by Nathan Jones
The evening of the tenth day was an exception to Kristy's eagerness to go straight to bed, though, since Simon had invited her and Skyler to join him at his fire for dinner. It was a kind offer, one that afforded her a chance to not only spend more time with the man but also spared some of their food stores to make them stretch that much longer.
Although she had to admit it had the feel of a date to it. She was still battling her grief over Miles and guilt at the prospect of moving on from him, and had mixed feelings about accepting the offer. Not to mention the more practical consideration that even after changing into her marginally nicer clean change of clothes and doing her best to make herself presentable, she still looked like roadkill.
“I'm a complete mess,” she wailed to Vicky as she stared at her sunburned nose and chapped lips in her friend's small hand mirror.
The petite woman, busy brushing the snarls out of Kristy's long, pale blond hair, paused to pat her shoulder. “Don't be silly. None of us are looking our best, but compared to the rest of us you're still as stunning as ever.”
Kristy grimaced. “That's not exactly encouraging.”
Her friend laughed, swiftly pulling her hair into a ponytail and tying it with a cord. “If it makes you feel better, Simon will probably be too self-conscious about his sunburned face peeling everywhere to notice if you have chapped lips and split ends.”
It was hard not to grin at that; the redheaded man's skin had been peeling more and more over the last few days. He'd been doing his best to protect himself from the sun, but you could only do so much when you were always under it.
With a last rueful look at her reflection Kristy gave her friend back the mirror and stood. “Ready, sweetie?” she called to Skyler, who was playing some game with Lisa that involved throwing rocks at a bush. Kristy had made some effort to clean her son up too, having him wash his hands and face and change into a clean shirt, but it still embarrassed her how much like a ragamuffin he looked.
She supposed he was in good company, though; hopefully when they reached Texas they'd have the chance to properly wash and mend clothes. Maybe even purchase new ones with a bit of her remaining silver, if they could spare any.
There were a dozen or so people gathered around Simon's fire, his friends and their families. They were all people Kristy didn't know too well, since they'd mostly lived a few days' walk away along the fringes of the fallout zone and she hadn't had many chances to see them. But as her friendship with Simon grew she'd spent enough time around them to at least know their names and a few other pertinent details.
The redheaded man immediately came over to greet them, ruffling Skyler's hair and wryly accepting Kristy's proffered handshake. She flushed at his reaction, a bit embarrassed since for a while now they'd been comfortable enough in their friendship to offer greeting and farewell hugs, some of them lingering. But the gray area about whether or not this was a date had her flustered, as did the crowd of onlookers, and she instinctively erred on the side of formality.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way to the fire. “I hope you brought your appetites.”
He wasn't joking; the portions he served them weren't absurdly large, but definitely more than the strict rationing she'd been keeping to with the Hendricksons. It was good food, too, stew made with dried meat and roots and thickened with flour. It even had some spices in it, a rare luxury these days aside from what grew locally.
Kristy ate slowly, savoring the meal and the warm, pleasant company. Skyler on the other hand wolfed his portion down, and didn't seem embarrassed about accepting seconds when Simon made the offer.
“Got to make sure you grow big and strong, eh?” he ribbed as he plopped a couple more ladlefuls into her son's bowl, giving her a wink over the boy's head. “How about you, mom? Got room for more?”
She wanted nothing more than to accept, but she already felt bad enough about Skyler eating more on top of how much they'd already been given. “I'm good, thanks.”
The redheaded man gave her an understanding look as he continued to dole out what little was left to others until it was empty. Brad's son, who was a few years younger than Skyler, volunteered to lick the pot clean, and with a laugh Simon handed it over.
With the meal finished Simon and Brad spent a few minutes roughhousing with Skyler and the other kids, challenging them to mock arm and leg wrestles and doing their best to let the youngest competitors win, usually with borderline silly results.
Kristy watched along with Brad's wife Val and a few other women, smiling at the sight of her son interacting with men who could provide him a good example.
Bob was wonderful for that as well, of course, always there to offer advice and kindness to a child still suffering the recent loss of his father and his world being upended by a sudden move across the Southwest. But the poor man was usually busy keeping the handcart moving or doing camp chores, and more than eager to collapse into bed and get what rest he could before starting the exhausting process all over again the next day. It was hard for him to find time to spare for anything else.
“It's good to see you smiling, Kris,” Val said after a few minutes. Kristy didn't know the slightly older woman well, but she was the type who made friends quickly and wasted no time dropping formalities.
“It's been a nice evening,” Kristy acknowledged. “Thanks for having us.”
Val replied with an affectionate pat on the arm. Then she paused for a moment before nudging her conspiratorially. “And if you don't mind me saying so, our fearless leader's been smiling a lot more since he started spending time with you, too. He's always been a bit of a rogue, but I think you two are good for each other.”
Kristy felt her face flush. “He's been a good friend. I don't know what we would've done without him.”
“I can think of a few things I'd be doing with him if he looked at me the way he does you,” another of the women, also widowed but at least ten years Kristy's senior, piped up. Her tone was teasing, but there was a slight edge to it that suggested it was at least partly sincere.
Val shushed the other woman and gave Kristy a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she led her back over to the fire. “I can hardly imagine what it must be like for you,” she consoled quietly. “The thought of losing Brad gives me nightmares, and I don't think I'd ever get over the grief. Not to mention packing up to move so far with a young child in tow. I really admire your courage.”
“Thank you,” Kristy said. This entire conversation was making her uncomfortable, reminding her of her husband's death and calling attention to her relationship with Simon when she wasn't sure what it was at the moment.
The other woman seemed to sense that. She gave her another pat on the elbow and suddenly lightened her tone. “Although if you ever need a babysitter to watch Skyler so you can, ah, spend some quality time with Simon, I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on the kiddo for an hour or two.”
Kristy felt her face flush again. The offer was probably mostly a joke, and anyway she'd certainly ask Vicky to watch her son before taking Val up on it.
Not too long after that Kristy called that it was time for Skyler to go to bed. The boy obediently joined her by the fire, although he looked disappointed. And even more so when Simon invited her to stay for a bit longer talking while her son headed off to sleep. “I can walk you back to your camp whenever you're ready.”
Kristy probably should've refused, especially after the embarrassing talk with the other women. But her camp was only a stone's throw away, so she'd be able to keep an eye on her tent to make sure her son was safe and didn't try to sneak out.
Besides, the prospect of spending some more time with Simon wasn't a terrible one.
So she stayed a bit longer, chatting with the man and his friends as they gradually excused themselves to head to bed. Finally Simon caught her in the middle of a yawn and smiled wryly, standing and offering her a hand up. “I could happily talk with you all night, but we should probably get you to bed.”
Kristy no
dded reluctantly and allowed him to pull her to her feet, walking beside him as they headed off into the night.
But not far outside the circle of firelight Simon abruptly took her hand again and veered off to a more private spot behind the oxen wagon. She followed with her heart in her throat, equal parts nervous and excited. And guilty too, although she did her best to push that down for the moment. She respected her husband's memory, but she couldn't let grief make her miserable for the rest of her life.
Maybe it was time to look to the future.
Simon kept hold of her hand even after they'd slowed to a stop, turning to look solemnly into her eyes. “I was wondering if we could revisit that conversation we had in Grand Junction,” he said in a soft voice.
“I suppose it's been a while since then,” Kristy agreed, fighting to keep her voice calm.
“It has.” The redheaded man squeezed her fingers gently. “I don't want to assume anything, but I feel like the time we've spent together has been leading to something. Like we're already more than just friends and have been for a while. That now we're comfortably moving on to that next step.”
Kristy was slow to answer. She enjoyed the feel of his strong, calloused hand, and didn't want to ruin this moment with a careless word. “I still cry myself to sleep some nights,” she confessed. “I . . . feel like our time together's been leading to something too, but I'll never stop missing Miles.”
“I wouldn't ask you to. I've always believed that just like joy is doubled when shared, grief is halved. It's been so hard since I lost Natalie, I'd like to have someone who can understand that pain. And I want to be there for you the same way.”
This wasn't exactly the romantic rendezvous she'd been expecting, but in a way it was better. More real. Kristy desperately needed a shoulder to cry on, and although Vicky had been there for her when she needed her most Skyler depended on his mother to be strong. She'd had to bottle up so much of her grief and misery since Miles died, often holding her son at night while he cried in her arms at missing his dad, while she did her best to hold it together and quietly shed her own tears.
Out of nowhere a sob abruptly welled up and escaped, and Kristy sank down against the wagon wheel. “I'm sorry,” she said in a broken voice, tears falling freely. “I-”
“Shh.” Simon sank to the ground beside her and slowly pulled her into a gentle embrace, careful to make it clear she could pull back any time she wanted and he'd be just fine with that. Kristy didn't, instead sinking into his arms and letting all her pent up emotions free in a storm that had to be horribly awkward for him. Although he was kind enough not to show it.
If anyone in the camp around them noticed her meltdown they allowed her some privacy, leaving her in a bubble with just the wagon at her back and Simon's silent, supportive presence. Kristy wasn't sure how long they sat like that, and she wasn't blind to the fact that she was seeking comfort over the loss of her husband in another man's arms.
Even so she wasn't in any hurry for the moment to end.
After a while she noticed that somehow while huddling deeper and deeper into the man's comforting embrace, his hands had ended up uncomfortably close to some awkward places. Probably entirely by accident.
Kristy reluctantly pulled back, not wanting to end the moment but also not ready for it to go in that direction. Especially when it had been so good as a bonding experience for them to share their grief. Something deeper, more intimate, more real than simply getting frisky in the darkness, she felt.
“I should go,” she murmured as she looked up into his eyes, preparing to slip out of his arms. She was glad it was dark because although she enjoyed being the focus of his warm gaze, her nose was runny, her eyes puffy, and her hair mussed from burrowing her head in his shoulder. She was sure she looked just awful.
The redheaded man let her go with equal reluctance. Even so he was first to his feet, offering her a hand. Then after he helped her up he kept his hold on her hand as they wove between tents until they reached hers.
After an awkward moment of silence, neither one of them seeming able to think of anything to say, Simon abruptly pulled her into a gentle embrace and pressed his lips to hers.
Kristy stiffened with surprise, pushing down a brief flash of indignation. After what they'd just shared this seemed like a highly inappropriate time to go for another kiss. But then again perhaps it was his way of sharing and receiving comfort, and considering how they'd just bonded she was willing to let him have this.
At least until his hand at the small of her back began to stray southward, which she felt was taking things too far. She stepped back, but to lessen the sting of the rejection squeezed his hand for a moment and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Simon may have been disappointed, it was hard to tell in the dark, but his voice was full of sincere warmth as he squeezed her hand back. “I'm here for you, Kristy. I'll always be here.” He finally let go and started back towards his fire.
Kristy stood watching his silhouette as he said a few brief goodnights to his friends and finally vanished into his tent. Then she fiddled with the partially stuck zipper on her own tent until she could duck inside, zipping it closed behind her.
To her relief Skyler was already asleep atop his blankets, breathing soft and even. Kristy pulled off her shoes and sprawled on her own blankets, feeling the heavy sort of emotional exhaustion that came from healthy release. She was suddenly so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and more than happy to close them and let herself drift off.
For the first time in months she felt like things might turn out okay. That maybe the world wasn't unfailingly cruel and unfeeling and she might find some happiness in it again.
As if the world heard her it only waited until the next morning to prove her wrong.
Chapter Eight
Rumble
Two hundred and fifty miles to Newpost.
Still over a third of the distance left to go, and unquestioningly the worst of it. Tom had traveled this area during the summer before, even during the hottest months of July and August. He knew from long experience that the heat was just another thing to get used to, like so many discomforts in life. Just like he had so many times before.
But it was one of those odd things where as unpleasant as something was in the moment, and even if you clearly remembered how bad it could get, afterwards you didn't really remember how awful it was until you were back there experiencing it again.
So here he was. And he had plenty more of this to look forward to there and back again. At this rate he'd be in the badlands all through summer, the worst time to be here.
Why couldn't Simon have come last fall and traveled through the winter? Sure, that would've presented its own challenges, but when the heat conservatively topped 110 degrees in the afternoon it was easy to fantasize about the frigid depths of winter. Or at least the chilly depths, around here.
And it was one of those odd things, where here and now Tom looked back at the heart of nuclear winter in the high mountains that second year after the Ultimatum, a poor decision that nearly cost his life and left half his toes blackened and nearly dead for months afterwards. And didn't it just seem like heaven compared to this blasted heat.
He supposed it was all in the contrast. Ask him in December which he preferred and he'd wish for summer. And, well, he was wishing for December right about now.
The hair and beard didn't help, of course. They'd been with him so long he barely noticed them most of the time, at least until they got long enough to be unruly. But now with them trapping in the heat when he was already broiling he was really starting to hate them.
The absurdity of it was he had scissors, a couple hand mirrors, and a straight razor in his pack that he'd carried around with him for years. He could shear himself like a sheep whenever he wanted and feel the blessed furnace air on his skin.
But he didn't. Stubbornness, probably.
Despite any discomfort Tom may
have been feeling he did his best to ignore the heat, aside from taking the necessary precautions so he wouldn't suffer adverse effects from it. He knew how to bear up under it and didn't let it affect how he looked or acted.
Which, he had to admit, put him in the overwhelming minority in the convoy. The others walked around like zombies in a heat daze, parched and sunburned and exhausted. He saw people giving him looks of disbelief when he returned from scouting in the evenings with a spring in his step, and he overheard some muttering about how he must've been born in the badlands to handle them some well.
Even Simon had to force himself to square his shoulders and project an aura of leadership, although he was obviously struggling as much as anyone. “I don't know how you do it,” he'd told Tom, more than a little resentfully, not long after they'd crossed into New Mexico.
Tom had just shrugged. “Experience. Give it long enough and you can get used to anything, especially if you have no other choice.”
He had, after a fashion. Mostly he kept his mind clear of heat daze by staying focused on things: his scouting, contemplation about his past, plans for the future, moments of appreciation for the splendor around him.
Spending hours at a time ranging ahead of the convoy alone gave him a lot of time to think, and honestly he liked it like that; he'd had a long time to get comfortable in his own head. And while it was easy to get a bit stir crazy while trapped in his winter lodge during a snowstorm, he always felt a certain peace and contentment when he was out moving through nature.
Although admittedly he might've been too in his own head, the morning of their eleventh day after changing their route to strike straight across the badlands. Or maybe with the sun approaching noon he was feeling the heat more than usual.
Whatever it was, it took Tom far too long to notice the odd wrongness to the air. And when he finally did he had to pause for several seconds looking around, senses alert, until he realized it came from a distant rumble, so low it barely registered to his ears.
