After the Ending

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Ciao,

  Dani

  35

  ZOE

  “You’re not focusing!” Sanchez’s voice rang in my head. She was sitting only inches from me on one of the picnic benches in the quad. She’d caught me glaring at the barracks—I’d spent too much time crying within its walls and was grateful to finally be outside.

  “Really? Do you have to yell?” My brain already felt swollen from the emotional, sleepless night that had followed my reading of Dani’s email. Dani was alive. But my dad wasn’t. When I’d seen the email in my inbox, I’d barely been able to hold back tears of relief, but upon reading it I couldn’t refrain from crying tears of anguish. I thought I’d previously come to terms with my dad’s death, but my reaction to Dani’s email had proved otherwise. The hundreds of things I wished I could say to him had swirled in my mind as I’d cried into the night. God, I was tired of crying.

  “Well, pay attention,” Sanchez said.

  “I am,” I responded coolly, trying to ignore Sanchez’s narrowed eyes and pinched mouth. “So, recapping…you can’t hear or read my thoughts, but I can hear yours.” I paused, waiting for Sanchez to nod. “You can’t talk to animals, can you?”

  Her face scrunched in confusion. “What? No, why?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Your turn.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remove myself from the present. I tried to block out the beautiful sunset I wanted to watch and the bullfrogs croaking loudly down at the pond. I tried to ignore the fact that I yearned, as usual, for an early spring.

  Finally pushing all distractions from my mind, I pictured Sanchez sitting in front of me. I thought of her mind, her face, and the way she tended to glare at me impatiently. But nothing came.

  “Let me try something else,” I thought out loud.

  Erasing the image of Sanchez from my head, I thought of the universe. I thought of blackness and infinity, of all the stars and planets and galaxies, and how insignificant I was in relation to all of it.

  Again, nothing came.

  Taking another approach, I opened my eyes and reached out to touch her. Her impatience was heavy, burdening my senses, so I let go.

  “Well, we know touch works without fail,” I said in exasperation. I wish I knew how the hell to control this…thing.

  “And your mind?”

  “I’m still working on that one.”

  Taking a deep breath, I again attempted to reach out to her with my mind. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I muttered. I couldn’t help but laugh at the bizarreness of the situation. “I can’t believe I’m trying to read your mind.”

  “Just concentrate—I’m sure you’re more in tune with your unique talent than you think.”

  I focused all my attention on seeking the surges and tingles of energy I felt floating around the periphery of my consciousness. They would come and go as they pleased, meowing and pawing at the back door of my mind like stray cats. I was able to ignore them most of the time, but once I was seeking them out, they’d scurried away.

  Trying to concentrate on the unknown was a challenge, but I must’ve done something right. I felt a tug on my consciousness. Opening myself up to it, I felt a sense of impatience and frustration dancing around me, two emotions I easily identified as Sanchez’s. Pulling them closer with my mind, I reached further in.

  I saw myself through Sanchez’s eyes, sitting in front of her with my legs crossed. I barely recognized myself, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was looking at myself through someone else’s eyes or because I’d changed so much. A lot had happened over the past few weeks. I’d lost weight, making my cheekbones more prominent, and I looked weak, even though I felt stronger than I ever had before. Defensively, I sat up straighter.

  Losing myself in Sanchez’s mind, I watched a montage of memories parade through my awareness, a tornado of emotions swirling around them.

  Sanchez was worried about us. Our group was in the mess hall eating dinner, and she anxiously watched us from afar. Her mind was bombarded by the pressure of being our leader and trying to protect us against the unknown.

  Sanchez was looking in a mirror, her face wet from crying. She pushed her emotions away with fierce determination and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Refocusing on her reflection, she made sure she appeared perfectly composed. She sighed before straightening her outfit and walking out her barracks room door.

  Sanchez stared down at her fallen squad members—slaughtered and strewn on the snow-covered ground.

  Sanchez and Harper were lying in bed together, younger and uncertain, different than I knew them.

  Sanchez was driving through the desert, looking out at the barren land around her with a gleeful smile on her face.

  Sanchez was peering between her childish fingers as she hid her face. She was cringing as her father’s hand came down across her mother’s cheek. Her mother was crying and running after him as he drove away.

  I’d seen too much, and with a jolt, I pulled myself away from Sanchez’s mind. Sitting in front of her, I saw a different woman than I had before—instead of austere and distant, I now saw her as strong, protective, and guarded. She was a true survivor, an independent woman forged from suffering and loss. For the first time, thinking of never seeing her again once I left for Colorado made me feel sad.

  “Are you alright?” Her hand brushed my arm. “Zoe, are you okay? You’re really pale.”

  “Yeah, thanks. That was just…” I knew she wouldn’t appreciate that I’d seen the memories of her past, felt her deepest fears and emotions. “That was more difficult than I thought.”

  “What’s it like? What did you see?” she asked anxiously.

  “It was a rush of images I couldn’t really piece together, but at least now I think I know how to access them,” I said, giving her half the truth.

  She smiled hopefully. “But it worked?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded as she watched me intently. I wasn’t sure what other private memories I’d uncover if we continued, so I said, “But it took a lot of energy…I’m sort of zapped. I’m gonna call it a day, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, but there was a hint of skepticism in her voice.

  To avoid any further questions, I stood abruptly. “Sorry, I’m getting antsy. I need to move around. Must be all that time in bed.” I stretched my back dramatically and said the first thing that came to my mind. “I think I’ll go for a walk. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Sanchez nodded, and I strolled away.

  Folding my arms, I pretended to be lost in thought as I scuffed my feet along the pathway.

  “We’ll talk more later,” I heard Sanchez say in my head. Without turning, I waved to her and continued toward the barracks. Walking inside, I meandered, unsure of what to do. Dave, Stacey, and Sarah were deep in conversation in the common room, and the others weren’t around, so I was on my own.

  Realizing that what I’d said to Sanchez was true—I’d done enough sitting around—I snatched my sketchbook and a few pencils from my room and headed back out to capture the final rays of the sunset.

  In an attempt to avoid Sanchez, I moved between vacant buildings toward the gym. I hadn’t done much exploring, especially not after what we’d found at the hospital off-base. Walking around alone was intimidating, but I welcomed the fresh air. Maybe I’ll find Harper and Biggs in the gym.

  As I continued on, I soaked in the landscape around me. Dead leaves lined the gutters of the well-worn roads, and withered weeds poked through jagged cracks in the sidewalk. I wondered if Fort Knox always looked so desolate. I tried to imagine red and orange leaves on the trees in autumn, and green grass and blooming flowers along the pathways in the spring. But I’d only known it as a barren, abandoned base, and I couldn’t picture it as anything else.

  Coming around the corner of the small post office, I heard a clanking noise. I froze, unsure if I should continue my exploration. After hearing it again—the distinct sound of
metal hitting metal—I decided to investigate. I poked my head around the corner of the building and saw a few old cars parked alongside a repair garage and scattered throughout a small parking lot. In the right stall of the garage, a wheel-less Humvee was suspended on a lift, and a black panel van occupied the stall on the left.

  Another bang suggested someone was working inside. Curiously, I wandered closer to the garage, expecting to see Biggs piddling around. Instead, I found Jake bent over the open hood of the van. His long-sleeve thermal shirt pulled tightly over his arms and back while he wrenched. His sleeves were pushed up so they bunched around his elbows, and I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his forearms flexing with each twist of his wrist.

  “Hey,” I said stupidly, knowing that if he found me watching him and I’d said nothing, it would be even more awkward.

  His body jerked and he bumped his head on the van’s hood. “Shit!” he barked.

  I hid my sudden grin with my sketchbook. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He stared at me for a moment—taking me in, ensuring I wasn’t a Crazy. Small streaks of grease stained his forehead and left cheek, indicating he’d used a dirty arm to wipe his face.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked harshly, but his flushed cheeks and ragged breathing indicated he was just flustered.

  “I was taking a walk and heard some noises,” I explained as I made my way into the garage.

  Surveying the unfamiliar surroundings, I noticed the shop was littered with dirty objects that I knew nothing about. I was sure they were all parts of cars—or tools for fixing broken parts of cars—but the whole mess looked like a bunch of junk to me. Tools with red and black handles were strewn about on work benches, covered in a layer of dust that told me they hadn’t been used in a while. The cement floor was stained with grime; I could feel it under my shoes, sticky and gritty. Dirty red rags decorated the large, tiered toolboxes and stools. The shop was a complete mess—exactly the way I expected a repair garage to be…except for the area around Jake.

  He had a row of sockets and wrenches lined-up on the floor in front of the van. Descending in size, almost a perfect half inch away from one another, the tools lay waiting to be used. Jake was cranking a wrench, making it click rapidly as his wrist moved in a back and forth motion. A semi-clean red rag hung out of his back pocket, and a folded beanie lay on a stool nearby.

  He’s a neat freak, I realized. Probably a perfectionist too. I nodded to myself. That explains a lot. His cool exterior was only a glimpse into his need to remain in control.

  As he continued working, I perused the shop. The more I walked around, the more I realized I liked the unique way the place smelled.

  “Why are you smiling?” Jake asked quietly, looking up at me.

  “Am I smiling?” My smile widened to a grin. “I guess I’ve just never been in a garage like this before. I like it.” The look on his face changed, a sort of surprise replacing his curiosity. “What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, pointing to the van he was working on.

  “I thought the battery was dead, but it’s…” Registering my confusion, he paused and stood straighter. “I’m replacing the alternator,” he said.

  “Oh, cool. Nothing you can’t handle then?”

  “No, not unless I break something else,” he joked dryly.

  Sidling up to the van, I leaned in. “You like to work on cars?”

  “It keeps my mind busy.” He turned back to the maze of metal and hoses under the hood.

  I nodded and straightened. “I understand. That’s why I like drawing.”

  Jake said nothing and returned to cranking the wrench. No matter how much he played it off, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. There was no hesitation or fumbling in his movements.

  He can fight; he fixes cars; he knows how to put on a fireworks show… “Can I ask you something else?”

  Reaching down into the engine, he nodded.

  “It’s about the fireworks,” I said before I could lose my nerve.

  Jake withdrew from the engine and straightened, the look on his face reflecting my own feelings of discomfort. Although I was a twenty-six-year-old woman looking at a thirty-something-year-old man, my heart raced like I was a teenager and he was the first boy I’d ever liked. Liked? I don’t know if I’d go that far…he intrigues me…that’s all.

  “Why did you do it?” Changing my mind, I amended, “I mean, how?”

  He glanced at me, and after a brief pause, shrugged indifferently. “I lit the fuses.”

  My eyes narrowed in frustration until I noticed something. Although his face was expressionless, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He was teasing me.

  I might’ve fallen for his antics a week earlier, when I thought my presence repulsed him, but I’d come to know better. His actions told me more about him than his words ever would. Two can play this game, Mr. Vaughn. As I schemed, my pulse quickened.

  “Obviously you lit the fuses,” I said coolly, inching closer to the van. I wondered what it would take to provoke an honest reaction from him.

  I leaned against the van, resting my elbows on the cold metal framing the engine bay. Without fully knowing what came over me, I arched my back, feeling my breasts bulge out the top of my tight v-neck. My pants hugged my ass as I stuck it out noticeably. The motion pulled my shirt up slightly to reveal a hint of my lower back.

  Jake’s eyes moved over my curves, quickly assessing every inch of me. My mind betrayed me, and I wondered what it’d feel like to have his hands on me. He must’ve wondered something similar because his eyes briefly glazed over with desire. For the first time, I felt strong around him, in control. I grinned in victory, and he narrowed his eyes, looking down to clean the wrench he’d been using.

  Letting the moment go, I straightened from my ridiculous pose, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. “Why do you have to be so vague?” I asked. “I mean, where did you even get the fireworks? Or do you know how to make them?”

  This time he smiled. “No,” he said with a chuckle. “I can’t make fireworks. Harper and I found a stockpile when we were searching for fuel awhile back.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment in my voice surprised me.

  Jake must have heard it too, because he gave me a sidelong glance. “You thought I made them?”

  I blushed. “No. Yes. I don’t know what I thought.” It shouldn’t matter. I shook the distracting thoughts from my head.

  Jake set the now spotless wrench aside, and as he wiped the grease from his hands, his questioning eyes met mine.

  Feeling awkward, I backed away. The playfulness had suddenly evaporated, and I felt like I was in the way of his work. But I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I spotted an old, ratty, leather recliner in the next stall. It had a folded blue tarp draped over its lower half, covered in dust. Reluctant to wander back out into the dying light, I walked over to the chair and peeked under the tarp. It was clean. Knowing I’d found as good of a place as any, I pulled off the tarp and draped it over a nearby lift.

  “Do you mind?” I asked, pointing to the chair.

  Jake glanced over at me and shook his head. I was glad he didn’t ask me why I was hesitant to leave—I didn’t know the answer.

  I curled up on the chair and opened my sketch pad, trying to ignore the unease in my stomach as Jake repeatedly glanced over at me. I quickly began sketching. Although I’d never attempted them before, the shapes came easily. Before long, I had captured the slightly beat-up van on my page. Jake was there too…I hadn’t been able to resist capturing his rugged beauty.

  Date: January 1, 6:45 PM

  From: Zoe Cartwright

  To: Danielle O’Connor

  Subject: Hallelujah!

  Dani,

  What can I say other than THANK FREAKING GOD you’re alive. I almost cried when I saw your email. Oh wait, I did cry. I guess that’s not very surprising. I’ve been crying a lot lately, but that’s beside the point. You scared the shit out o
f me, but now that you’re safe and with Jason, I’ll let you off the hook with an “I understand where you were coming from” and an “as long as you don’t do it again”. Capiche?

  I’ve missed you so much, D. Things have been beyond crazy…they’ve been unbelievable. But it sounds like you’ve had a lot going on too. Animals and telepathy? I know I should be surprised, but I’m not really. These…Abilities (I think that’s what you’re officially calling them) really are everywhere, not just with you and me.

  Now, about you killing people? I say, good for you. I’ve seen some shit too, and I understand why you had to do it. It’s kill or be killed—I know that now. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m also glad that you don’t have to deal with Cece anymore…but I agree, it’s definitely unsettling to think about her running around controlling people’s minds.

  I’ve been spending a lot of time with Harper, but not the way you’re thinking. We’re just friends…flirty friends, but nothing more. Oh and I should probably mention that Jake saved my life…again. And he did something for me last night that showed me a completely different side of him, or I guess I should say, showed me more of who he is. He put on a little fireworks show for me, which was unexpected since I didn’t think he could stand me. It was beautiful. I wish you could’ve seen it. It might be the last time I ever see something like it. I gave him a hug after. Is that lame? It felt lame, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  You should probably know that Jake’s like us…changed by the virus. I’m not sure how to describe it…I guess he regenerates superfast (i.e., bullet wounds disappear within hours, he might not be able to die, that sort of thing). Also, Sanchez is sort of telepathic like you…except for the animals part. I’m really trying to embrace my emotion/memory reading skills instead of push them away. That would’ve prevented me from getting in the last near death experience I barely survived. FYI, Sanchez has Clara (did I tell you about her before you went MIA?) imprisoned somewhere for trying to kill me. It’s safer than banishing her…at least this way we all know where she is. She’s a PSYCHO, literally.