Need to check on Max and Kat.
Scrubbing my cheeks, I gather my hair into a loose ponytail and put on a brave face.
A soft knock drags my attention to the door. Mamma opens it. Her eyes are red and swollen.
“How’s Kat?” I ask, walking toward her.
She shakes her head and swallows, turning into the hall and waiting on me.
My pulse throbs through my limbs. I’m not ready to hear what’s written on her face.
“Tilly,” she whispers. “Go inside. He needs you right now.” She sniffles and covers her mouth, her eyebrows drawn together, pivoting toward the living room.
I stand before the door and listen. She can’t be gone, she’s filled with too much life, too much happiness, too much innocence. Soft, hoarse cries reach my ears, and I can no longer bear to be on the other side of the barrier. With a click, I open the door and slide inside, shutting it again.
Before I can turn around, the chair scrapes against the floor, and Max’s arms smother me in a hug. “She’s gone, Tilly. She’s gone, she’s gone.” His tears cover my neck.
I let him crush me to his body and slide my hands to the small of his back and hang onto him, crying, too. Between the ocean of tears in my eyes, I catch peeks of Kat’s tiny, too-still body lying on her back. I wail harder, unable to speak any words of consolation.
Max and I fall to the floor, our limbs tangled together and our hearts pounding so hard I can feel his beating against my chest. He rocks me back and forth, and I slip my hands to stroke the long hair cascading along his spine. I become his sponge, soaking up his sorrow to mingle with mine, and he falls apart in my arms.
Eventually, his sobs become hiccups and he pulls away. “If I’d been here last night, m-maybe she wouldn’t have gotten sick.” His eyes seek out her form and his body shudders.
“You know better. The virus had already been brought into town by other survivors. You being here wouldn’t have affected anything.” I don’t really know this for sure, but now’s not the time to debate how she got sick. With so many people already showing symptoms, it was a matter of time. Which doesn’t bode well for the city. I shove this thought away.
“I should take her home.” He gathers himself from my arms and his gaze lingers on the bed. “She always loved playing in the field behind our backyard.”
I nod. “I’m sure she’d like that. I’ll help you.”
He twists his attention to me and there’s such pain and sadness swirling in his gaze. “You don’t have to.” His voice is a hoarse whisper.
“I know, but I want to—she was my friend.” My voice chokes on the last word and I press the heels of my hands against my eyelids. “It’s too dark to head out right now, but as soon as the sun comes up, we’ll take her home, okay?”
Nodding, his shoulders draw inward, and he rubs an arm. He reminds me of a small, lost boy.
“Tonight, stay with her so she’s not alone.” I rise to my feet and step toward the door.
“Please.” He snatches my hand into his. “Don’t go. She loved you and would want you here, too.” Desperation flashes across his face and his fingers tighten. “I don’t want to be by myself.”
“You know I’ll stay with you.”
Relief flashes in his eyes and he hangs his head. “Thank you.” He slowly unfolds his body and stands, heading to the bathroom, but then pauses. “One time, she told me she wished you were her sister.”
A hot lump of pain swells in my throat and I can’t speak.
With a soft whoosh, the door closes behind him.
When he’s finished, he and I sit on the floor with our backs against the bed. His hand encases mine and he leans his cheek on my shoulder. Neither of us say anything.
As darkness fully descends, I don’t bother lighting a candle. Somehow, it feels right he and I should stay in the nothingness of night, alone with Kat and the pain of her death.
Chapter Forty-Three
Max and I stand vigil through the night, content to let the silence and constant touch of our skin relay more than anything we could’ve said to each other. Kat’s death is a tether connecting him to me. The only times he lets go of my hand is when one of us uses the bathroom.
Mamma and Daddy bring water, tea, and food, but I have no appetite, and neither does Max.
Sometime during the night, Max finally falls asleep. His head lies in my lap, and his face is terribly pale. Since he hasn’t shaved in a day or two, his jaw is speckled with short brown whiskers. When the morning light streams through the window, the silver stud in his earlobe glints, shooting a bright circle onto the beige wall opposite of where I sit.
I smooth the long bangs from his forehead. “Max.” Leaning closer to his ear, I breathe in his smell. “It’s morning.”
His eyes snap open and his gray-blue gaze pierces mine. At first, the skin crinkles in a small smile, as if he’s remembering a good dream, but then the inner light fades.
Reality’s probably crashing back in, reminding him his sister is dead.
Swallowing, he closes his eyelids for a few seconds, then pushes his head from my lap.
Daddy taps on the door and it creaks open. “Son, I fixed up a trailer to pull behind the bikes.” His eyes skim over Max to land on Kat. His face tightens and anger flares his nostrils. “This isn’t right.” He blinks quickly and sniffs. “Whenever you’re ready, all of us will go with you, if that’s okay.”
Max nods, then goes to his knees next to the bed and grabs Kat’s lifeless hand. “I think Kat would like that. You were more of a dad than our own father.”
“She reminds—reminded—me of my own daughters.” Daddy steps into the hall but pauses before letting go of the doorknob. “I scouted the neighborhood during the night. A lot of people are sick right now. I just wanted to…” his grip tightens on the metal knob and he clears his throat, “to prepare you.”
Neither Max nor I respond. It’s too hard to concentrate on other people’s suffering when our own pain is such a blooming, aching monster squeezing all other emotions from us, when it’s so personal.
He and I wrap her body with the covers from the bed. Max’s fingers trail her face, skimming across her nose, her cheekbones, and her chin before he pulls the blanket over her head. He doesn’t cry, though. It’s as if he’s wrung out emotionally. Instead, he slides his hands underneath her body and cradles her into his arms.
Silently, he and I head to the front yard, where Daddy’s hooked up a small mower trailer. On top, he’s fixed a sheet of plywood, and he helps Max slide Kat’s body onto the wood. With ropes, they secure her covered form in place.
I avert my stare, afraid I’ll start bawling at the tiny frame now shrouded like a mummy.
Mamma motions me over with a twirling hand and I let her hold me, like when I was a child around Kat’s age.
She and I watch Max and Daddy finish tying off the ropes. Once everything’s secure, Max gets on one of the bikes attached to the trailer, and I rush to the other, needing to share the burden with him.
In silence, the four of us start pedaling to Max’s house two and half miles away.
Along the way, the streets are quiet—eerily still.
Three blocks in, and my blood freezes. A man digs in the backyard. Beside the growing pile of dirt, something wrapped in white, about five and half feet long, lies on the ground, its outline an obvious body.
How many people have died since last night?
Max and I glance away, but Daddy’s gaze follows him even as our funeral entourage continues to follow the street.
Is he seeing himself in that man, worrying it might be him burying Mamma or me in a day or two?
My stomach roils thinking about him being alone if Mamma and I died.
The weather’s warm today, and the sun peeks between clouds. It would be a beautiful morning if the clatter of the trailer didn’t remind me of who’s been lost forever.
Tears spill from my eyes, and the wind soaks them into its invisible arms.
Daddy grabs a shovel tied to his bike, then walks to the back field and digs.
“Wait.” Max moves to help him, but I grab his wrist. “Let us do this for you. You stay here and protect her, okay?”
His eyes search mine, and I want to stroke away the pain twisting the corners of his mouth. “Okay, Lookout.” He sits on the edge of the board and lays a hand on her shrouded forehead. “Thank you.”
I move toward the backyard.
“Tilly?”
Stopping, I pivot to face him. “Yeah?”
“After…” his hand waves vaguely toward Daddy and Mamma, who’s also started shoveling, “we do this, will you stay with me, just for today?”
“You know I will.” I almost remind him he’s more than welcome to come back to my house, but then I imagine he doesn’t want to be too far away from Kat. Can’t say I blame him. If that were one of my parents going into the ground, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, either. Even though their spirit wouldn’t be here anymore, I’d still probably feel some sort of connection by being close to their memories.
He gives me a sickly smile, then refocuses on his sister.
It doesn’t take long to dig the small grave.
Max carries her to us and gently lays her in the hollowed indention. When he’s satisfied with her placement, he stands, his eyes never leaving the wrapped body. A lone tear sneaks from the corner of his eye.
“Max,” Daddy says, “is there anything you’d like to say, any kind of prayer of some sort we should observe?”
“No.” He shakes his head and stares at my dad. “We weren’t religious.” His mouth tightens. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She’s dead and never coming back, is she?” Anger flashes in the depths of his pupils.
I rub his forearm, and his muscles relax.
“Well,” Mamma stoops to the mound of dirt beside the grave and scoops some into her hand, “I’d like to say something.” She transfers half of the red soil into Max’s hand. “You were the best big brother she could’ve had, Max. She talked about you all the time. You were her hero.” She pulls his hand straight out, and his closed fist hovers over Kat’s body.
He opens it, and the dirt falls to the cloth, creating a soft thud. “She was the best little sister a brother could have. Even though she liked to tease and get on my nerves, she almost always did what I asked.” His voice cracks on the last word. “Goodbye, Katherine Jacobsen.”
I squeeze his arm even tighter and blink away tears. Will they never stop?
“She was a sweet little girl.” Mamma releases her handful of dirt. “And helped me get through the last year by keeping me busy. I considered her a third daughter.”
Daddy slides some dirt in his hand and repeats the process. “She was my little squirt, and I’ll miss her terribly.” A clod of dirt plops on her covered legs.
Everyone turns to me. I don’t want to do this, it’s too final. But isn’t that the whole point of this process? A final farewell to someone we love? Not for them, but for us.
I let go of Max and blindly grab some dirt.
“Wherever you’re at now, squirt, I hope there’s an entire room filled with board games, crafts, and endless shelves of books.” The dirt cascades downward. “I love you.”
The pain in my throat and heart is too much to bear, and I twirl away.
“Thank you, Tilly.” Max catches me in his arms and presses my face to his neck.
I will my tears to stay away. After several seconds, the pain subsides a bit and I pull my cheek from his skin.
All four of us shovel until her body’s covered. Once the task is complete, I announce I’m staying with Max for a while.
Daddy hesitates, and I cross my arms. He glances to Max, then nods. “Both of you keep your guns close. With so many people getting ill, I doubt anyone will bother you, but just in case.” He pats Max’s back. “I’ll be by this evening to check on you guys.”
If I weren’t so sad, I’d laugh at this comment. What Daddy really means is he’ll make sure everything’s decent where his daughter is concerned. But he has nothing to worry about. Being indecent is the last thing on my mind. I want to make Max feel better, and if keeping him company will do that, then it’s what I’ll do.
Mamma smothers Max in a hug, and they leave.
For an hour or so, Max and I sit on the ground next to the grave, his hand in mine.
I take in the brushy growth near the fence line. A few tiny brown buds decorate the branches of nearby mesquite trees. Though they’re not green yet, if it doesn’t freeze again, they’ll bloom into the long, stringy leaves common to the stunted tree in another couple of weeks. It’s a reminder no matter what winter throws their way, they’ll always come back strong.
Just like humans. No matter what’s done to us, we bounce back. And you better pray—I tip my face to the sky, imagining one of those black orbs floating above—I don’t find you, because if I ever do…
Chapter Forty-Four
Two hours later, Max sits on the threadbare couch. The back of his head presses against the cushions and his eyes close. A deep wrinkle forms between his eyebrows.
Careful to not jostle him, I leave his side and inspect the small kitchen. Finding the pantry, I open the door. A few jars of Mamma’s jelly and preserves sit on one shelf, and a couple of dented cans of soup rest above. Several clear gallon jugs of water line the floor.
Sheesh. He barely has anything to eat. I made the right decision all those months ago by making him take food. My teeth grind together with anger. I wish he weren’t so stubborn sometimes.
I grab some water and pour two cups. Checking the cabinets near the fridge, I manage to locate a package of peanut butter crackers crammed into a corner behind a stack of plates.
Stuffing the food into a pocket, I carry the water to the rickety coffee table in the living room, then sit on the small couch.
Max’s hand rubs his stomach. He lets out a small groan and grimaces.
My body breaks out in sweat. Please don’t be getting sick. I plaster a palm to his forehead. He’s warm, but not on fire like Kat.
It’s probably because he hasn’t eaten all day, is emotionally spent, did all that digging, and stayed up most of the night.
“Max.” I caress his cheek. “You need to eat and drink.”
His eyebrows lift, and slowly—so slowly—his gaze opens and clears. “Hi, Lookout.”
“Hey yourself.” I thrust the plastic cup into his face, and his fingers rise to grasp it. “Drink this before you get dehydrated. Then, you’re eating these crackers.”
“Not hungry.” He tips the water and gulps, draining it completely.
“Well, too bad.” I tear open the package and hold up a brown, square cracker. “You’re eating. I’m not going to have you passing out on me because you won’t take care of yourself.”
A half-smile curves his lips. “So bossy.” He shifts his hips and sits upright, taking the food between his fingers. “If I eat this, will you shut up and hold me, Mommy?”
“If you eat two, I will.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“Please, Max? For me?” Something tells me it’s important for him to eat. Maybe it’ll stave off the virus.
“Only for you, then.” He pops both into his mouth and crunches. After a few seconds of chewing, he swallows. “Happy?”
“No.”
“I’m really tired.” He settles into the corner of the couch and pulls his legs onto the cushions, shifting me so I lie stretched next to his body. “I’m going to rest for a little longer, okay?” His jaw clenches for a moment, then relaxes. Those dark half-circles under his eyes seem more purple than earlier.
Grief is taking its toll on him, that’s all.
“Rest as long as you need.” I reach toward my feet and pull an old throw blanket over our bodies. It’s not too chi
lly yet, but when the sun sets, it’ll get cooler with only the thin walls between us and the night air.
Wrapped in his arms, I think I drift between sleep and wakefulness, but I can’t be sure.
Someone knocks on the door and I shoot up, my heart racing into my throat. I dive for my gun on the coffee table.
“Half-pint,” the words come through the wall near the front door, “it’s me.” Daddy’s voice relieves the mounting tension in my neck.
Max continues to sleep, his soft snores the only sound in the house.
I unlock the door and step outside.
The golden sun is halfway past the horizon.
“Everything okay?” Daddy stands on the ground, and I descend the steps until I reach him.
“I think so. He’s really tired after everything, but he’s resting right now.”
“Good. Let him sleep.” Daddy pulls a toothpick from a shirt pocket and rolls it between his teeth. “Your Mamma’s tired, too, so she’s takin’ it easy.” His gaze roams the front yard. “Tilly, I don’t want to scare you, but things are worse in town.”
“What do you mean?” I fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt, afraid of his answer, but curious, too.
“I checked in on several neighbors, and almost everyone’s sick or dying. It’s a gruesome scene.”
“What?” My hand flies to my mouth. Almost everyone’s got it? How can that be?
“I think…” With pursed lips, he exhales and casts a glance to the trees, to Kat’s grave, then back to me. “It might not be a bad idea for you to stay out here for a little while, at least until things change. Obviously, we’ve all been exposed, so I’m not worried about that, but a girl your age shouldn’t have to see such things.”
“I’m tough, Daddy. I’m not a baby.” I don’t actually want to see anyone else die, but I’m not some frail flower in danger of falling from the stem at the first taste of frost. Haven’t I proven it with Kat?
Thinking of the little girl sends another hot stab of agony through my bones. Have to push it away for another time if I want to function.
“I know you are, Half-pint, but I can’t help trying to protect you. I’m your father—it’s my job.” He gives me a tired grin, then his gaze sharpens. “You feeling okay? No stomach pains or fever?”
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 22
