“Yeah, Kyle?”
“Are you going to ask my mom out on a date?”
Carver blurted out a laughing snort, then caught himself before further embarrassing the young man.
Hope had been unavailable throughout his time at the ranch. After a bad marriage that left her financially fragile, Hope had been forced work unending hours for a failing desert resort that paid her just enough to survive. Carver stepped in to fill the hours that she’d been forced to work, becoming Kyle’s de facto parent. During all those many months of sharing Kyle’s upbringing, he and Hope hadn’t spent more than an a few hours together, always talking about the young teen and how he was developing. They both just did what they had to do.
Even if Hope had expressed an interest in forming a romantic relationship, Carver hadn’t been ready. He’d spent years in the Navy, bouncing around the Asian continent, never settling back in the States for more than a year.
Besides the lack of opportunity that this life presented, a SEAL was always at the tip of the spear. He couldn’t imagine putting someone he loved into a situation where every deployment meant months apart and every knock at the front door could be the Navy’s death notification team calling. Because of all this, it didn’t make sense to get that involved with someone else while he had been active.
Kyle was suspiciously quiet. Carver’s reaction had been taken the wrong way.
“Hey, Kyle. I’m sorry I laughed. I like your mom. I really do. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to take your mom on a date. But there really isn’t anywhere I could take her. You know what I mean?”
Kyle perked up. He nodded and resumed rubbing the dog’s neck. Carver glanced at Shrek and could have sworn the Malinois was scolding him with his eyes for hurting the young man.
“My mom likes you,” Kyle said absently.
“I like her,” Carver replied, not knowing what else to say.
Several minutes passed by, neither man nor beast inclined to break the awkward silence.
“You know,” Kyle said. “She takes me on picnics when we have time. I think she likes that.”
“I like picnics, too,” Carver replied, even though he hadn’t been on a picnic since his childhood in northeast Iowa. Back then, a picnic was a rare Sunday treat from a life that rarely had a day off.
“I think I’ll go visit your mom now. Find out what she wants.”
“I think it’s about her friend Randy,” Kyle replied, without taking his attention from Shrek’s thick coat of hair.
Carver just nodded.
Randy Thomas was her co-worker back at the resort. He’d distracted a horde of the infected, allowing him and Hope to escape after they had been trapped in a storage room. They never found out what had happened him. Hope said he knew the resort inside and out, having been there since its beginning.
“I’m sure he found a place to hide,” she’d said, driving back to the camp after their escape. That had been a few weeks back. She had sounded like she was trying to convince herself that he hadn’t sacrificed his life for theirs.
Carver understood her feelings. There was no guilt more consuming than having someone die so you could live. John had experienced that once or twice before. It haunted his dreams and often woke him up at night. The shame of surviving was a permanent stain that time failed to wash away. Maybe that’s why she needed to talk.
Carver decided to forgo the shower and began to walk to Beckham Hall.
“Blijf!” he commanded to Shrek in the dog’s native Dutch tongue, ordering him to “stay.” The war dog had been raised in Germany but, like many European kennels, they trained the Belgian Malinois using Dutch. Carver had to learn these commands in Shrek’s language to interact properly with the animal.
Shrek just sat in place, barely acknowledging Carver’s order. A simple glance was all the response Carver got back. That wasn’t going to stand!
Carver stopped and pointed at the dog. “We’re going to have a talk when I get back!”
Shrek seemed to understand. The dog sat at attention and turned his head toward Carver. The SEAL used his “handler voice,” and Shrek knew he’d somehow earned the man’s ire.
Carver’s eyes bore into the Malinois’s, then he turned and walked to Beckham Hall to find out how he could help Hope once again. Not that she or Kyle had ever been a burden. It had just become their life.
Carver strode through the canopy of a nearby cluster of Sweet Acacia trees, their branches still laden with their fragrant, golden puffballs. Carver slowed down, enjoying the cool underbelly of the stand of drought-tolerant vegetation. The trees’ aromatic smell had diminished over the last few weeks as the puffballs began to drop off. They’d all be gone soon enough, so Carver was going to enjoy this brief and welcome respite to the apocalypse that was occurring around them.
After a minute, he reluctantly left the copse of trees and entered Beckham Hall. He walked to the back of the large, open building and hesitated at the swinging saloon doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of the place. He looked through the circular portal window and watched Hope standing at the kitchen’s large sink.
She swayed back and forth gently to some unknown song, smiling and humming as she washed the morning’s dirty pots and pans. She wore an old apron, the kind commercial dishwashers wore. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no makeup. She was on the far side of thirty and had lost the luster of youth years ago, likely because of her contentious marriage and the stressful divorce after.
Despite all these “shortcomings,” she radiated something that was lacking in the few females he’d known in the past. She exuded a comfort and stability that was hard to find.
She felt like home.
Kyle’s words came back to him. My mom likes you. Carver told the boy that he liked her too, but it was more than that. He couldn’t even define his feelings for Hope to himself. How else could he have responded to her teenaged son?
Carver pushed through the door, the squeak of the hinges alerting Hope that she had company. She jumped slightly, like many women did when their concentration was broken by a nearby man.
“Oh! John,” she said, blushing at his presence.
“Hi, Hope. Kyle said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Oh, yeah,” she stammered as she tried to push a few stray strands of hair back from her face. Then she laughed at the futility of it. “I’m a mess.”
Carver stared. Her apron was covered with splashes of water, and a few soap bubbles clung to the side of her head. Her disheveled appearance only made her more attractive.
Before he realized what he was doing, he stepped closer to her. Hope’s eyes dilated and color rushed to her cheeks. Seeing her reaction, Carver realized this was the first time the two of them had been alone together in a very long time. She blushed at his approach. He liked the feeling.
He slid next to her and gently brought his hand up, brushing her hair back and wiping the bubbles from above her ear. “No, Hope. You look perfect.”
John smiled and Hope loved that it lit up his face. She didn’t see him do this often enough. His normally serious demeanor seemed to vanish when he grinned. His eyes twinkled and the hard, facial lines that defined his military career disappeared into the wrinkles that bordered the corner of his eyes.
They both stood transfixed. The silence was intoxicating.
John felt himself falling for her. He brought his hand up to Hope’s face again and brushed it softly. He reached behind her head and tenderly pulled her face forward to his. Their lips touched, and she lost herself in his embrace. His arms were like velvet tree limbs, strong and forgiving. She couldn’t have imagined that she could ever feel like this again after her horrific divorce. Who would have thought that an apocalypse would bring her soul back to life? They kissed until it felt better to embrace.
“I’m sorry,” John whispered as he hugged her.
Hope pulled back from his arms, a questioning expression on her face. “Sorry? For what?”
&
nbsp; “That I took this long to let you know how I feel.”
Hope smiled. “I didn’t help things that much.”
“You had a lot more on your plate than I did,” Carver said. “I guess that’s why I never even thought that something like this could happen. I’m not too experienced with relationships, you know.”
“Come on. A man like you? I’ll bet there are women all over the world that have your mark on them.”
Carver smiled.
“Not really. I’ve never lived anywhere long enough to make a relationship.”
Hope gave him a sideways glance. “Come on, John. Whoever you have out there isn’t interested in going out with you for dinner anymore. Unless you’re interested in being the main course.”
Hope regretted her dark humor immediately when Carver raised his eyebrows at the comment. “That was harsh.”
Hope blushed again, turning away and breaking their grasp. She walked to a stack of clean, dry pans and began to put them away.
Why did I say that? she asked herself. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s probably the last available man in the world, and I’m pushing him away?
Then she realized that if John was the last man on earth, then she was the last woman as well. What if he is attracted to me because there’s no one else? After all, what man would want a middle-aged woman with a teenage boy? Why would he want someone who looks the way I do? Old, wrinkles forming, and no future. He’s settling. He doesn’t know what love is.
Carver stood, dumbfounded by her attitude. They’d just kissed, and if he was any judge of it, they’d connected as well or better than any woman he’d kissed before. She seemed to melt in his arms. What more was there?
Hope saw his dismayed look. He’s a man, she thought. He doesn’t even know his own feelings.
“John. You’re sweet,” she began. “I don’t want you to settle for me because there’s no one else.”
“Settle?”
“Yeah. It’s not like you have a lot of other options. I just happen to be the last one on the dance floor.”
Carver began to chuckle. It was all clear now. “Hope. How long have we known each other?”
“Over two years.”
“And, in that time, how many women have I had a relationship with?”
Hope knew the answer. She had just chalked it up to PTSD, or some other personal issue. At one point, she thought he might have been gay. Not that it mattered, other than thinking at the time what a waste it would have been for the female persuasion.
“I take it by your silence that you know the answer. None. I didn’t have any relationship with any woman. A few dates in town, but nothing that was serious or lasted more than a week.”
“So, you have attachment issues. All the better.”
“If I had attachment issues, it must have been because of you,” John said.
He slid up to her once again and held her hands.
“I realize now that it was because the only person I could show my love for couldn’t love me back. I loved her son, instead,” he whispered. “I love Kyle because he’s a great kid and his mother was not available. It was the best way I could show her that I was there. That I wasn’t her ex-husband. That I wasn’t going to abandon her like he did.”
“Oh, John,” she sighed, flinging her arms around him once again.
“I love Kyle, because I love you. I just realized that. You and Kyle gave me purpose. I won’t lose that.”
Hope grabbed Carver and pulled him down to her face. She greedily smothered his lips with her own and ran her hands up under his shirt. His belly rippled, and his chest was like a rock. He was all man, and she hadn’t realized how good that felt until just now.
“Mom?”
Kyle was outside. How long had he been there? she thought, ripping herself from Carver’s arms.
The doors swung open and Kyle, along with the Gringleman boys, walked into the kitchen. They gave no indication that they’d seen anything.
“We’re hungry,” Kyle said.
“You just ate a few hours ago,” Hope facetiously complained. Teenage boys ate their own weight in food. She was glad the camp had stored supplies for hundreds of campers. With so many ravenous teenagers running around, she was going to need every calorie if they hoped to survive.
“I could use some food too,” Carver deadpanned.
Hope leaned in close and put her lips up to his ear. “I’ll feed you later,” she said slyly before brushing her lips against his neck.
It was Carver’s turn to blush. Hope gave him a knowing look and turned her attention to the stove.
“How do eggs sound, boys?”
“Great!” they all replied, including Carver.
The saloon door gently swung open and Shrek slid into the room, staring at the group.
“What do you want, Shrek?” Hope asked.
The dog sat down and looked expectantly at Hope.
“Another man to feed?” She sighed. “Don’t worry, boy. I’ve got plenty for you, too.”
Shrek seemed to understand. He sat back on his haunches and let his tongue loll out. A slight smile cracked from the corner of his mouth.
The four of them grabbed plates and silverware, then Shrek followed the boys out to the dining area.
She lit the burners of the industrial stove. The shouts and laughter of John and the three young men made her smile. Somehow, in the middle of the end of the world, she felt a contentment she hadn’t experienced in many years.
Soon, she had reconstituted eggs and TVP bacon bits sizzling in a lard-greased iron skillet. It all seemed so right, and the outside world soon faded into the background. That was when, looking back at it all, Hope finally gave in to her feelings. She was in love, and it was time to trust once again.
The men stopped their banter when four plates of eggs and bacon and a stack of recently made flour tortillas came out the swinging kitchen door. Hope beamed as she set the food in front of each one of them.
“Oh. I forgot Shrek’s plate!” She spun around and quickly went back to the kitchen.
Kyle leaned over to Carver and put his hand on the SEAL’s arm. “Thanks,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For making my mom happy. She’s hasn’t been like this in forever.”
Carver sat back and looked at the kitchen doors. The muffled sounds of Hope singing an old Whitney Houston song wafted out of the saloon doors.
He looked down at Shrek, who sat expectantly next to his chair. What do you think? he silently asked the dog with his eyes.
Shrek stared back and gave Carver an approving look.
“Of course,” John said to the dog after a moment or two.
Carver sat up and turned to Kyle. “I haven’t been this happy in a long time either,” Carver said as he absently stroked the Malinois’s head.
Kyle beamed, thinking it was about time the two of them quit being so stubborn and started dating. He’d been waiting for this day ever since Carver first moved to the farm down the street from their house. He knew after the first day they’d met, that he wanted Carver in his life. Now, it looked like he’d finally be getting his wish.
An hour later, with the boys running around outside and the kitchen clean, Hope and Carver sat at a table, sipping some newly brewed coffee.
“This is nice,” John commented, as they sipped the warm java. “But I sort of forgot to get an answer earlier. Kyle said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Carver’s comment jolted Hope from her stupor. The last hour had been a whirlwind of happiness, and now, she’d have to face the real world once again.
“It’s about Randy,” she began. “I need to know if he’s all right. Can’t we go back for him?”
Carver sat back. He thought she was going to tell him about her guilt. Now she wanted them to return to the resort and face an unknown number of the infected, without knowing whether her friend was alive or not.
Carver sat silently. He’d mentally divorced h
imself from re-entering the outside world. They hadn’t seen or heard a thing in weeks. Their isolation was complete, and the odds of a significant number of creatures stumbling on their camp were slim to none. Leaving the camp could only increase the chances that they’d attract trouble.
Now Hope wanted to risk everyone for the off chance they could save someone. It was the old conundrum. Do the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? For Carver, it was simple. You don’t risk everyone to save just someone. He’d expect them to do nothing less if he’d been in Randy’s shoes. The man had been a hero, but that didn’t mean they should risk everything to find out what had happened to him. If Carver had done the same as Randy, he’d be outraged if they tried to come back for him.
“Hope. I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he began.
He stopped immediately when he watched Hope’s face collapse. Her eyes drooped and her mouth saddened into a slight frown. In some ways, she’d expected Carver’s response. But it hurt, nonetheless.
“I can give you many reasons that just leaving the camp is a bad idea. I can add a ton more if we’re going out to attack an infested, multi-building compound.”
“I know,” Hope replied. “But I just know that he’s still alive.”
“Alive and infected?”
“No. Alive and normal. I know I can’t explain it, but he’s all right. But I don’t think he has much more time.”
“Hope. This sounds like survivor’s guilt. It’s common. I’ve had experience with it. You’re trying to make it better by rescuing someone who’s probably dead. You’ll only make things worse if we lose anyone else in the process.”
“I thought about that possibility,” she said. “But I really feel like he is alive and needs our help.”
Carver sat silently. It was hard to argue about a feeling. Feelings had no logic, even though they drove many decisions and could define a life. He respected that much and let Hope spill her emotions.
They talked for many minutes, Hope arguing her points and Carver gently shooting each of them down. In the end, it boiled down to his original definition of the problem. Rescuing Randy Thomas would put the whole camp at risk, and that was something that made no sense to the analytical SEAL.
Satan's Gate Page 10