Thought it would do us some good, being out here. Just us. Just like we were before.” He hops up into the truck bed, and I follow after him, although much slower.

  I lie back on the sleeping bags and pads as he closes the tail and stare up at the stars. The clouds are mostly clear now. The sounds of frogs and crickets fill the night, and it’s calm, and it’s warm, and I don’t know if I’ve ever really seen so many stars in my life. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this relaxed in the past two years.

  “Reminds me of those cabins,” I whisper.

  Soldier sits down beside me. “Reminds me how much I wanted to kiss you then.”

  I look up at him. “Hmm, don’t believe it.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear. It’s something he keeps doing, but it’s not in my eyes or bothering me or anything. I think it’s just an excuse. I stop his hand, hold it against my skin, and he smiles.

  And then he turns serious. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

  “Hey, come on now, we were having a moment.”

  “Keely Finch—”

  “Excuse me. I thought you were calling me your wife?”

  He turns, leaning on his elbow to look down at me. “You want me to call you Keely Daniels? Because Finch sounds infinitely cooler. But let me say what I’m trying to say. You aren’t going to do that thing where you go through something horrible and just—” he snaps his fingers, “—like that, you’re good, you’re moving on. I want you to talk to me about what you’re feeling, and not after you sleepwalk and go catatonic for several hours.”

  I bite my tongue, and then breathe out and say, “What I’m feeling is an intense need to forget some things and focus on feeling something physical that’s not—”

  He squeezes my hands as a tremor works its way into my fingers. “And I’m feeling very worried about you.”

  “Can we do this tomorrow?” I ask, a hand on his cheek, “I haven’t slept, and this is really, really lovely. Let me forget for now.”

  “For now.”

  Day One Hundred And Four

  Macon, Lou, and a kid are at the house when we pull into the driveway the next morning. I sigh loudly when I see Lou stomping toward the truck, wishing desperately that Soldier would reverse and leave instead of cutting the engine.

  Lou rips the door open. “Where the fuck were you?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You told me you weren’t going to do that.” He steps back just enough to let me jump down. “You disappear again, after whatever the hell you just went through, and you’re gonna tell me not to worry about it?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, slamming the door shut. “Forget it.”

  “Forget—” He leans into me, talking with his hands flailing wildly. “Fuck, kid! We’ve got people out looking for you, risking their lives!”

  “I’m fine, thanks, how are you?” I say, slipping past him.

  Macon and the kid are in the kitchen. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, and the boy is sitting at the table messing around with a knife. Macon looks up at me, opens his mouth to say something, but I keep walking into the living room and flop down on the couch.

  I didn’t come back to be ambushed about bullshit.

  “Hey!” Lou is saying, and I look over as he follows Soldier into the room. “I’m talking to you. Hear you’re calling my daughter your wife. What the fuck’s that about, huh? You think you’re some hot shit?”

  “Dad,” I hiss.

  Macon walks in behind him. “Take it easy, Louie.”

  Soldier looks at them as he sets down our bags, and then looks to me with a raised eyebrow. “No help here?”

  “Hmm, no.”

  Macon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lou, come on, don’t…”

  “No, he’s gonna explain himself. You trying to take advantage of my daughter?” Lou takes a swing at him, and I sit up, shouting, but then Soldier’s got him pinned on the ground in a blink.

  I laugh. “Told you he’d kick your ass, Dad.”

  Soldier steps away, standing back with his arms crossed. “I’m not trying to.”

  Lou gets up, brushing himself off as he looks at me. “Kid?”

  “Parent?”

  “What the fuck is going on with you? You’re sleepwalking again, you nearly die, you disappear, and now—” he stops talking. He leans forward, hands pressed to his knees, laughing lightly. “Hell. You should have said something.”

  I shrug. “No, it’s kind of funny this way.”

  Lou looks at Soldier. “You’re Ben. No one said you’re Ben.”

  “I am, yes,” he nods.

  Lou holds out a hand and he takes it, but then he pulls him into a hug, one arm hooked around his back. I would laugh at how awkward Soldier looks if I wasn’t so shocked already.

  “Thank you. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Have to disagree,” Ben says, smiling awkwardly as he steps back and comes to sit next to me. “Ghost can handle herself.”

  I sit cross legged. “Have to disagree with that, Soldier. Think you know that pretty well.”

  The kid walks up slowly behind Macon, eyes me past him, a mixture of curiosity and confusion on his face. He looks familiar, but by the time I actually recognize him, it’s a little too late to do anything about it.

  He’s pointing at me, completely mystified, saying, “You’re that girl we pick
ed up! The one that was bit!”

  I shake my head. “No. Wasn’t me.”

  “No! It was. Dad, ask Margot, she was there!” He grabs Macon’s elbow. “And we ran into her at that store in town!”

  I start to panic a little, freezing. “Uh, no. Get bit, get dead, that’s the saying, right?”

  “You were scratched when you showed up,” Macon says.

  “It was human,” I say quietly. Was.

  “How’d you get scratched like that, anyway?”

  I can’t find any words to come to my defense, but then Soldier’s sitting forward, one hand on my back and the other held out to back them off. “It was my son.”

  That shocks me. That he’d say that, that he’d tell them about it so quickly. It took a lot to tell me anything about his life, and here he is, telling these people—including my father—that he had a secret kid with another woman.

  He takes my hand then, and I can feel his pulse rocketing. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he will, if that will keep this bullshit quiet. This immunity thing. The possibility of a cure—except, I don’t think she’d be able to do it, even if she had all of me to work with.

  “He died the night before she got here.”

  Lou sits down, head ducked. Macon paces away.

  “Why don’t you go back to the house?” He says to his kid, hooking a thumb toward the door.

  When he leaves, Macon sits down and breathes out long and hard. No one says anything for a while, and then they start talking over each other.

  “Sorry for your loss,” Lou offers.

  “Where was he when neither of you had him?” Macon asks.

  “The fuck does that matter?” I snap, heat flooding my cheeks. “With his mother, who tried to murder him, in case your next question is how I ended up with him. But he died anyway, and it was horrible, and I never want to see anyone else die again, so if you came here to ask when I’m going to kill Ezra for you, that answer is fuck you. Fuck off.”

  He looks at me, arms crossed over his chest. “Where’s his mother, then?”

  “No clue.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “Will she be a problem?”

  “Not to you.”

  “Not to me? What about everyone else? What about you and him?” He walks over to us, his eyes searching between the three of us. “I’m just trying to protect all these people.”

  I don’t think before I say anything. “You’re doing a real good job there, aren’t you?”

  “Ezra was looking for you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, everything’s my fault, I know. But I try to leave and save everyone the trouble, but apparently that’s not allowed. I’m told I’m worth it or some shit like that. No, have worth, have value, I’m valuable. Currency. Bribe money for Ezra, with a grenade tossed in the briefcase.”

  I stand up, walk over the top of the coffee table, and cross to the dining room. I need space. I start pacing. I need to do something, before I start breaking plates.

  “You’re not killing anyone,” Lou says.

  “You’re not going near him,” Ben says. “Not alone.”

  I pull open closets and doors, searching through them, finding small things that I pile on the table to organize.

  “No,” I hum, “It has to be alone. Otherwise, it’s just wasting lives.”

  Lou sighs. “Are you making one of those things?”

  “What things?” I ask, and then pause to look at the table. There are all these useful things, and I can see the ways I can make them work together, but I don’t. Instead, I start separating junk into one pile.

  I find cleaning supplies.

  The house is filthy, honestly. Dust covered and dark. The air is stale. There are brooms, mops, dusters.

  Macon holds a hand up. “When I spoke to Ezra—”

  “There’s your first mistake,” I mutter.

  “When I spoke to him, he suggested incorporating our group as one of his compounds. To share the supplies. And if I said no, he would take Lakeside forcefully. Would be a mistake to trust that.” He picks up an ornament on the coffee table, inspects it, and then sets it back. “Told him I’d talk it over with the group. But he showed up again sooner than we agreed on. Shortly after you left. He said either we make the right decision, or hand Squirrel over.”

  Lou shakes his head. “No way in hell.”

  “You want to know something about Ezra?” I say, picking up a rogue spoon. “I tell you I’m gonna whip this spoon at your head, I probably won’t do it. Ezra tells you he’s gonna whip this spoon at your head, you better duck because—”

  I chuck the spoon across the room at Macon. It makes a dent in the drywall behind him.

  “This one time, buddy got a little rowdy, a little stupid, a little brave. He started talking shit. Ezra tells him to shut the hell up or he’s gonna carve his eye out with a spoon. Buddy says yeah right. He left with one eye.”

  They’re quiet then.

  I walk over to the windows, draw the curtains and the blinds, shake the dust out of the heavy fabric. I crack all the windows open. That fresh spring air comes in, floods the room, and the scent of flowers hits me. I get the idea then that I’m going to gather some up and stick them in a vase and get this place smelling nice, and the entire idea seems so mundane.

  I turn around after thinking about that for a while and see this place in the light. I’d prefer the farmhouse with its woodstoves, but this one isn’t that bad. When did I ever think I’d be living in a place like this, even without power?

  “So, what?” I ask Macon. “He comes back looking for Squirrel, Squirrel’s not there, everyone dies?”

  “That’s about it,” he nods.

  I start organizing the shelves that are built into the walls, peeling the dust back and finding colour in the room. “Too bad Squirrel’s dead. He’ll have to deal with Ghost, who is so much worse.”

  “But you’re going to…?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I say, waving a hand, but then I look at him, look past him. Soldier has his head leaned back, eyes closed, so I point at him. “Think that’s your cue to get out.”

  “You’re not going back there,” Lou says quietly.

  I shake my head. “We’ll figure something out.”

  I look at Soldier as they make their way out, sitting there, out cold and peaceful. And then I think about Ezra and the threat that he is to this man because of me, so I follow them out of the house. I grab Macon’s arm and talk low before my dad notices and turns around.

  “Get me a truck and enough gas to get there and it’s done,” I say. “No one else. Just me. I’ll… I’ll get it done.”

  “You sure?” He asks.

  I nod. “Just get me a truck.”

  Day One Hundred And Ten

  One week passes, and in the midst of the bliss of it, I’ve been thinking about Ezra. I have no idea how I’m going to do it. I have no idea if I’ll even be able to do it. It’s been in the back of my mind while I’ve been trying to get this place livable.

  The gardens are seeded. There are flowers for the bees. I’ve fixed up traps and gone hunting.

  Soldier and a few of the others have been working on fences—nothing perfect, just enough to stop a few of the biters, if not most, and at least for now.

  Tonight, I sit on the back porch and watch Soldier chop wood for the fireplace, feet up on the rail and guitar in hand, strumming out something casual.

  I doubt they’ll let me keep weapons. I doubt they’ll let me do anything I did before. He’ll probably keep me in a locked room that only he’ll be allowed in or out of.

  I might have to use my bare hands.

  And good god, that feeling is still there, still turning my hands numb to everything else. The image is still clear in my head. Even the smell of the fucking barn and the dirt under my fingernails, it’s all there and strong as hell and it makes me sick.

  It makes me angry.

  It makes me wonder how someone could do something so horrible to thei
r own kid like that. Maybe it was the bitterness between her and Ben, or some postpartum psychosis, or both together. Or maybe she was always like that, always fucking crazy.

  “Hey!” Soldier calls over.

  I look at him. He’s standing there, axe in hand with a chunk of wood wedged onto the blade, and he’s splitting it against a stump. I smile, because I sure as hell got lucky with him.

  “What happened to the music?” He asks, gesturing to the guitar. “I was enjoying that.”

  “Got to pay to play, Soldier,” I tell him.

  He gestures at himself. “Am I not payment enough?”

  “Not when you’re over there,” I laugh.

  I set the guitar down and stand up. He chops another log as I walk down to him, pausing when I slip my arms around his waist and hug him.

  “Not out here, either.”

  He turns, bending his head down to kiss me as his hand slides down my back. “Couple more and I’ll be in.”

  I start to say something, but I catch a glimpse of movement over his shoulder. Lou is coming out of the woods where the trail starts—another thing I’ve been working on, making it clearer. I flip him the bird.

  “The fuck do you want?”

  “To not witness some guy feeling up my daughter, first off,” he says, laughing when Soldier steps back. “Just be good to her and I won’t kick your ass. But I’m here to formally invite y’all to this dinner thing Macon’s got going. A bonfire, a perimeter, food, and drinks. It’s a party. Kind of.”

  I nearly roll my eyes. “Is this an invite we can decline, or are you saying we’re expected?”

  “Expected. Macon wants to talk to you, anyway.”

  I look at Soldier, thin lipped.

  He nods and holds up the axe. “We’ll be there shortly, Lou. Just finishing up here.”

  We watch him slip back into the woods, and then he drops the axe to the grass and pulls me back, slipping his hand into my back pocket.

  “Can we pretend that we weren’t just interrupted?”