The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  There was a beat of silence. Then Naomi lifted her chin and answered. “Me.” Her eyes flickered to Martin. “Me, and a few others. We’re not sure yet what course we’ll choose.”

  But even as she said the words, she knew the choice – at least on her part – had already been made. The pain of a leave-taking that hadn’t even occurred yet tightened her throat, made her squint through tears of both anger and grief.

  Behind his thick glasses, Isaiah’s eyes seemed to glow. As he gazed at her, she felt the pull of his persuasive gift, so like Jack’s, before he even said a word. Then, with no warning at all, he slid a dagger right into the heart of her.

  “Being a leader is like being a mother, Naomi.” His eyes really did glow, like Verity’s skin. “You don’t have the luxury of putting yourself first. You have to consider the ramifications of your actions and decisions on others, those that look to you for guidance, direction, and love.” His eyes went unfocused, the pupils dilating until they eclipsed the light blue of his irises. “Your daughters prepared you for the tasks that lie ahead. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not, you are the mother of your community. The path you’re being called to will challenge you to your very core, and if you take it, you’ll be forever changed. The choice to stay or go is yours, but remember that a life lived to the fullest isn’t lived only in comfort and safety.”

  Isaiah fell silent, his head dropping forward, his fingers rising to rub at his temple. Naomi’s mouth opened, but words failed her. She’d been wrong. Isaiah wasn’t like Jack. He was something else altogether. He hardly knew her, but he had zeroed in on the one thing she could never deny or turn away from: her mother’s heart, and the responsibilities that came with it.

  Naomi fell back on the conventions of a dead time and nodded with polite formality. “Thank you for your thoughts, Isaiah. Good luck on your journey and in your new home.” Then, she walked towards the door. “Martin, I’ll meet you outside.”

  She ignored the people she passed and headed straight for the animals. Ben tossed his head in welcome, and Naomi immersed herself in all of them, loving on each of the horses in turn and making up with Hades, who wiggled and wagged his delight at the attention. Then she returned to Ben, gazing into his eyes for long moments, humming a wordless, soothing sound that comforted them both. She tucked herself under his chin and leaned on his shoulder, pressing her cheek to his warm, dusty neck, filling her lungs with his scent. Shakti pressed close on the other side, and Naomi looped an arm around her neck as well, using their big bodies to block out the activity around them, where people hurried to and fro, trailing urgency and worry like unpleasant perfumes. Finally, Martin walked out the doors she had exited.

  Naomi slid back under Ben’s chin and walked to meet him. “Staying here isn’t an option if they’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “No, it’s not. We’ve got the information we came for and good reasons to head home sooner rather than later. We can’t take 24. Isaiah’s people confirmed the gang’s behind the activity there. We could take the hiking trails out of Manitou, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. Still too close to the highway.” He judged the position of the sun, then frowned at the dark clouds massing, once again, over the mountains. “Doesn’t really matter at this point. We need to find shelter and hunker down. This weather pattern is killing us.”

  “I want to go home.” Naomi spoke the words before she thought them, and oh, the layers of meaning there. “To my house,” she clarified.

  “I knew what you meant.” Martin moved to mount Shakti. “Let’s go, then.”

  They rode south out of Bear Creek, the quiet of the afternoon broken only by the creaking of their saddles, the rhythmic thump of the horses’ hooves, and the wind rising ahead of the storm. Naomi’s old neighborhood was even more run-down than before, and it looked like another round of looters had gone through. Windows were broken in every house and front doors hung crookedly off hinges.

  Naomi’s house had not escaped the vandalism. Her living room picture window lay in pieces on the front lawn, along with the dining room chair that had been used to shatter it, and obscenities had joined the message she’d spray-painted for Piper on the garage door. Naomi waited with the animals while Martin checked out the interior. When he had cleared it, they settled the animals in the backyard and entered the house through the ruined sliding glass door, their boots crunching on still more broken glass.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Naomi headed straight for the basement door, not even taking the time for a deep breath, hurrying down the stairs. Chaos met her at the bottom, even more boxes than before overturned and their contents dumped, but the door to the hidden room remained closed behind the wreckage. Automatically, Naomi reached to flip on the light switch, then sighed and hung her head for a moment. She looked over her shoulder at Martin. “Do you think I’ll ever stop doing that?” Then she pushed the piles aside with her feet and opened the door.

  Just as she’d left it. Here, where vandals and the elements hadn’t intruded, she could still make out the faint scents of her old life: The black cherry candles she had loved, the herbs from her garden she’d dried for cooking and homemade potpourris, that alchemy of smells from favorite foods, soap and shampoo, laundry detergent and cleanser every house took on over time. It made her legs wobble as memories rushed up. A lifetime in this house, a life she had loved so much. Her lost ones were so close here. If she just closed her eyes and stayed in this room…

  Martin stepped in behind her and looked around. “You should take everything you want this time. Just in case.”

  Naomi shook herself, then nodded, grateful for the distraction. “I know.” Time enough to square up with the past after the necessities of living had been dealt with. She gestured to the shelves containing food and bottled water. “I’ll grab a case of water for the animals. Why don’t you find something that looks good, and we’ll eat before we do anything else.”

  “Sounds good. I’m still starving.”

  She hauled the water up, found a bucket in the garage, then emptied the plastic bottles, leaving the horses to take their turns. Then she returned to the kitchen where Martin had arranged his supplies on the counter: two more cases of water, several cans of dog food, a half-dozen cans of soup, vegetables and fruit. He scrutinized the stove, which was electric, then shook his head. “Too risky. It looks undamaged, but I’d rather not fire up the generator and have something else in the house spark a fire. We’ll have to eat it cold.”

  “I’ve got a fire pit table out back that has a little metal grill. That could work to heat the soup, couldn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Of course you have a fire pit table. What about fixin’s for s’mores? Do you have those?”

  She rolled her eyes at him, then moved to dig under the counter, coming up with a small sauce pan. The utensils drawer had been dumped, so she had to hunt around until she found the can opener wedged beside the refrigerator. When he went outside with his supplies, she hauled a chair over by the refrigerator and strained to reach the highest, most inaccessible cupboard. A few minutes later, she joined him outside, carrying a pretty tray on which she had arranged stale graham crackers, rock-hard marshmallows, and perfectly edible chocolate bars. He took one look and shook with laughter.

  She smiled serenely. “Do I have fixin’s for s’mores? Please.”

  They heated the soup over a tiny fire, and Naomi opened one of the cans of dog food for Hades. He ate it in a single, ecstatic slurp, then sat staring at the other can with strings of drool hanging from the corners of his mouth until she gave in. He had been running on the lean side lately, missing Persephone’s superior hunting skills. Other than Ed and one other woman in Woodland Park, Naomi hadn’t observed people keeping pets; she knew the practice was outlawed in the Bear Creek group. They’d seen some dog packs from a distance, all of them mid-sized dogs, no more than 30 or 40 pounds. Large dogs required too much fuel and had trouble getting enough to eat, whi
le small dogs made easy prey, making both Hades and Persephone oddities. Naomi had always been a proponent of allowing dog breeds to mingle for the health of the species, but she had never imagined it coming about like this.

  As they ate, they discussed options, agreeing it would be best to travel back the way they’d just come, via Rampart Range Road, also agreeing they’d stay tomorrow to give the horses a rest, then leave the following morning at first light. Those decisions made, silence fell between them. The space was filled with the steady crop and crunch of the horses grazing, and the pressure of the words she was waiting for Martin to say. Finally, he took a deep breath and started pushing out halting phrases.

  “I need to go. Out. Tonight. Late.” He shook his head and made a disgusted sound, then went on in a rush. “I need to go check on the gang.”

  Naomi nodded. “I figured.” She remembered the smell of blood and smoke, enhanced through Persephone’s senses, and made herself make the offer. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No.” He wasn’t meeting her eyes. “No motorcycles this time, so I’ll be on foot. I just need to… I just need to see.”

  Would he take a pound of flesh for Grace, if the opportunity presented itself? She knew he’d be honest with her, if she asked. She chose not to. Martin had his demons to deal with, and she had hers. In this, they were both on their own.

  Martin stood. “I’m going to check out the nearby houses, see if there’s anything useful. Do you mind if I take Hades with me?”

  “Not at all. The horses will warn me if any strangers show up.” Naomi clicked her fingers, and Hades joined her instantly. She rubbed along his side when he pressed against her, and she showed him what she wanted with her mind. Go with Martin. Keep him safe. Hades’ tongue lolled and he grinned his Rottie grin in anticipation of the adventure, but Naomi knew he’d take his duties very seriously the minute they set foot outside the fence.

  After they left, Naomi sorted through what was left in the kitchen, stacking useful items in a pile on the ruined butcher block island. She went through the bathrooms and did the same, then scanned what was left in the thoroughly looted garage. Those tasks complete, she headed back outside to empty more water bottles for the horses, and reached out to Hades to see if she could get a feeling for where he and Martin were.

  Faintly at first, then stronger, she began to catch glimpses of the neighborhood from a much lower perspective than she was used to, the colors flat and nondescript. By contrast, scents bloomed in her nose like overblown, strange flowers: old death and rot; mule deer, rabbits and squirrels everywhere; despised coyotes; innumerable types of vegetation, some edible, some poisonous; and Martin. Naomi put a hand out to steady herself on the deck railing, disoriented and a little dizzy. She was suddenly hyper-alive with awareness. Sounds felt like physical touches in her ears: wind, small skitters and stirrings of animals, and the crunch of Martin’s boots on the gravel at the side of the pavement. She laughed softly in wonder. She’d lost so much, sometimes she forgot to marvel at what she’d gained.

  Reassured that they were safe at least for now, Naomi let the connection with Hades fade and headed back down to the basement. She ferried up load after load of the preserved food and other practical supplies that remained. She didn’t know if they would be able to take all of it with them, but it shouldn’t be hidden away any longer. If they couldn’t use it, someone else could. When she had finished, she returned to the hidden room again and just stood there, gazing at the treasures that remained on the shelves.

  The Finnish crystal bowl her grandmother had given her for her wedding. Her jewelry box, filled with gifts Scott and the girls had given her over the years. Stacks of home movies on VHS tapes she’d always meant to convert to DVDs. The ceramic candlesticks Piper had made for her in art class. Macy’s little box of quilt pieces. She opened this last and touched the bright squares of rainbow gingham, remembering that evening, just before. An evening like any other, skyping with Piper, making plans for Easter, but the shadow of the plague had fallen over them even then. She remembered standing in her sunny kitchen the next morning, hearing news of the quarantine, and knew those had been the last moments she had believed in “forever,” or failed to count the cost of such a belief.

  She touched each treasure, remembered, lingered. Precious as these things were, none of them could heal the brokenness inside her. Only time and living could do that. Naomi took one last deep breath, drew in the faint traces of a life gone by, then stepped out and shut the door behind her. She leaned against the door and shut her eyes.

  She could feel the outline of herself shifting and changing to accommodate something new, something that had been growing in her since the first time she stepped out her front door in flimsy, impractical sandals to confront an awful new world. She had been a sheltered and protected woman, and she could have chosen to die here in this house, cowering, with her pretty things and her memories of safety and happiness.

  But she hadn’t. She’d gotten her plump, wimpy keister moving. She had gotten her daughter safely to the cabin, and though Macy’s death would send “what if” whispers through her mind always, always, she had survived. She had gone on. She was a vital, valued part of her new community, and not just because she could still, by thee gods, bake a mean cookie. Naomi opened her eyes, straightened her spine, and smiled to herself.

  “One might,” she said softly, “Even call me bad-ass.”

  That thought brought Piper to her mind, and she warmed the connection between them, though she didn’t wait for a reply. There was still one thing left she needed to do.

  The western-most garden bed was filled with weeds. She cleared it, and when the weeds were gone, the loosened ground was soft enough to dig. She retrieved a shovel from the garden shed and set to work, digging until she hit the hard clay a few inches under the bed. In just over an hour, she’d cleared all the dirt she could manage. It wasn’t all that deep, but it would have to do. She rested, leaning on the handle of the shovel, gazing up the familiar outline of Cheyenne Mountain while sweat dried on her forehead and cooled her spine. Then she went to get Scott.

  Their room had been ransacked again, but this time, the looters had left the bed and its occupants alone. Scott and Zeus lay just as she’d left them, the tattered plastic tarp covered with the beautiful quilt. Death was old here, so faint, she would have missed it if not for her connection to Hades and the constant low-grade enhancement of her senses that connection provided.

  “Hi, honey.” She sat down beside him on the bed, and rested her hand over the bones of his chest. Scott had always seemed so strong and invincible to her, rarely ill, quickly recovered. Surreal, still, that such a robust and healthy man had been struck down so quickly. She patted the quilt and felt his bones shift under her palm. “I think it’s time we did this properly, don’t you? I tucked Macy into the warm, springtime Earth so her body could help things grow – that’s how I think of it, anyway. How I have to think of it. I want to do the same for you.”

  She rose, and carefully pulled the quilt away from the tarp. Through the broken seals in the plastic, she could see dark bones. Zeus’ remains had been tucked by Scott’s side, and she gently gathered up what was left, the bones and tufts of black fur, and slid them in the tarp with Scott. His book, bookmark still in place, went in too, and a picture of their family taken at Piper’s high school graduation, which she’d had enlarged and framed for him for Father’s Day one year. Then she realigned the seams in the tarp and resealed them with the silver duct tape she’d brought upstairs with her. She smiled, perfectly recalling the sound of Scott’s warm chuckle, certain she’d be hearing it now if she only knew how to listen.

  She stepped back to consider the practicalities of getting him downstairs and felt Hades return to the house. He found her moments later, lifting his head and searching the room with his nose even as he crowded close to her legs. Martin was just a few seconds behind him, his eyes going first to Scott’s corpse, then meeting her gaz
e.

  “I saw the grave.” A pause. “I would have helped you.”

  Naomi shrugged. “It was mine to do. Compared to splitting wood, it was easy.”

  Martin glanced at Scott again. His face was inscrutable, his voice level. “Do you want help getting him downstairs? Or do you need to do that yourself, too?”

  Naomi smiled gently. “Now that I could use some help with. I was picturing dragging him.” She huffed out a soft laugh as she moved to lift Scott’s head. “Not very dignified, thumping down the stairs.”

  Martin lifted Scott’s feet, and together, they maneuvered him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Scott’s remains were heavier than Naomi thought they’d be, and by the time they reached the garden bed, she was red-faced and sweating again. They lowered him into the grave, and Martin stepped back, waiting for her to give further direction.

  Naomi knelt beside Scott and reached for the tarp where it covered his skull. She closed her eyes and just rested her hand on that curve, the plastic crinkling softly under her touch. “Thank you for a beautiful life, love. Keep him good company, Zeus. I’ll see you both in the sweet by and by.”

  She stood, expecting the tears to come, surprised when they didn’t. Grief would circle back, that she knew. It was a part of her now, the ache where Scott and Macy should be, and it would be a part of her to her own dying breath. Grief wasn’t something you finished with. It was something that changed you, something that remained lodged in you, something you grew around. She pressed a hand over her heart, over the healing scar-tissue that marked a once-living love, and sent her beloveds on their way.

  Martin helped her cover their bodies with soil, and together, they dismantled part of the retaining wall that circled the yard, covering the grave with the heavy stones to discourage predation. Naomi found her garden trowel in the shed, and as the sun approached the top of the mountains and the birds began to sing their evening songs, she walked around the yard, selecting plants to move to Scott’s grave.