Moisture collected between my pressed-down breasts. I don’t remember what a clean face felt like and I smelled bad – I could smell myself! I would never forgive myself, if Bodey saw me like that. But I’d never forgive myself more, if I wished them to be gone. Instead, I hoped they were there, watching from their windows for signs of people who may or may not be safe. I hoped they hunkered down, locking their dogs in the shop or garage to keep them from running off.
I rounded the curve of their looping driveway and took in the open curtains and empty garage – the front door to the house stood open. If they left, they wouldn’t make it. They couldn’t. Not when there wasn’t any place left for people to be safe.
My sadness deepened at this latest loss. I hadn’t wanted to accept so many were dying, disappearing, gone. Why did this last hope of mine have to be dashed so soon after the end? A sob tore through me and I caught it with a gasp, careful to keep my control, at least until I could get Mom inside and resting on a more comfortable surface. I could disappear into the woods and lose my sanity once I took care of Mom.
The nearness of protection gave me enough oomph to crest the final slight rise of the hill. At the plateau of the drive, I relaxed my shoulders and paused. For a moment. We weren’t safe, not out in the open. Not where anyone could still get to us.
Did I go into the house? I didn’t want to chance encountering dead bodies. I hadn’t known Bodey’s sister well, but the few times I’d seen her she smiled so nice.
The final thing to break me would be seeing the Christianson family torn apart in some way. Picturing them together and safe somewhere gave me the smallest sense of security. The smallest sense of... I don’t know, hope Mom and I would be safe for a while.
Keeping my voice down, I faced my mom, who hadn’t yet woken completely. “I’m going to see if I can get into the shop. We should be fine in there.”
Her lips moved but I couldn’t tell if she understood. Her eyelids didn’t flicker.
Unwilling or unable to leave her in the middle of the drive, I pulled the wagon to the rear of the shop, where a man-door stood stalwart against intruders. The half-door glass window was covered resolutely in vertical blinds.
But I needed in. We needed in.
The handle didn’t turn either way. Crap, nothing would be simple. I picked up a rock the size of my fist and turned my face away from the building. Slamming through the single pane didn’t take as much energy as I used. The ease shocked me and I released the rock when I shoved it through the window. The solid thud when it landed inside made me squeeze my eyes shut. No idea why the glass tinkling and shattering didn’t bother me half as much as the sound of the rock landing.
I waited. Counting. Five, six, seven... thirty, thirty-one... I blew out and inhaled, watching, waiting. Fifty, fifty-one... how high would I go? How long would I wait? Ninety-nine, one-hundred. If nobody had charged after me by then, I assumed they wouldn’t.
Reaching inside, I unlocked the handle so I could twist it open from the outside. Pushing the panel open, I gingerly stepped over the shards of glass and into an apartment style entryway.
The doorway was wide enough I pulled the wagon through. Already the warmth in the shop intensified the coolness of my skin. When had the weather grown so cool? Or had I not warmed up from the previous night? I closed the mangled door.
The large shop had multiple wings and bays. Where we stood encapsulated a semblance of a kitchen and eating area, like an afterthought. Pulling Mom through the room, we entered another area set up with an ammunitions reloader and weapons storage. I’d never seen so many arrows in my life.
Hanging from the rafters, a full-sized canopy for a truck had been strung up alongside ladders, bins, and a tennis ball hanging from a string.
Some people could be weird, if they wanted to be. I arched my eyebrow and ducked around the neon green ball. A smaller man-door stood closed on the far side. I pulled Mom harder, over downed lumber and other tools randomly left out. The grating of metal on concrete wasn’t pleasant on the ears.
The door gave easily and I looked cautiously inside what could only be described as extra storage. Random folded tarps rested on barrels of oil. Rolled up carpet had been stacked in the corner beside yards and yards of coiled extension cord.
Exposed insulation in the walls explained the warmth. Small windows along the top of the rear wall allowed light into the small area, but not too much. Pushing Mom inside the room, I closed the door on the wagon, careful to keep as much warmth as possible in the small space.
Shop blankets had been thrown into a haphazard pile, manning the tops of more barrels and buckets. I grabbed as many as I could and laid them out in the semblance of a bed.
Shaking my mom’s shoulder, I spoke softly, but with enough firmness to make her respond. “Mom, you need to wake up and get out of the wagon. Can you help me? Mom?” Hold on a little longer and I could lose whatever I was holding on to. I could cry. But not yet. Not when Mom hung on with her fingernails.
After a long moment filled with me shaking her shoulders and murmuring direction, she stirred, pushing herself from the bed of the wagon to a semi-standing but more fetal position. She groaned.
“I’m sorry, I know you hurt. Here, let’s get you over here. You can lie down.” I draped her unused arm around my shoulders and pulled her to lean on me as much as she could. She wavered like someone pushed her back and forth on her feet. “You’re okay, Mom. Come on. I’ll help you get to the floor. Right here.” She collapsed onto the makeshift bed.
Yanking our backpacks closer to where she dropped, I rummaged through their contents for a first-aid kit. “Mom, where’d our first-aid kits go?” But she’d already fallen asleep again. The packages couldn’t have fallen out. Another thing stolen from us at camp. Shaking my head, I pushed items around in a search for something to eat. Anything.
A few packets of jerky fell out. “Where did our food go?” The jerks at the camp hadn’t destroyed everything. We should have still had a few snacks left. Everything was gone but the jerky.
“Crap, crap, crap, crap.” I banged the back of my head on the carpet rolls behind us and stared at the ceiling. “We need food and supplies. Please, we need something to eat.” I didn’t want to pray, not out loud, but I was there – at the end of one of our trials and I needed food. For both me and Mom. We needed food. STAT.
Mom always exhorted praying as the best thing in the world, but I sat with her on the blanket for minutes, an hour, praying and praying for something to eat to fall from the sky. Or come inside and let us eat it. I wasn’t being selfish. I wanted my mom to have something to eat. Something to help her get better. She had to get better.
I avoided her stomach. She had the skills and experience to look at the wound and she kept passing out. I understood, but if it’s so bad she can’t even see it? What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t step in. My knowledge only took me so far and we already covered put pressure on it.
“Kelly.” Mom licked her lips and motioned me closer. Her lowered voice didn’t prepare me for her request. “I need you to look at the wound site and help me.”
“But... Mom, I’m not... I’m not sure...” I swallowed. I loved her, and so I had to tell her I didn’t like blood. So much about that moment freaked me out. I could handle blood, it was her blood I didn’t want to see. Her weakness. All of the blood meant she didn’t have it inside her – keeping her alive. I needed her alive.
“I know, baby girl.” She paused to breathe, like she needed a break. Since when did my mother need a break when talking? “But you need to get used to it sooner or later, okay? This is... Good practice.”
Squirming for another ten seconds, I finally bit the inside of my cheek and flared my nostrils. The scent of blood didn’t strike me as particularly appealing, but the coppery odor was easier to take on an empty stomach than one full and ready to vomit its contents.
I lifted her shirt hem, pulling the line to her bra-line. The blood covered most of her low
er abdomen, like she had been bleeding for a while and her stomach had been made from a spongey material. “Okay, I see it.”
She had closed her eyes, but hadn’t fallen asleep. “Wipe what blood you can away and look for an exit wound.”
Exit wound? Seriously? I ground my teeth together, wincing at the painful tightness in my jaw but grateful for the distraction. I swiped the loose material of her shirt over the thick red blood, smearing it across her smooth skin.
Angling my neck, I inspected her other side, feeling more with my fingers than seeing. I didn’t want to move her and searching with my hands didn’t disturb me as much as visually searching would. I did not want to see more blood.
The smoothness of her back had me pursing my lips. “I don’t feel anything. Looks like there isn’t an exit?” I pulled back staring at the small hole, confused. “The hole looks bigger than a twenty-two, though.”
She allowed a slit in her eyelid when she peeked at me. “What do you mean twenty-two?”
“The rifle that guy shot you with was a twenty-two, right? That’s what it sounded like.” I shrugged, offering a small reassuring smile – well, what I hoped was comforting. “Shouldn’t be too deep, Mom. Might be able to do a finger search for it yourself.” Satisfied with my diagnosis, I settled onto my haunches.
“No, the bullet was a forty-four. Jeanine’s shots ricocheted. I was hit after I jumped into the woods. I couldn’t make myself tell Jeanine... she would never forgive herself.” Mom shook her head, swallowing, the effort obviously hard. “Since the bullet didn’t go through me, it’s in there and judging from the pain, it’s in there good.” She drew in a ragged breath.
What did I do? How did you say sorry for friendly fire? I only ever heard about the horror when we watched a movie from a long time ago my parents had saved from before the purge. A man had been shot while running from his family to his friends. With friendly fire. Dad had described it. I never heard of such a thing. They didn’t teach things in history or the rest of school about much of anything.
A stack of blue paper towels was piled on the counter beside the door. I stood and grabbed all of them, returning to Mom to put some on her stomach like a bandage. Tugging her shirt back down, I stared at the lump of towels as if my glare alone could make her stop bleeding.
“What do I do, Mom?” Helplessness consumed me. “We only have jerky and water. I don’t know where the last of our food went. It’s literally all gone. Everything.” I held up the canteen and the small plastic bag of chipotle flavored beef jerky.
“Let’s drink some water and eat something. Then we can try to sleep. I’m so tired, aren’t you?” Her eyelids drooped and shadows dwarfed her eyes. I had never seen her so weak. The sight scared the living crap out of me.
I nodded. “Yeah, but I need to go to the bathroom, first. Do you need to go?”
She allowed her eyes to close again. “No. Not right now.” Her lips parted and she fell asleep. When she woke up, I would get her to eat or at least suck on a piece of jerky and sip some water. Sleep for her would be good so her body could repair itself. Her need to sleep had to be a good thing.
Barely afternoon and as exhausted as I was, no way would I be able to sleep. Not as amped up as the day had made me.
Plus, I really did need to pee.
Careful not to wake Mom, I stood and exited the shop wing, closing the door behind me to preserve heat.
My cottony mouth irritated me with its flavor. What I wouldn’t give for a toothbrush and toothpaste – oh, and a shower.
I fell to the river rock on the grass outside the back door. Tears filled my eyes and my breathing hitched. I rocked back and forth on my knees, bending at the waist, wrapping my arms tight to my chest.
The sobs came, long and low, from deep in my gut. Too much. I was losing too much. Why hadn’t the pain killed me yet? I should be dead from so much loss. So much anguish.
What was I going to do?
And then I tried it. I prayed. And prayed. And prayed.
If nothing else, the prayers at least made me feel better. I recited one from a book my mom had given me when I was younger. Something about laying myself down to sleep, blah blah blah. I didn’t even remember all the words so I mixed them together with Rock-a-bye Baby.
After I calmed down enough to realize I still hadn’t peed, I ducked behind some lilac bushes and did my job. I avoided looking at the house. Nothing would make me go in there, not even my hunger. Not yet. At least while Mom slept. When she got better we could go in together. What if Bodey’s family was dead in there? No. Just. No.
I couldn’t return to sit vigil over my mom just yet. Exploring seemed the best bet for my nerves. Maybe I could find something to eat. Or something to do.
Something to keep my mind off our situation.
Anything to keep me sane.
Chapter 16
Someone shook my shoulder. My head flopped to the side and my chin connected with my chest. I jerked myself upright, eyes open but quickly shutting again. I hadn’t slept long enough.
“Kelly, wake up, please, wake up.” Mom’s thready whisper broke through the haze of my sleepiness.
My eyes opened and this time they didn’t slip down. Alarmed, I reached for her outstretched hand. “Mom? Are you okay?” I shifted myself to a fuller sitting position. She had somehow fallen from the slightly raised platform where I had made her a bed. I pushed myself to her side and pulled her seemingly frail body onto my lap.
Pale skin, palest I’d ever seen on her, enunciated the shadows of her eyes. I never noticed the strands of gray in her hair so distinctly before. “Mom?” I wiped a stray chunk of hair from her forehead, a cool clamminess meeting my touch. “You’re colder. Hold on, I’ll get you covered up...” But her hand on mine stilled me.
“No. I don’t need...” She swallowed, visibly aching even to talk. A fresh, bright red spread across her shirt, slowly but with intent. “Let’s pray, Kelly. Would you?” Her voice faded and she lifted her hands to her chest, like in a prayer position, but loose.
Anger welled inside me and I pushed her hands from her chest, mindful of her pain but oddly apathetic toward it. “No, I’m not praying with you anymore. This is ridiculous. We’ve prayed for food, water, medicine, for your wound to get better, you name it, we’ve prayed for it. I’m done. It’s gotten us nothing. Less than nothing. We’ve been chewing on jerky. I can’t.” I couldn’t even continue with my rant, my heart rate sped up and the fact I was yelling at my injured mother finally kicked in and I bit my tongue. Dang it. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but come on.
We sat together in silence for a second, Mom staring at me with eyes wide in disbelief.
My throat tightened. She might be gone soon. Her wounds could prevent her from bugging me anymore. The injustice of our situation slammed home. Why would she have so much faith in anyone or anything with all the destruction and pain around us – in us? I blinked back frustrated tears. “Do you really think there’s a God?” My husky question didn’t hesitate to be insecure, but the honesty left me drained as the truth of my doubt revealed itself.
Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she struggled to lift herself. Even though she didn’t move much, she appeared to have grown larger, stronger, defiant in seconds. She coughed, gripping at her side. “I don’t think – I know – there’s a God. There’s a Heaven where your dad and brother are waiting for us.”
“Let them wait. We’re not ready. We aren’t going anywhere.” I growled. What was she saying? Heaven? Who mentioned Heaven? What was going on?
“Stop.” She pierced me with her gaze, sharp and deceptively strong in a body worn down with a gunshot injury. “I only have my faith and I can’t give that to you. And you’re going to be mad at me and God and that’s okay. Just know...” She captured my hand in hers and pressed my fingers tight to her chest, tears welling in her eyes.
I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t. Yet, my love for her dripped down my face.
“Know that we both
love you and we’re always here.” She closed her eyes and shook, a shiver spasming through her body. She reopened her eyes and focused on me. She forcefully swallowed. “Remember the rules, Kelly. Trust no one. Pray. And please, please, stay alive.” She pressed her hand to just over my heart, tears streaming back over her temples and into her hair.
I sniffed, shaking my head to cut her off. “Mom.”
“Kelly, stay alive. Please. I’m always here.” She tapped one finger on my chest, but her hand dropped to her side and her face fell slack. Slowly her head turned toward my arm and her chest lowered with her last exhale.
Disbelief jerked me from the surreal pain and thrust me into the moment hard. “Mom? Mommy, no. Mom! No!” I shook her softly at first, then with more force. Tears? There was no term strong enough for the torrent soaking my skin and dripping onto her face. “Mom, please. Don’t leave me.”
She wasn’t always here. She wasn’t with me anymore. She’d just gone and left. Gone. Like everyone else.
Mom, where are you? I need you. Please. I watched her, but she didn’t move. Nothing moved on her. We were attached but she’d left me. I didn’t even get to tell her how much I loved her, needed her.
“I love you, Mom. I’m sorry. Please, come back.” I sobbed, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to my chest. Please. Oh, Lord, please.
I was alone. And there was nothing I could do about it.
The pain built and built until I couldn’t take the pressure anymore – I screamed.
Chapter 17
I don’t know how long I held Mom’s body. How long I brushed her hair from her face and pretended she slept. I crooned to her, talked to her, even yelled at her a couple times. But she didn’t wake up. She didn’t move.
My legs had fallen asleep but I didn’t care. My mom...
Dead.
How many more people would die in my arms? I wiped at my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. Did I even care anymore what happened to me?
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