After Life Lessons (Book One)

by Laila Blake

  He’s suddenly reading, you know? I should have guessed it would take a pretty girl to make him see the value in it; he’s your son after all. Lani is beautiful, soft and quiet and smart as a whip. She’s seen too much in her short life, too, and when they play together, gently and quietly, I always feel like I’m intruding upon something sacred: a place where two children try to heal each other. I wish you could see that, I think it would have made you happy, too.

  Aaron won’t try to replace you, I know that. He loves it when Song plays your guitar for him and, of late, he’s listened to him when Song wanted to talk about you, and then he tells him of his father, who died when Aaron was little, and they bond and nod like serious old men. I was jealous at first, just a little, but I think it’s a good thing. With me, Song always worries I might cry, but he can tell Aaron all about your tours and your presents, and the adventures the two of you had when he was off preschool. He won’t forget you, and neither will I. But I won't insult your memory either, and make you the reason why we won’t be happy.

  And I am. I am happy. I never thought I could be—not after everything broke down, certainly not after you died. But it’s nice here; we work hard but it feels good when my arms hurt and my back, after a long day of planting or harvesting, of watering and feeding the chickens. And every day, Aaron gets stronger and I curl up next to him during the night. He holds me, and we make plans and he tells me that he loves me.

  He thinks he’s won the jackpot, has found the perfect person, but you know—it’s me who has. I feel so natural and at ease around him, so snug and content. I'm home, I’m finally home.

  I am letting you go, Sully, the ghost that I dragged around, for both our sakes.

  Be at peace.

  Yours,

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The van rattled along the country road quite smoothly, but Emily jumped each time a pothole made it shake. Aaron had long stopped giving it credence. He was sitting on the passenger’s seat watching her small, long-fingered artist’s hands on the wheel and on the gear-shift, operating the heavy machine with far greater skill than her panicked face suggested.

  “This is it,” she mumbled, distracted. “You survived the zombies but I’m gonna kill you in a flaming car wreck, I just know it.”

  “Suppose that’s technically not as interestin’?” He sounded far more amused than she did, and more relaxed, too, leaning back in the seat with his eyes only half on the road. After all, who were they looking out for?

  “Yup, that’s the plan—kill you in the least heroic way possible. No newsworthy mass accident, either, just you and me, wrapped around one of these bloody coffeetrees. Am I doing this right?”

  He chuckled and, after shifting just a little to account for his still-bandaged arm, reached over to sweep his fingers over her cheek, resting his hand on her shoulder for a beat. “You’re doin' fine. You’re yellin’ more than anything. Look, we’re still on the road.”

  It was his touch of course, the warmth of his fingers that made her turn her head and look at him, smiling for a fraction of a second before she yelped and flung her head back to look at the road. They were still right in the center of it, but her heart was hammering in her chest. It was only their second driving lesson—after many hours of dry practice, most of it late at night in bed. With Aaron's arm still as it was, there was little he could do and the roles on the farm had been quietly and efficiently moved accordingly. While Emily and Annika harvested, planted and fixed up the necessary repairs, Aaron cleaned vegetables, spent time preserving them and instructing the women in anything they might know less of than he did. Among those were the hours Emily had spent bent over the open bonnet of the car or stretched out under it, shouting instructions and questions at each other.

  Learning to drive was the last step, but Emily hid her excitement reasonably well.

  “Don’t distract me,” she grinned, this time it was only her eyes that shifted sideways for a moment or two. “I’m the driver now.”

  “Distracting you is one of my favorite activities,” he retorted, winking once her gaze locked on his and then they were both snort-laughing, like teenagers, like children, and her protests came far too late to be believed.

  “You are so lucky we’re the only ones on the road,” she pointed out, watching it slowly unravel before them. She wasn't driving fast, but it felt that way to her.

  “I say we go exploring.”

  It was such a difference from the months before, that Aaron occasionally felt like pinching himself. Maybe it was just the addition of sun that did it, and green on the trees, flowers on stems, but the world did not feel as hopeless anymore. Even with his damaged arm, even with the occasional zombie still shambling into view.

  “What we gonna look for?” The road did a slow bend in front of them, and she followed it easily. “New car?”

  “Hey!” she protested, gently petting the wheel, “I spent hours slaving over this one with you shouting smug instructions at me. I'm not abandoning this baby.”

  “Smug?” He sounded utterly offended. “I was impartin' my knowledge, thank you very much.”

  “See? Already: smug smug smug.”

  “Kind of what made you fall in love with me,” he said, shrugging with a sort of pitying expression. “You do like a bit of condescension, don’t ya?”

  This time, she reached over to smack his shoulder, but when she moved lower to tweak at his side, his hand closed around her wrist. “No wrestlin’ while drivin’,” he reminded her, smirking more than a little.

  “There are so many rules!” she complained with exasperation and took her foot off the gas pedal, letting the car slow down to a trickle until it came to a halt. “Now?”

  “You have to put it into neutral and then pull the parkin’ brake,” he said, patiently, but the smile couldn't quite be tamped down. “Then, yeah, wrestlin’ is allowed.”

  Smirking, Emily let her fingers encircle the gear-shift, wriggling her eyebrows: “Something like this?”

  “I’m gonna prolly kick myself for sayin’—that’s a bit too gentle?” They were both laughing before he finished speaking, though, and he reached over to push the lever into neutral so she could pull the brake.

  “So we made it half a mile from the house before I want to jump you again,” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

  “The magic of me?” He flipped the keys in the ignition so the van rumbled into silence. “Is that the kind of explorin' you were suggesting?”

  “Well, I’ve never had sex in a van,” she teased, torso turned almost all the way towards him and letting her fingers find his chest. “Although, I suppose I really want to find something nice for Annika... the sacrifices we make.”

  “Wait, I was hung up on the ‘sex in a van’ part.” He shifted his bad arm out of her way, a clear encouragement to crawl into his lap, which she did without hesitation. They had found ways around his injury almost from the first, and it hardly felt like a bother anymore when she straddled him, smiling at the sudden shift in height difference. His eyes were warm and hazel in the sun and Emily leaned in to touch his stubbly jaw.

  “Of course you are.”

  “I’m just a very self-centered person,” he sighed, but the grin, still, did not wane. It rarely did, that open smile that had settled on his face when he finally came out of the shock and fever after long nights locked in the shed. He wasn’t fully better, not by a long shot, but it mattered very little to him.

  “I’d disagree,” she whispered, little kisses landing on his neck, and under his ear. He smelled like that terrible excuse for coffee they had all started to drink, and like sunshine, and like Aaron, undiluted by sadness or fear. “You never leave me wanting, after all.” Smirking, she poked her finger against his stomach, sought the hollow he was making immediately to trace it downward.

  “You flatter me.” His eyes didn’t stray from her face; the van was locked, and was solid as ever, and though they were out in the open, he was quite aware they w
ere still in the middle of nowhere. There was no need to be vigilant.

  “You know that there are ways to tell, don’t you?” she teased, then scooted back just enough to reach for his fly.

  “Oh, I’m aware. I like your ways to show me.” It wasn’t easy, in that position, to work his fly open, but he didn’t offer any help. “You can keep tellin' me, though.”

  “There’s that self-centeredness I apparently fell in love with,” she giggled, her face contorting slightly with the effort of popping the button and pulling down the fly until she could peel him out of his clothes, and wrap her fingers around him.

  “And yet you’re the one just helpin’ yourself,” he chided her, reaching up with his uninjured arm so his hand cupped the back of her neck. “How’s that for self-centered?”

  “Well, technically...” she whispered, teeth grazing over his cheek, “my hand is centered around your cock.”

  “Is that what’s happening? Got all lost in the conversation.” He turned his head and caught her mouth with his, unable to keep himself from smiling into the kiss, even with the groan that followed the first motion of her hand.

  “My poor Southern boy,” she breathed when their lips parted, “how’d you catch such a terribly wanton English girl?”

  “Skill? Luck? Keep going.”

  A visible shiver ran down her spine, her eyes widened just for a moment as she licked her lips, then her hand tightened around him. With his hands cradling the back of her neck, he crushed her lips against his again, moaning against her tongue.

  It felt like a lifetime since he’d first come over her small, strong hand, but when he did this time, he smiled at her, lazy and happy, and kissed her nose.

  “Mmmm,” she whispered, caught his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “How was that for just helping myself?”

  “Selfish girl,” he muttered, leaning his head back so that his lip snapped back into place, warm and aching. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  Smiling, bearing her crotch down against his thigh she lifted her hand between them, examining the milky fluid.

  “Hm. I don’t know. What can you do?”

  Aaron shook his head. “We’ll never get anything done.” He squeezed the back of her neck once more, fingertips rippling along the tendons. “Maybe you should clean up and I’ll let you know later.”

  “If that’s what you want,” she smiled, a little wanly, but then leaned in to kiss him again. “I won’t let you forget, you know?”

  There was an oil-rag in the glove compartment, and when her hand wasn’t dripping anymore, Emily climbed back into the driver’s seat, rather more giddy and wriggly than before.

  “Back to your lessons?” he asked, once she was buckled back in. Even as he’d been relaxed before, post-orgasm, he was like a cat lolling in a patch of sun, and likely would have happily napped had they not been in the van.

  “Right. Learning, being a good girl, totally there,” she beamed, poking his thigh. She turned the ignition, changed the gear and pushed the gas and slowly got the van running again. “Ha-ha!” she pronounced triumphantly.

  “That’s my girl.” His hand lay, warm and lazy, on her thigh. “Now, what was it you wanted to do?”

  She gave him just one more suggestive look before she concentrated on the road again. “Well, I mean, there’s bound to be other farms around here. We could go explore, see if we can’t find anything useful?”

  “Sounds good to me.” He didn’t move his hand even as he arranged his injured arm over his chest again to brace for the bumps in the road.

  The dirt paths wound through overgrown fields, over small hills and through thick stands of trees. Only once did Emily have to try her hand at turning the van around in a confined space when they came upon downed trunks, and, eventually, they did happen upon another large property, seemingly washed out from a flood sometime before, but the house still standing, white in the sun.

  Emily’s hand curled around the handle of her axe. Aaron had tried to get her used a gun, but she wouldn’t budge—the axe made her feel safe. She smiled at him and then opened the door. It was warm, spring starting to move almost seamlessly into summer, and it wasn’t a good time for zombies to be out and about. They hadn’t seen many since the thunderstorm that had cost Aaron a good deal of his arm. Still, they tread carefully, even as the birds sang in the trees.

  That was actually what stopped Aaron, abruptly enough that Emily looked around in a quick panic, until she realized he was listening, expression calm.

  “You hear that?”

  “You made me jump out of my skin to listen to birds?” she asked, but curled against his side anyway.

  “Sorry, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head before lifting his chin again. “But that, you hear that? The little chirps followed by that little buzzing sound? That’s a Savannah Sparrow.”

  She closed her eyes and listened, a smile growing on her face. He had wrapped his good arm around her and they stood there for a while, listening, feeling the sun on their faces.

  “You know, there are moments, just moments where it’s almost like nothing ever happened. Like the world never changed. There are always more of them with you.”

  “Hey.” He looked down at her, and, for the first time in awhile, certainly since long before he was attacked, Emily could see his ears burning bright red.

  “Hey,” she grinned up at him, rubbing her nose against his shoulder. “Come on, let’s play.”

  Aaron heaved a sigh, but it was one of those sounds she understood now, one of those sounds that made her smile even wider, lacing her fingers in his to start walking towards the big empty house. It smelled musty but not dead, and the scent was far less offensive than it might have been once upon a time.

  “It doesn’t look terribly searched,” she remarked quietly, keeping her eyes, ears and nose intensely trained on any changes.

  “This sort of place woulda been off anyone’s radar,” Aaron predicted, squeezing her hand. “Just like Annika’s folks’ place. S’how people in these parts liked it.”

  Neither of them wondered out loud what had happened to the inhabitants but it was on their minds as they went through the rooms. Most of the downstairs furniture had water damage and the basement was still flooded, smelling terrible when Aaron opened the door. They found some preserves in a kitchen cupboard, nothing to get excited about, but nothing was wasted anymore, even when the flood had taken most of the labels away and they had no idea what the mystery cans might yield when they opened them at home.

  “You wanna check the stairs?” Aaron asked, as they both looked up at the water-marked ceiling, the old chandelier still in place.

  “Sure,” she smiled, patting his chest when they had put anything usable into a box. “We might have more luck out in the barn, but I'll check.”

  As expected, there wasn’t much. Some clothes far too large for Emmy and trousers too short for Aaron but they packed linens and a few blankets that didn’t seem too damaged. In the bathrooms they found a fair store of laundry detergent and other soaps and shampoos, towels and scent. Aaron followed Emily downstairs; he carried just the blankets, while she hauled the larger stuff. They’d moved into that, more easily than they could have imagined—of course it was hastened by his injured arm, this concession to chivalry, but Emily was privately proud of him, and even prouder of herself for not bringing it up.

  They loaded the van with their findings, as efficient as ever, more so. Then they rounded the house once more, and stopped to look down over the flattened field, green-gold in the sun. “Things’ll get better,” Aaron said, eventually. “I mean, they’re already headed that way, don’t ya think?”

  “I do,” she agreed, lacing her fingers with his. “We’ve already harvested so much, oh… I meant to show you, look!” She pulled up her shirt and proudly pointed to her hipbones. “You can hardly see them at all anymore.”

  “I noticed.” He was only able to sound a little smug then, as his expression was s
oft and pleased, smile warm when he traced the barely-there line of the bone with his thumb.

  “Oh, that’s what you noticed?” she asked with a smirk, shaking her head at him but cuddling against him all the same. “You just like the boobs that are coming back.”

  “That’s not true,” he chided her gently, squeezing her waist with one hand. “You look good. Really good. You’ve always been beautiful, but...” He shrugged. “You look better happy.”

  “So do you,” she whispered, and reached up to pet the side of his face. He was smiling so much now, no more brooding brows.

  “We kinda match, ya know.” He kissed her palm when it came close. “I saved you and took care of you, and then you saved and took care of me.”

  “I’ll keep taking care of you,” she smiled, her palm on his cheek, running her thumb over his lips. “You’re mine now; I take care of my own.”

  “See? Selfish.” But they were both smiling at each other.

  “Yeah. That’s me.”

  The End.

  A Letter from the Authors

  Dear Reader,

  Before anything else, we want to express our heartfelt gratitude to you for taking the time to explore Emily, Aaron and Song’s world with us.

  For us as authors, there is absolutely nothing better than to be read and to connect with you through our stories. This is also why we love hearing from you. If there’s anything on your mind, we’d like nothing better than to hear what you loved or didn’t like so much, what affected you and how the story made you feel. You can always reach us best at info@liltliterary.com.