by Kody Boye
“Is it the supply runs?” Jamie frowned. “Because if it is, you don’t have to go out on them. I can do it myself. Or with Steve. Or Rose—”
“Who’s leaving,” Dakota said.
Jamie pursed his lips.
“I’m not a soldier, Jamie. I may be somewhat of a good shot now that I’ve killed God knows how many zombies, but that doesn’t mean I’m cut out for this kind of lifestyle. I’d rather be inside—helping cook, clean, do laundry, something that doesn’t involve me sticking my neck out ninety-nine percent of the time I’m alive. And I’d rather you be the same way.”
“You know they wouldn’t let me just sit around and do nothing.”
“Not if you told them you were a soldier they wouldn’t,” Dakota nodded. “Just… please. Let’s consider what Rose has to offer before we just go shooting it down.”
“You really think the others would be up for leaving?” Jamie asked.
“I think they’re discussing it right now,” Dakota replied.
*
“Do you want to leave?” Steve asked.
Desmond sighed. “I’m… conflicted,” the younger man said, settling down on the bed beside Steve. “On one hand I feel perfectly comfortable here, but on another… well…”
“Well… what?” Steve asked.
Desmond didn’t respond. Rather, he turned his attention to the nearby window and looked out at the blanketing expanse of snow.
“Desmond?” Steve asked, reaching out to set a hand on his lover’s shoulder, surprised when he recoiled and even more concerned when he pulled away. “Something happened while we were gone.”
“Yeah,” the younger man replied.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Other than me nearly getting my neck chewed off when we went into a house on a supply run?” Desmond asked. “Not really.”
“Is this when Mark killed the zombie?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought we gathered enough supplies to last you guys until we got back.”
“We wanted to help,” Desmond said. “And it nearly got me killed in the process.”
“Baby,” Steve sighed, crawling across the bed and taking the younger man into his arms.
Sniffling, Desmond spread out along the bed and buried his face in his hands. “I just want all this to be over,” he said. “I want to stop running. I want to stop fighting. I want to stop being scared about everything that’s going on in my life.”
“We’re always going to be running, hon.”
“But we don’t have to be running without help,” Desmond said.
Nodding, Steve nuzzled his stubbly cheek into the younger man’s neck and breathed in his scent—knowing, without a doubt, that his boyfriend would not be happy unless they were in a safer place.
“So,” Desmond said after a moment’s hesitation. “Would… you be willing? I mean, to go with Rose when the spring comes?”
“I’d be willing,” Steve said.
“Even if that meant leaving Dakota behind?”
“Even if that meant leaving Dakota behind,” Steve sighed.
Though he dreaded to think of it, he couldn’t force his friends to do anything they didn’t want to.
Jamie was so headstrong.
If the man had his way—if his childhood home really meant that much to him—
Steve closed his eyes.
He couldn’t think about that. Not when Desmond needed him the most.
*
Kevin looked in on his sleeping sons and tried to decide what would be best for the both of them.
I can’t do this on my own, he thought.
As a single father, he’d often relied on the charity of others in order to help his children have the best lives they possibly could. From babysitters, to church donations, food stamps and government benefits, he’d done all he could to give his boys the best after their mother had died. This situation here wasn’t really all that different. With the army men and and their partners, they had security—trust, safety, food on the table and protection from the outside world. But without them—
“Without them,” Kevin mumbled under his breath. “I’m fucked.”
He closed the door to a crack—refusing to close it for Mark’s nightmares over being left in barricaded rooms—and sauntered down the hall to his room, where he slipped out of his shoes and changed into a simple pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Once there, he settled down on the queen-sized bed and looked out at the window at the Marks’ family home—knowing, without a doubt, that he would soon be forced to make a decision that would impact his and his children’s futures forever.
He couldn’t stay here—not on his own. He couldn’t provide for his children—not without help. And he couldn’t ask them to help him make supply runs, much less remain behind when he went out on them himself. If something happened and he never came back—if he died and left them alone—he’d…
Kevin closed his eyes.
Deep breaths, he thought. Just like the therapist taught you.
He tried to imagine a peaceful scenario, in which he, Mark and Arnold were safely behind the walls of a place called Fort Hope, but found it nearly impossible to do so in spite of everything Rose had said. She’d claimed it was guarded, that it was secure, that her friends would still be there and the place had not fallen. Yet how could she know, after all these months, after all this time away?
The cold reality of it was: they could leave only to find a place that had long been besieged by the dead.
And what then?
He fingered the silver cross at his neck before slipping under the covers and lying down. He waited—with bated breath—for an answer to come, for inspiration to strike. When none did, however, he merely closed his eyes and reached up to splay his hands across his stomach.
He needn’t make this decision soon.
Spring was still months away.
If, by that time, he was still unsure, he would consult the boys. Only then would he know their true feelings on the matter.
*
Rose stared out at the moonlit landscape and tried not to feel guilt for the bombshell she’d dropped upon the group that had so kindly taken her in.
I may be leaving on my own, she thought with a bitter sigh.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this. No. Quite the contrary. She had, first and foremost, expected a bitter reaction—for the men in her midst to turn her down and say that she was absolutely ridiculous. Yet none of them had. Instead, they’d offered debate, action, then consideration to her plight. She knew they understood what she was going through. She was away from friends—and, like them, feeling not in the least bit safe in their current arrangements.
With a sigh, she reached up to run a hand through her hair and then reached for a brush to begin a ritual she felt would calm her racing mind and ease her aching soul. She brushed first once, then twice, then three, counting each as would a child once told one-hundred was perfect. It’ll make your hair absolutely gorgeous, her mother had once said.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” Rose sighed.
She often wondered what had happened to her parents—if they were still alive, if they were dead, and if not, if they still thought of her. She knew the latter to be true—that all parents thought of their children even in the most strained of relationships—and that they would’ve thought of her until the day they died. Still—she was haunted by the idea that they didn’t know how much she loved them; and that, having placed Lyra in the same predicament, her friend likely felt the same way.
She doesn’t even know if I’m alive, Rose thought.
For all Lyra knew, she was dead—and one of the walking after having been bitten by a creature whose infectious bite killed and then reanimated its most unfortunate of victims. That thought, as grizzly as it happened to be, was what made her want to return—or, at the very least: to try.
Would she be alone though?
She didn’t think so—didn’t, in the slightest,
think that these men, especially the father and his teenaged sons, would remain behind while the world continued to deteriorate around them. This place was too dangerous, their plights too numbered. If they had even the slightest chance at a happier existence, surely they would follow.
Wouldn’t they?
Rose closed her eyes.
What she feared the most was being alone.
If none of them wanted to come with her… she didn’t know what she’d do.
*
Dakota rose before Jamie the next morning and remained in bed—snuggled, as close as he could be, to his partner, listening to the sound of his breaths and feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his back. It was almost impossible to remain awake in the lull of silence, but always his thoughts returned to the night before—of Rose and what she had said.
I want to leave.
Those four words had elicited a reaction the woman could’ve never anticipated—and, as a result, had altered the course of their very existence.
Snow continued to fall outside on this long and lonely day, during which time Dakota watched and tried not to think of the opportunities that could be presented to them. It cascaded softly—drifting, slowly, from the heavens—until eventually it disappeared from view. Occasionally a flake would land on the window and leave its brief impression, but always it would fade—snuffed from the world by the cruel happenstance of nature.
Was that would happen to them, he wondered, if they were to remain behind? Would they be snuffed from existence as well?
You can’t think about that, he thought.
He and Jamie had still come to no definitive conclusion about what they would do come time spring arrived, even though they’d sat up late into the night debating the logistics of it all. Jamie claimed they were perfectly safe here; Dakota felt otherwise. Jamie said the supplies would last for the seven of them for months on end; Dakota thought they wouldn’t. And above all, Jamie said, he did not want to venture toward a place where hope might not lie. Dakota, finally done with it all, finally stated that he felt hope had already left this place.
He placed his palm over the top of his partner’s hand and traced the line of hair extending down from his wrist, using the minute reactions to ground him to reality now that he was threatening to slip into discord. He knew Jamie felt safe here—knew that his boyfriend would not want to leave even if death was knocking on their door—but something had to be done. Some kind of convincing had to be accomplished.
Could he just say he wanted to leave? Would that be enough?
With a sigh, Dakota weaseled out of Jamie’s grasp, threw his legs over the side of the bed, then grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head before exiting the room and descending into the living room. Where normally he would have been greeted by a street out the window there remained only the wall, and though comforting in that it was strong, he knew it wouldn’t last them forever.
Maybe we aren’t meant to be here, he thought. Maybe we were simply meant to wait for Rose before going to Fort Hope.
It seemed logical enough, in a way, that she would arrive only to deliver them to the last bastion of humanity. Yet at the same time, Dakota wondered if that would be the case—if, like Jamie said, they would venture for days or weeks or maybe even months only to find an empty vestibule of what had once been a hopeful place.
The sound of creaking stairs entered his ears.
Dakota turned just in time to see Steve descending—shirtless, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes set on Dakota now that they’d fallen upon them. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” he replied.
“Couldn’t sleep any longer?”
“Not with everything that happened last night,” Dakota replied.
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Desmond and I were up pretty late too.”
When the conversation lapsed to silence, Dakota wasn’t sure what to do. He could tell, by the look on Steve’s face, that he was waiting for him to continue, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Did he simply come right out and state his feelings, or was he supposed to wait to see if Steve would speak up instead?
Rather than draw the tension out any longer, Dakota sighed and said, “I want to go.”
“But Jamie’s indecisive,” Steve said.
Dakota nodded.
“I figured as much,” the older man replied, crossing the short distance between them to stand beside Dakota. “He’s the kind of guy who’s rooted in his ways.”
“He feels like he belongs here.”
“I mean, he does, in a way. But just because he feels like he belongs here doesn’t mean that we do.”
“I know,” Dakota sighed. “It’s just… getting him to leave is going to be a nightmare.”
“You know he’ll follow you.”
“Do I?”
“He loves you, Dakota. I think—and this is just me thinking, mind you—that if you stand up to him and say, ‘This is how it is,’ he’ll have no choice but to go with you.”
“He could always stay without us.”
“Yeah, but do you really think he would?”
No, Dakota thought, but didn’t want to entertain the notion that Jamie might.
With one last sigh, Dakota settled himself down on the couch and began to pool through a series of canned goods he’d been going through the previous day.
“That the stuff Kevin and the boys brought back?”
“Yeah,” Dakota said. “You want to help me go through it.”
“Give me a second to put a shirt on and I’ll be right there.”
Dakota nodded and watched Steve disappear up the stairs.
The entire time, Dakota wondered if his friend was truly right.
“I need to know if you’re willing to leave with me,” Dakota said.
Jamie lifted his eyes from his place at the couch and frowned. “Dakota,” he said.
“Please, Jamie. Don’t start with this.”
“You know how I feel about leaving,” the older man replied, rising and crossing the short distance between them.
“I know, but—”
“But… what?”
Dakota closed his eyes, exhaled, and lowered his hands at his sides. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this,” he said, his heart throbbing in his chest and his mind racing into overdrive. “But Jamie… I’m honestly prepared to leave without you if you aren’t willing to come with me.”
Jamie didn’t speak at first. So stunned was he that he merely stared—his mouth agape, his eyes lost and his lips trembling. When he finally did say something, it was a clear and resounding, “What?”
“I can’t keep living like this,” Dakota said, stepping forward and taking hold of his boyfriend’s arms. “You’ve made it easier, but… Jamie… there’s this darkness inside me that’s trying to swallow me whole.”
“It’s only going to get worse once we leave these walls,” Jamie said.
“I know, but… I have to have hope in something.”
“Why can’t you have hope here, babe?”
“Honestly?” Dakota sighed. “Because I’m convinced that, one day, we’re going to be found—either by people or zombies—and that’ll be it. Done. Game over.” He pressed an imaginary gun to his head and blew the trigger. “Steve and Desmond are already talking about going with Rose.”
“They are?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” Dakota replied. “I talked to Steve this morning. He said Desmond wants to take one final chance on Fort Hope.”
“And you want to as well?”
“Yes, Jamie. I do.”
Sighing, Jamie stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Dakota, and pulled him against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath, “for putting you through all of this.”
“I know you are,” Dakota replied.
“I don’t want to leave. Hell—I dread leaving—but I would walk one-thousand miles through zombie-infested lands to be with you, Dakota. And if you’re willing
to walk to Rhode Island… I’m willing to go with you.”
“You are?” Dakota asked.
Jamie nodded. “Yes, Dakota,” he said. “I am.”
Dakota bowed his face against Jamie’s chest and sighed.
So—this was it then.
They would leave Idaho behind and head to Fort Hope.
How they would get there, let alone safely, Dakota didn’t know.
All he knew was that, come time spring arrived, they would leave.
It terrified him to no end.
The first order of business was to try and secure a vehicle that would accommodate the eight of them—if not comfortably, at least physically. Through the suburban streets of Rigby, Idaho they walked—constantly searching, always on alert. The zombies in this area were scarce, but always present, and though their numbers were enough to give Dakota pause, he didn’t feel as if he were in complete danger while they walked the streets.
The horde is gone, he thought, thinking back to the twenty-plus group that had not only swarmed him, but Rose and Erik when they were in the deeper parts of the city.
The largest gathering they’d seen had been eight, but even then they’d been so highly decayed that they would prove to be little, if any, threat.
Would springtime eventually solve all their problems? Would, after the great thaw, the sun finally destroy those zombies too decayed for their own good?
Rose approached the vehicle she had driven the last few days in Idaho in and peered inside. “The key’s still there,” she mumbled, “but it’ll be a tight fit.”
“Eight of us,” Dakota agreed. “Two up front, three in the backseat, three in the cargo hold.”
“This isn’t counting the supplies,” Jamie sad.
“I’m sure the kids wouldn’t mind sleeping in the very back. I mean, they’re still growing, and poor Arnold’s barely five-foot-three.”
“It’s going to be a cramped ride regardless,” Jamie said. “One I won’t be looking forward to at all.”
“The routes I took should be pretty much clear,” Rose said, leaning forward to take hold of the door handle, then pop it open to retrieve the keys on the driver’s seat. “The only problem is going to be getting gas.”