by AR Shaw
Walt wouldn’t blame him if he cried out and sobbed.
When he finally spoke, his eyes were flooded. His voice came out as a controlled, pained whisper. “Out of the thirty-five, we have seventeen, and I’m pretty sure two of them won’t make it through the night; they’re too badly burned.”
The numbers barely registered in Walt’s mind. He tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat. “Wait. How long have we been out here?”
“Two days,” Yeager said, rubbing his eyes and showing two smudged fingers. Smoke drifted overhead as a cold, sharp wind began blowing the treetops. “And we can’t stay here. I need to find us shelter. I can’t keep the fires going like this. Not enough fuel to last very long, and everything is wet or frozen.”
That’s when Walt took his first real look around their crash site / campground despite the pain in his neck and the thrumming in his head. There were snow-covered bundles all around them. Some eyes peeked out above silver blankets like his own.
“They’re freezing to death. I can’t keep them alive out here for long. We need shelter.”
Yeager seemed to be speaking without a filter now. These were his fears, splayed out on the raw, open plain.
“Do we have a radio? Do they know where we are? Is there a beacon?”
He rubbed his eyes from the smoke, the tiredness. “No,” Yeager said. “We lost almost everything. I was able to save several ration packs. Thank God, I got the medical bag and some of the survival packs, but I’ve used up most of those already on injuries. Otherwise…” He never finished the sentence. Instead, his thoughts were on the bitter wind that picked up snow and drifted it over the bodies lying on the ground.
“Yeager, you need to sleep. You’re all we’ve got now. Our only chance.”
“I can’t!” he yelled.
Walt let him vent. He’d never seen Yeager lose his cool, but man, who could blame him? He waited for Yeager’s breathing to slow before speaking again, but Yeager beat him to it and cleared his throat.
“The wolves showed up again last night. They appeared the first night on the edge of the forest. They’ve…watched us and they’ve waited ever since we crashed.”
Walt knew the younger man was leading up to something he’d rather not talk about.
“I heard them before, but…last night I saw their eyes glowing out there. They’d attacked something not far away or…they took one of the bodies on the far side of the crash. A whole bunch of them. Christ, I can’t even close my eyes now. I keep seeing them take one of the kids, trying to drag him off, every time I do.”
Walt was stunned. He had no idea. He’d heard that wolves usually shied away from humans. They were typically known only to take advantage of people with pets in tow. An image of Yeager at night, wielding torches, trying to keep the wolves from the children, suddenly crossed his mind. Perhaps the dream from last night did happen, and he’d remembered the scene. He was trying to think of something comforting to say, he wasn’t sure what yet, when a child’s shrill crying began.
“I…I better check on her. If I let her cry, the others will start in again, and then it takes forever to get them settled down.”
As Yeager stood and trudged away, Walt could tell that the weight of the world—or at least some of its survivors—was on him. He faced impossible odds. Perhaps, Walt thought, if he had died in the crash, things would be less burdensome on Yeager now; he knew that his own predicament only compounded the dire situation.
That’s when he noticed Yeager’s limp and the dried blood staining the back of his thigh. The dream he’d had last night was no dream at all. He must have witnessed at least a partial attack, not knowing how much of the fight was true and what his mind had made up for him. The cold wasn’t their only problem after all.
7 JAX
The mayor of Rockford Bay, Carl Hanson, leaned back in the conference-room chair. Sometimes he doubted that bringing his people there to the hotel in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, was a good decision. They’d voted on the dilemma as a community. Some opted to stay where they were, on the south side of the lake. He had no idea if those who chose to stay were all right. Most owned vacation houses and only a lived there a few months out of the year. They were caught there with no option of escape if they wanted to. Even though their well-being concerned him, he had to pull away and do what was right for those who’d chosen to follow him, and now, now…he was uncertain whether that was the right choice after all. Since they’d gotten word of the Osprey’s disappearance—and with it, his only surviving family member—his whole world had changed yet again.
Of course, they were out of the increasingly difficult elements within the shelter of the hotel. Still, living conditions were becoming unsustainable there as well.
Reaching for his steaming cup of coffee, he took a sip, leaned back in his chair, and stared out at the frozen tundra, a shuddering chill running through him for the countless time.
As his eyes adjusted to the cloudy light, he barely noticed the lack of details anymore. The forest that lined the lake now appeared as a black or charcoal mass, covered and weighed down with ice and snow. No longer did the bright sun shine off the ripples in the gleaming lake. His baby girl was out there, far away beyond the forest. He wouldn’t let his mind search for her soul in the darkness with his dead wife’s. He couldn’t go there yet.
He’d let Rebecca go with the last crew, and now that was a huge regret. She wasn’t a baby anymore but a grown woman, really, at eighteen, yet he couldn’t get her off his mind. Rebecca was somewhere between Coeur d’Alene and Deer Trail, Colorado. She was alive. She was well. He had to believe that and find her with any means necessary.
God, how he missed her. Ached for her safety. Nothing would stop him from getting to her. It was a heart-wrenching decision to let her go, but in the end, he thought it was her best chance for survival.
Did he feel guilty for dragging the rest of the community through this with him? Yes, he did. But it was too late to feel guilty now. After the Osprey went missing, he let go of all guilt for anyone but his Rebecca. She was the only thing that mattered to him now. After his wife literally died of starvation, he was close to losing his girl, too.
Bishop had saved her life by giving the people of Rockford what turned out to be emergency rations. She was on the brink of death then. She was weakened, and Carl knew that the flight south was the only way for her to survive. To save her life, he had to let her go. He did, and now there was no easy way to get to her, though he’d take every chance he could to do so. The news of the Osprey crash had hit him in the gut. His one tether to her had vanished then.
Hearing a conversation coming down the hall, he knew that Austin and Jax were about to enter the room. They met every morning unless they had plans in the making.
This morning, they would again discuss making a trek to Deer Trail. They all knew it was going to be a death march in the end, though no one was willing to say it aloud. With luck, a few of them might make it. Austin was a little too hopeful about the trip. Jax, he could see, knew what lay ahead.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Austin said, setting his coffee and notepads down on the table.
Chuckling a little, Carl said, “What are you going to do when you run out of those?” He gave a glance at the yellow lined pad.
“Never. I never intend to run out of these. There’s at least one in every household sitting in a desk drawer, unused and neglected. I’ll search them all out when my supply runs low.”
Carl thought it sad that they’d become accustomed to thinking of households as empty, frozen tombs. Abandoned homes everywhere, and their owners frozen somewhere out there, wherever they’d sought to go. Shaking the morbid thought from his mind, he nodded at Jax.
To Carl, Jax was a kindred soul. He’d run into Jax fishing in the Kootenai Forest years ago. At the time, the thought never crossed his mind that he would partner with this man to help a community to survive. Neither of them really liked the idea.
“What ar
e you thinking about, Carl?” Jax suddenly said, as if he’d read the man’s mind from across the conference table.
“Nah, nothing. I was just remembering when we met on the river that day. It was late spring. Snow was almost gone. The sun was out just enough to warm your face. We notice these things now that they’re gone, don’t we? I find myself thinking of things I took for granted back then, you know?”
Both men nodded knowingly.
Then after a pause, Jax cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, but living in the what was will get you killed now. Don’t waste your time on it, Carl. You can’t afford it. Now, let’s talk about our first leg and how the hell we’ll get over the challenge of Lookout Pass.”
8 BISHOP
Brushing Louna’s curly, blond locks from her forehead while she lay on the couch, Maeve knelt down and smiled into the child’s shining blue eyes. She never thought she’d see her grinning again. Louna was recovering from a brief fever. She sipped a glass of water with orange-flavored, powdered electrolytes mixed in. With the loss of her mother only a few weeks ago and the introduction of the new residents from Deer Trail, the young girl’s immune system went through far too much. It was no wonder she’d come down with a fever along with the virus.
“How is she?” Alyssa asked as she peered over Maeve’s shoulder.
“Much better. Thanks for the meds.” She handed Louna the glass of liquid again and tucked a loose blanket around her as she turned to Alyssa.
“How’s the baby?” The nursery was crowded, but they all knew which baby was causing concern.
Alyssa’s raised her eyebrows. “So far, so good. We have him on drops of the painkiller until he shows improvement, and we’re monitoring him for any signs of stress…or drunkenness.”
Maeve laughed a little. “I think we also might give some of the staff a shot of that stuff, since their nerves are a little frayed after carrying him around the clock for so long.”
Alyssa chuckled. “I’ll be the first in line for that one. A shot of vodka would also suffice,” she said as she packed her medical equipment into what looked like a large, red, padded tackle box. She slung the strap over her back.
“Alyssa? Why don’t you stay awhile? I have a bottle of wine in the cupboard, and the kids are fine.”
Smiling, Alyssa said, “I know you’re trying to help but, I cannot sit down and relax while I know he’s still out there. You have Ben’s father here for you. I can’t expect you to understand.”
The hair on the back of Maeve’s neck stood up. She knew Alyssa hadn’t meant to insult her, but she felt the sting anyway.
Looking to the floor, Maeve whispered, “I might understand what you’re going through more than you know. Bishop isn’t Ben’s father. Ben’s father was my late husband, Roger, who died over a year ago in China. I do know what you’re going through. Believe me.” When she glanced up, Alyssa had taken a step back.
“I’m sorry. I just assumed—”
“No worries, Alyssa. I’m just trying to let you know that I do know what you’re going though. We all are hoping for a very different outcome.”
Alyssa let the bag slide from her shoulder down to the floor. “I might have time for that glass of wine, after all.”
That’s when Maeve felt she’d seen Alyssa for her true self. Her shoulders slumped a little, and a rawness lay bare before her. The fear of losing Walt forever was etched there—a fear that Maeve knew too well. Suddenly, her own loss of Roger came flooding back. The misery of losing the man all over again. Before she succumbed to her own memories, Maeve retrieved two plastic glasses from the cupboard. She found it an odd letdown that there were no actual wineglasses in the cupboards. These apartments were meant for the apocalypse, meant to contain necessities. Yet, there was wine. Who made these decisions?
When she returned, Alyssa was pulling at the collar of her T-shirt. “I wish we could open a window at times. If only it were spring, like it’s supposed to be, but no…we’re in eternal winter hell.”
Maeve chuckled at her words as she handed Alyssa a full glass of wine and sat in a chair in the living room beside her. Swirling the red liquid in the highball glass as she would in a stemmed one didn’t quite have the same effect.
“Did you know?” Alyssa asked, her eyes flooding with tears.
Maeve knew what she was asking, but she needed to say the words anyway. “Did I know Roger was dead before they told me?”
Attempting to speak, Alyssa wiped away a tear and instead nodded the assent.
Taking a breath before she spoke, Maeve stared out into the room, trying to remember. Following a deep breath, she said, “I have to say no. I want to say that I knew the moment he left me…left this world, his son, all of us. But that morning, and I remember every minute detail, I had a dream about him. A good memory of us fishing and how he purposely dunked me just to hear me scream because of the cold water. I woke up. I missed him. I was happy, and Ben and I went about our daily routine. We were supposed to video chat with him later that night.” Maeve’s voice stalled. She took a sip of wine and brushed some imaginary lint from her jeans. “Instead, I got a call at my bookstore around lunchtime saying that he was injured. And then a visit a few hours later from uniformed men. ‘It happened so fast that he didn’t suffer,’ they said. I lost my world that day.”
When she looked up at Alyssa, who was sobbing, she regretted having told her the finer details. Maeve leaned in, touched her knee. “We don’t know anything yet. I’m sorry. I know how hard this is.”
“How…did you go on?”
Taking another deep breath, Maeve shook her head. “I saw my son…you just do. You have no choice, really, Alyssa. I’m not going to tell you that it’s going to be okay. That’s bullshit!
“If he’s alive, we’ll find him, or he’ll make it back to you on his own. If he’s not, you will go on. That’s all there is to it. For now, stay busy. That’s all you can do.”
“You are not good at the pep-talk stuff.” Alyssa laughed a little through the tears.
Smiling, Maeve, shook her head. “You’d expect nothing less from me than straight talk. I know that’s all we have now. Only the brutal truth.”
Alyssa nodded and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She gulped down the rest of her wine, and as she left, she reached for Maeve in a tender hug. The two women bonded in a way they’d never wanted to.
9 WALT
“Here’s the flare gun,” Garrett said, stuffing the pistol under Walt’s blanket, near his hand. “If anything happens—”
In the twilight, Walt took the weapon. “I’ll what? Light up the sky to see the carnage better? What the hell, Yeager? Give me something better than this. A fighting chance would be nice.”
A reluctant pause on Yeager’s part caused Walt to say, “We’re not that low on ammo, are we?”
“I’ve got it stashed all around. We need to conserve what we have. I’m a better shot than you are, even uninjured.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you,” Walt said as he palmed the flare gun and checked its load. Then he laid the gun on his chest under the blanket and placed his hand on the back of the child next to him to make sure that she was breathing all right.”
“She okay?”
Walt nodded.
“Okay, look…I know you can’t stay awake for long with the painkillers, but it’s almost dark. I’ve got the fires going. I’ll bank them more through the night. If you feel like you have to shoot, just don’t point right. There are kids over that way. Straight ahead or left, if you need to light things up. That’ll at least give me enough time to see things more clearly.”
Feeling more helpless than ever, Walt lowered his eyes, he was practically useless now. “We need to find shelter.”
“I know!” Yeager yelled.
“There’s hardly any daylight hours, and I spend those taking care of the kids and working on security for the night. I’m doing everything I can, Walt.”
“Hey! I know. I wasn’t giving you a hard time. You
’re worn out. I’m just stating the obvious. You can’t keep doing this night after night.”
Yeager brushed a hand through his hair. “It gets worse every night, Walt. It’s just a matter of time…before they get one of them.” His eyes were full of agony.
“Okay, look. I’m conscious, at least for now. I’ll help as much as I can.”
Yeager nodded. Walt doubted he could speak at this point. Emotions ran high when you were at your wits’ end, and for Yeager, that was saying something. He was as resourceful as they came. For him to get to this point…Walt knew they were screwed. They had to figure something out. He had to act. Yeager needed him. “Don’t give me anymore painkillers, Yeager. You need me. I mean it.”
With anger in his eyes, Yeager was about to rebuff him, but when he met Walt’s glance, he thought better of it. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. You’ll be in a hell of a lot of pain—crawling out of your mind with it. You might not even be worth more than you are now.”
“Thanks a lot, you little jerk. I can help at least right now before fevers set in. I know what I’m in for, Yeager. Help me sit up.”
“Walt, seriously—”
“Seriously, nothing. No more drugs. And hand me a fucking rifle with a scope. Don’t leave me stranded like this.”
“It’s going to hurt like hell.”
With dead seriousness, Walt repeated, “Give me a goddamn weapon, Yeager. I’m not going to say it again.”
Nodding, Yeager left. He returned a moment later with a rifle and extra magazines, which he piled nearby. Then he returned with two packs that he pulled around to Walt’s head. “Like I said before, this is going to hurt.”
“Just do it,” Walt said and steeled himself for the blinding pain to come. And that’s just what happened. He swallowed as Yeager shoved his hands under his arms and lifted him up, and then the searing jolt took hold.
“Don’t hold your breath! You’ll pass out,” Yeager yelled.
