by Laila Blake
He turned to look down at her and, impulsively, kissed the top of her head. For a moment, he rested his chin there, smiling wearily against her hair.
“You didn’t do anything toxic,” he said, straightening back up, moving his gaze up to the sky, breathing in the sharp evening air. “You’re not toxic. I—things suck,” he decided, finally. “Don’t mean that you were wrong, or bad. Me neither, I guess.”
She let that hang in air for several seconds before she squeezed his hand.
“Don’t go. Please?”
“How could I?” he asked, chuckling at himself, at how utterly pathetic he was. He had had no real plan to leave, where he would go, what he would do: he’d given up all his supplies, and had nothing but a half-charged iPod, a broken down van, and two pairs of jeans to his name. If he left them behind, the bullets would run out soon, and what would he do then?
“Stay with us?”
He tried to envision anything outside the van, them, the three of them together, but had already known that his entire focus, desire, concentration, would remain wherever they stayed. The thought of leaving them, either of them, the kid and the girl, had hurt, but staying seemed like a whole different brand of the same torture.
“I’ll stay,” he found himself saying, amazed, again, again, all over again, at how stupid one person could be.
Chapter Nineteen
Five miles north of Grayson, Kentucky, set just out of the view of Route One by a stand of coffeetrees, the ragged porch that wrapped around the equally-ragged house sighed under Annika’s weight. As she did every morning, she made a face, looking down at the rotting boards as though they’d made some sort of remark on her bulk, a condition of the mind that persisted despite some degree of famine—the feel of thin.
The air was chill against her bare arms as she moved to rub them with her palms, resting the old shotgun against her thigh. The night before had brought a spring storm, and the driveway that curved down towards the blacktop was still dotted with the shine of wet young leaves sent crashing down to the ground, buds barely unfurled before they were knocked from the trees. Annika remembered, again, the stories of pioneers roasting the seeds from the big trees as a substitute for coffee and, not for the first time, contemplated it, however fleetingly. Of all the things to miss, coffee had been near the top for some time.
Giving up on warming herself, Annika picked up the gun again and shuffled out from under the cover of the porch, head cocked to listen. Winter had rolled right over into a volatile spring. It had been a quiet few weeks, really, but she never trusted storms: that which flushed out wildlife could just as surely flush out the deadlife, and weeks without a zombie sighting were actually as worrisome as daily scares.
She walked the perimeter of the house in bare feet; the curtains were drawn on the windows, but she glanced at each passing one anyway. Annika, patrolling, had to remind herself to breathe, lest she pass out and make herself an easy dinner. She was not made for this kind of stuff, she thought, always thought; she was not a hunter, or a fighter. The woods were never her home.
It was, as it had been the day before and the day before that, quiet. The house was removed from the town; though it had grown since her husband’s grandfather had built the place, Grayson had never really managed to stretch its arms this far. It had been charming, once: rustic and quaint, cozy, with chinks in the siding and a nest of squirrels scampering in the attic. It was easy for a weekend, a summer retreat from the city. It hadn’t been a home, a genuine one, for some time. Not until they arrived.
Coming up on the side of the house, she could see the broken back window, the one she’d mostly covered with plastic bags, with duct tape holding it in place. A builder, she was not. She would have sighed at her own handiwork—or lack thereof—but the familiar sound, awkward, now, to her ears, of some car on its last legs interrupted the derision.
Under the shade of the biggest coffeetree, she shouldered the rifle, gaze focused down the barrel. Annika was not a trained shot, but her hand was steady, and she followed the path of the van as it bumped up the driveway, smoke seeping out from under the hood.
When it came to a halt, a young woman all but tumbled out at one side, coughing and pulling along an axe and child after her before she even looked around. They were both scrawny little things, smoked-out rats. They hadn’t seen Annika yet, but the tall man did immediately when he exited at the driver's side. He said something, and girl and child ducked for cover while the man raised his arms. Annika took a deep breath and then lowered the shotgun a fraction.
“Car’s ‘bout to break down.” Aaron shouted the words, making only a minimal attempt to sound unthreatening, but the amount of smoke from the engine made it all but impossible.
Annika didn’t uncock the gun, but she smiled crookedly.
“I can see that.” She approached, slowly, not looking back at the house, not casting a glance in any direction, watching him carefully.
“You lost?” It was almost a joke, and it sounded it, making Aaron crack the barest of smiles after a beat.
“You could say that.” He jerked his head in the direction of the van. “We kinda are.”
Emily coughed and emerged from behind the car, armed with her axe, but not with her son.
“Hi,” she said, trying for a smile even as her voice sounded about as husky as an 80-year-old chain-smoker. For a second, the corners of the girl’s mouth twitched as though she wanted to laugh at the sound despite the seriousness of the situation, but, instead, she looked over at the tall man and stopped.
“I’m Emily,” she said , “my son Song is—behind the car,” she managed an embarrassed smile. Up close, Annika did not look threatening.
A smile split the woman’s face and she finally uncocked the gun and lowered it to her side. She looked smaller instantly, and Emily was close enough to see her cheeks were dotted with freckles, too.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, raising her free hand in a wave. “You know how it is.”
Looking down at her axe, Emily nodded and she, too, seemed relieved. “Duck, it’s okay, you can come out,” she called and then almost without stopping, continued: “We didn’t know the house was occupied, it just... we hoped for shelter.”
Annika shook her head. “Not supposed to look occupied. Or, you know, bonus. I just stopped with trying to mow the lawn.” Her grin somehow grew, and her eyes twinkled. “I had no idea I had an excellent defense going for me.”
Emily chuckled and then looked up at Aaron who had also cracked a smile but seemed content, for the moment, to allow her to take the helm.
“I really hate to ask, but do you think we can crash here for a day or two, you know, to make repairs? We have things to trade—bandages and, um, some preserves?”
Annika shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” In truth, there was nothing for miles, and she knew it well—they wouldn’t find anything else, not unless they went into town, which she hadn’t even remotely considered.
Aaron cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t happen to have coolant, would ya, ma’am?”
“Annika,” she corrected him, eying the tall man shrewdly.
“His name’s Aaron,” Emily cut in with a teasing smile, gently elbowing him. “And he’s really nice.”
“I bet he is,” she said, waving her hand towards the house. “I haven't been up long, you must have been on the road all night. Come in, I was going to make some breakfast once my little girl got up.”
Emily, who had been slightly distracted looking up at Aaron as though to make sure he wasn’t mad at her or upset, immediately refocused on Annika when she heard the last few words.
“You... you have a kid?” she asked, a little catch in her throat just as Song snuck out from behind the car and slipped his hand into hers, pressing himself against her leg.
Her smile settling on Song, Annika nodded. “Lani’s just turned six this last winter. How old are you?”
“Seven.” He had enormous eyes, and his floppy
hair scattered over his forehead and nearly down to his chin on the sides.
“She’ll be thrilled,” Annika said, shaking her head knowingly before looking back up at Emily. “We’ve been out here for a year now. I’m really bad at Candyland.”
Song’s eyes went wider at the idea of the beloved old game, but Emily could tell that the idea of someone else his age was making him antsy, too, less mortally shy.
“We’ve been playing a lot of I-spy and cards,” Emily smiled, touching Song’s hair. “But Aaron and I aren’t very good.”
“I-Spy is a tough one here. ‘I spy a tree! I spy... a tree!’” Another shake of her head stirred her short dark hair over her ears. “We’ve got some other games, too,” she added, all but winking at the boy.
“We have games!” Song said quickly, his desire to brag overtaking his shyness. Then he retreated a step, pushing against Emily from a different angle that made her have to steady herself.
“Collected them around different houses,” she explained with a wry smile.
“First thing we packed,” Annika shot back, and the mothers exchanged a knowing look before Aaron, feeling a bit like a broken record, cleared his throat again.
“You mind if I move the van up under the trees, ma’am?” The way he spoke reminded Emily of those first few weeks, of the polite distance in which he ensconced himself, the thickening accent, the awkward stance.
“So long as you stop calling me ma’am.” Annika’s grin was large. “I married a Southern guy, I know how this goes.”
“Is there anything we can contribute to breakfast?” Emily asked Aaron, thinking herself. “We still have some tea and applesauce, I think?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Lifting her gun, she gestured to move them towards the house. “I was just making biscuits, and some gravy, if you’re interested.”
It was easier for Emily to disguise her desire than for Song, but only just, and Annika laughed.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she grinned, making Emily blush. But something happened between the two women that was difficult to put into words. Emily knew that she could trust her: it was a gut thing, and utterly without question.
Aaron stepped back so they could follow Annika up to the little house. It had been hard to see from the road, and it was in better shape up close, though not by much. However, what drew Song’s attention was the sudden, easy-to-hear, sounds of animals: chickens, and the bleating of a goat.
“Do you have cows?” he blurted, all at once, and Annika glanced over at him, bemused.
“Naw, they’re impossible to keep anymore. Have chickens, though, always have. Brought a couple with us from the city, even. Weird, huh?”
Song obviously disagreed because his face was shining.
“I like chickens,” he said quietly.
“Why can’t you keep cows?” Song went on ask when nobody else spoke.
“They eat a lot,” Annika said, simply, shouldering the gun and opening the door for them once they had reached the porch. “And, you know, it's more important right now to take care of ourselves than some grumpy old cows who can’t give milk.”
“I don’t like milk,” Song agreed as though, at least in part, that settled the issue, and Emily chuckled, ushering him into the house ahead of her.
“Zombies prob’ly ate ‘em all,” Song mused then, somewhat belatedly before he came to a sudden halt at the sight of the girl sitting at the table in the kitchen, her long, almost-black hair falling over either side her serious, chubby face.
“Maybe,” Annika agreed, mildly, with a sort ease that struck Emily with a little jealousy. She set the gun aside and moved around the table to drop a kiss on the girl’s head before resting her hands on her shoulders to direct her attention away from her book.
“We’ve got visitors, Lani. This is Song and his mom, Emily.”
Lani’s eyes were dark, and her expression shy.
“Hi,” she said, after a moment, biting at her bottom lip before she was able to smile. “How old are you?”
“Seven.” Song blinked and then pointed at her. “You’re six.”
“Well,” Annika said, smirking at Emily. “That was easy.”
Emily held back little squeaking sounds and instead smiled at Lani broadly. She was a beautiful girl, sweet like Song, the kind of kid he might have liked even in the before, when there was choice.
“Your mum was nice enough to let us have breakfast with you, is that okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” she said, quietly, getting up from the table to pad towards Song; she wore a nightgown that came down around her shins, the sleeves too short, clearly something she was in the process of outgrowing.
“You wanna see my toys?” she suggested, holding out her hand.
Song looked at it, seemingly unsure what to make of it, but took it after a moment. “Yeah.”
When they left the room, tears were swimming in Emily’s eyes and she sniffed a little embarrassed, then cleared her throat.
“I... it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him with other kids,” she whispered in obvious explanation.
“Lani’s...” Annika shrugged, and went to the stove to start the kettle; it was something like a relic, huge and iron and stocked with firewood. “She was five when we left. I thought she might not remember how to be a kid after awhile.”
Nodding, Emily sat down on a chair. It struck her immediately that she had not been invited to but she didn’t jump up again. She just mouthed an apology and rubbed her face.
“It’s... it’s good to see,” she admitted quietly, then smiled: “Toys.”
“Half the truck was filled with her stuff,” Annika said, stooping to blow on the fire sparking in the stove. “I might have gotten carried away? But I couldn’t really deal with the idea that the world was really ending and she didn’t have her teddy bear collection.”
“We didn’t have a car,” Emily said quietly, fighting against a knot in her throat. “That was before, before Aaron. We were getting out of New York and... a car wouldn’t have gotten us far.”
The wood caught and crackled, and Annika shoved the iron door shut so she could straighten up. “We came out of Cincinnati,” she said, and hesitated before continuing: “I’m from Brooklyn. It... it was bad?”
Emily clammed up. She didn’t want to say, not to someone who would care, but her eyes said more than enough when she finally nodded. “We lived in the East Village so, I technically don't know...”
She waved her off, moving to the big metal containers on the counter. “I figured. Ohio was pretty nasty, too.”
Emily nodded and stayed quiet just for a little bit, wondering where Aaron was and whether he needed help. It was a strange feeling to suddenly be sitting in a kitchen without either Song or Aaron there.
“So, you’re farming and stuff? It’s what we thought we’d try but... I think we’ve realized it’s harder than some city girl thinks it is.”
“Depends on your definition of farming,” Annika replied, shifting gears, opening a big ice box that was only technically marginally cool. “I kept chickens back home, urban homesteading, kind of. We found a couple goats. We did have a cow at first, but realized it was a pain to deal with and butchered it.” She didn’t sound remorseful, and wasn’t.
Emily nodded, wondering for a moment what would have happened if they hadn’t hunkered down in New York for as long as they had, if Sullivan had made it out with them, and if they had found some goats of their own. Strangely though, the thought made her feel guilty and she craned her neck for Aaron again.
“That’s pretty wicked,” she said quietly, then raised her brows: “must be a lot of work though, right?”
“It is, but, you know, what else do we have but time now?” With a grunt, Annika dumped a cloth-covered hunk of butter onto a cutting board. “I don't mind it much. But, hey, city girl, too. Gets too quiet, and then there’s a whole new reason for quiet...”
Aaron paused in the doorway; but if it hadn't been for the
fact that Emily was waiting for him, she would have missed his entrance, as quietly as he walked.
“Just wanted the van outta view.” He stood at ease, back to the soldier, and Emily wondered exactly how shy he actually was, something she’d not even thought about before. She had the sudden impulse to take his hand and lead him to the table, but shook that off, smiling up at him.
“It would be kind of funny if someone tried to steal it, though,” she said, in that sweet teasing voice she usually reserved for Song. “I mean, they’d just get smoked.”
“Still got some worth to it,” he replied, gruffly, but he couldn’t entirely keep the smile from sneaking onto his face.
Annika waved the wooden spoon she’d picked up in his direction. “Sit. I’m making breakfast. There'll be tea. Ran out of coffee in something like the first three days. It was a bad scene.”
“Tea’s prefect,” Emily smiled. When Aaron sat down, she moved her hand onto his thigh, but quickly pulled it away when she felt him stiffen. She touched his arm instead, making herself smile all too broadly.
“I’ve pretty much never gotten used to coffee, but...” she stopped, realizing she’d been about to launch into a Sullivan story when she cut it off. “Still British at heart, I guess.”
“And I’m guessing you’re too polite to even protest,” Annika said, raising her eyebrows at Aaron, who shrugged sheepishly.
“Probably am, ma- Annika.” He caught himself, shook his head. “Sorry.”
Song and Lani came back only when the calls grew loud, both of them smiling and red-faced. Emily nudged Aaron under the table, having to share her joy in some way, and they all found room around the table.
It was Emily who knew it first: they would stay, if Annika let them. And it wasn’t the car, nor the fact that Annika seemed like she could actually do with some help all alone out there, but simply the look on Song’s face and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to drag him from here, not with three cars and three men as strong as Aaron.