Waves of Solace

by Ariel Bonin

  "Are you sure?" she mumbled, and then surged forward. "Are you sure?"

  Phil was having a hard time meeting her desperate gaze, but said quietly, "They're gone."

  It felt as if someone had plunged their hand through Lindsey's chest and ripped out her still-beating heart. Tears flooded her eyes and her lips pulled back in a show of raw emotion. A choked wail tore from her throat as she doubled over and then collapsed onto her hands and knees in a fit of sobs.

  Chapter 18

  Hot, suffocating darkness.

  That was what Andrew became aware of as he regained consciousness. Something pressed down on him, the weight of it crushing his chest. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and what had happened. All he could recall was the smell of gas and then making it to the hallway. Everything after that was a blank.

  He shifted slightly and was rewarded with a sharp pain in his shoulder. Moving again, he pushed the weight on him upward and the pain intensified greatly. He ignored it until the debris was completely gone from his upper half and then dared a look at the source of his discomfort. Through the haze of thick smoke he could see a jagged piece of metal sticking out from the joint in his shoulder, which was most definitely dislocated.

  Coughing from the heavy assault on his lungs, he rolled out of the pile of rubble. He tried to stay low as he reached out and felt along the uneven ground. His body hurt like never before, singed inside and out. He continued to fight the burning in his chest as he struggled for air.

  Only a few feet later, he touched something soft. After moving his fingers over the unknown object, he realized it was the top of Charlie's head. He got in close enough to see the man's face, his eyes stinging in the process.

  "Charlie!" he rasped out, and broke into a coughing fit. "Charlie!"

  The man's eyelashes fluttered, blinking away dirt and ash. He winced, began coughing, and then saw Andrew.

  "Give me your hand!" Andrew said, starting to dig out his friend. Charlie's filthy hand breached the surface suddenly. He seized it and pulled the man free.

  "Ana? Kat?" Charlie asked in between suppressed coughs.

  "Not yet!" Andrew answered, keeping his response short—it was all he could manage without his throat closing up.

  Charlie yelled for the missing women, his voice barely registering over the roaring flames around them. Most of the room was engulfed and Andrew found the heat to be almost unbearable. He could feel the skin on his arms blistering as he followed the other man in his desperate search. He was so distracted by the white-hot pain that he almost missed the female boot sticking out from under a large piece of machinery.

  "Here!" he shouted, halting Charlie.

  They got on either side of the sizable object, now a grotesque, twisted shape, and lifted with all the strength they could gather. Andrew's shoulder screamed in protest, but he would not let himself drop the weighty mass and cause further damage to the woman beneath it. Instead, he gritted his teeth and released a growl-like shout.

  When the machinery was clear of Ana, the two men dropped it and leaned over her still form.

  "Ana! Hey!" Charlie hollered.

  Her eyes flew open and she focused them on Charlie's worried face. Moisture seeped from the corners and tracked down her cheeks—from watering or crying, it was hard to say. Clearly she'd been in and out of consciousness, but had been unable to move.

  "My ankle," she whimpered, motioning a hand down her side.

  "I gotcha," Charlie said, and bent over to gather her into his arms. Once upright, he turned to Andrew. "How—?"

  "Look out!" Ana yelled as she pointed to something behind Andrew.

  He spun around to see what it was, ducking at the same time just in case it was a falling object. Something slammed into his side and knocked him on his back. The movement jarred his shoulder and he cried out. Squinting through bleary eyes, he could make out a face, but it looked nothing like the person he'd come to know.

  Kat clawed at Andrew's shirt in a desperate attempt to get her teeth near his neck. Her dark cappuccino skin had melted and become a splotchy, charred mask. Her eyes bulged as she chomped at the smoke-filled air. Andrew pushed back, hardly keeping her at bay. Panicked for a weapon, he steeled himself, held her off with one hand and then reached over to grasp the scrap of metal in his shoulder. Fighting against the threat of passing out, he ripped it free. Just as his arm gave out, he stabbed it into her ear. Her body went limp over him and he slowly pulled back his bloody hand.

  Before Andrew could process their newest loss, Charlie appeared over him. The man set Ana on one foot and extended a hand to Andrew. "This way!" he said.

  _____

  Lindsey stayed on her knees for an indefinite amount of time. She didn't care—time had stopped. Her only intent was to rid herself of the excruciating pain in her chest. Weeping uncontrollably was not helping, but it was all she could seem to do. Everything was unclear to her, literally and figuratively—she couldn't form a single thought as the world wavered around her.

  Zoey dropped down beside the broken woman, her eyes shedding tears as well. She pulled Lindsey toward her, and Lindsey rested her head against Zoey's chest, where she could hear the girl's heartbeat slamming under her ear. She clutched Zoey's arm and let out a strangled sob.

  After a few minutes, Zoey released Lindsey and Caren appeared in front of her, the young woman's devastated gaze passing over her weary features.

  "Lindsey, you need to get up," she begged. When the blonde didn't budge, she spoke again. "You have three children to take care of. They need you. You are all they have left…"

  Robert held Jacob as he touched his wife's shoulder and shook his head. "Maybe you should leave her alone. She just lost her husband, Caren…again."

  The woman ignored him and shook Lindsey gently. "You've got to be strong."

  Lindsey lifted her red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip quivering. "N-no…no! I can't!"

  Caren succumbed to her own tears and squeezed Lindsey's shoulders. "Andrew would want you to be strong."

  As painful as it was to think about, Lindsey went back to the previous evening, remembering Andrew's words so clearly. She still didn't believe them—she couldn't survive without him. Maybe she would to a point, but the hopeful part of her, the part that saw all the good left in this living nightmare—that would die. But Caren was right—she had responsibilities, promises she'd made to Andrew. She took those very seriously.

  "Okay," she whispered with a sniffle.

  Caren offered a weak smile and said, "That's it. Let's get you home, Linds."

  The widow stiffened in her arms. "Please don't call me that."

  Caren frowned, immediately knowing the mistake she'd made. "I'm sorry."

  The two women linked arms, with Caren supporting a great deal of Lindsey's weight as they began the slow walk home. Lindsey trudged along and stared at the ground with empty eyes. When they reached the bungalow, she hesitated to go inside. Caren urged her up the steps and Robert opened the screen door for them. As Lindsey stood in the middle of the living room, she rubbed a fist against her chest in a feeble effort to dull the stabbing pain in her heart. Everything reminded her of Andrew. It didn't help when she bumped the pearl necklace around her neck and was instantly brought back to their Christmas morning—her husband's roughened yet gentle fingers brushing her skin as he'd clasped the necklace, and then the soft kiss he'd pressed behind her ear.

  Welling up once again, Lindsey inhaled a sharp breath and started to cry. Her shoulders shook and she covered her face with a trembling hand. Caren put her arm around Lindsey and guided the mourning woman to a wicker chair. Lindsey's breaths were coming faster now, almost to the point of hyperventilating. Her stomach churned and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick.

  "Lindsey," Caren implored, "I know these are just words right now, but I need you to listen to me."

  Lindsey was having a difficult time hearing Caren's plea, but it registered somewhere in her foggy head. She raised
her dark, puffy eyes.

  "You need to control your grief. The stress you are putting on your body is not good for the baby." Caren lifted Lindsey's right hand and placed it over the blonde's stomach, holding it there with her own hand. "You're carrying a part of Andrew inside you. Take care of it."

  Lindsey imagined the little person growing in her womb and how happy Andrew had been when she'd told him. The memory made her want to cry harder, but a watery smile spanned her lips.

  Caren matched her smile, undoubtedly relieved for the small victory. Standing up, she leaned over Lindsey and wrapped her in a consoling embrace.

  _____

  Andrew jumped down from the broken window after passing Ana through to Charlie. The rancher cradled her in his arms, although she kept insisting he didn't need to carry her. From the looks of it, her ankle was most likely broken, so Charlie refused to put her down.

  Andrew favored his injured shoulder as he keeled over, hacking up black phlegm and spitting into the grass after every convulsion. When he lifted his tear-stained face, he was shocked by the appearance of his remaining group members—and was sure he looked just as bad. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in ashy residue and holes riddled their clothing from where embers had burned through. Not to mention their eyes were impossibly bloodshot.

  The next thing that registered was the number of dead coming in from the surrounding area. No doubt they'd been attracted by the loud explosion and dancing flames. Andrew was fortunate to still have his Beretta and knife, so he armed himself with the latter and began taking out the closest threats. It was unlucky that Charlie had lost his beloved rifle and Ana her bow, but they weren't in a position to use them anyway.

  "We need to find the others," Andrew said in between stabs.

  "Is the boat still here?" Ana asked, imparting a vital question.

  Andrew decided it best to head in that direction. He brought his blade down into the head of a male turner wearing a dirty lab coat, all the while his body objecting the vigorous movements. He kicked back another corpse in order to put one down, and then finished the job with a well-aimed blow.

  When they reached the water's edge, all that remained were the carcasses of two people and the turners feeding on them. Andrew struck down those nearest to him and was able to conclude the New Canaan couple among the dead, just from what scraps of clothing were left. He picked up their ARs, which were plastered with gore, and slung them over his shoulder.

  "Now what?" Charlie asked.

  Andrew gripped the knife handle, his palm stinging from where he'd cut it on the metal shard earlier. His eyes scanned the horizon, but their boat was nowhere in sight.

  "We gotta find a place to lay low. It's too dangerous here."

  "Why wouldn't they wait off shore? It would be safe there," Ana said.

  "They know it'd be a waste of fuel," came the reply from above her.

  "So are they coming back?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

  "They might send a group, but it's obvious we can't stay here," Andrew stated as he grasped for a clear game plan.

  Charlie's voice, rough from smoke, said quietly, "What if they think we're dead?"

  Andrew's head snapped up. In everything that'd just occurred, for some reason that thought had never crossed his mind.

  "Oh, Christ," he whispered, casting his gaze downward. If that were the case, Lindsey and Zoey would be in a world of hurt. He could only begin to imagine what that news would do to them—no, he couldn't bear to think of it.

  "We gotta go," Charlie said as he looked around at the incoming turners. Pretty soon they would be overwhelmed, and it seemed like his grip on Ana was slackening.

  "There," Andrew said, pointing to a pharmacy down the street. "We'll stay quiet, regroup…then decide what to do."

  They took off toward their set destination, but Charlie didn't make it very far. He stopped, set Ana onto her good foot, turned around and bent over. "Get on my back," he said, gesturing to her with his hands by his sides.

  Ana seemed hesitant, but they were exposed and Andrew was struggling to keep their path clear by himself. She mounted Charlie's back and he secured her with his arms.

  When they were one block away from the pharmacy, Andrew cut through an alleyway on their left. He disemboweled a turner waiting there, and then jabbed his blade into the head. His arm was ready to give out, but they only had a little bit more to go. He rounded the corner and they approached the pharmacy from the back.

  To no surprise, the door was ajar, but it didn't matter—they could secure it. He swung it fully open and was presented with no immediate threats. When he deemed the building vacant, Charlie and Ana followed him in and locked the door behind them.

  The first things they needed were a toss-up between water and first aid. Somebody had torn the place apart but some supplies remained. They were lucky enough to find a water cooler behind the counter. It was almost empty but better than nothing. As Ana eased down onto a vinyl-covered waiting chair, Charlie filled a paper cup with water and passed it to her. He did the same for himself, took two gulps and then used the rest to wash out his eyes. Andrew filled his own cup and mirrored Charlie's actions.

  With water out of the way for now, the two men began searching for any kind of first aid. Andrew came across two Ace bandages, a roll of gauze and three mini-bottles of vodka. Charlie met him back at the counter and presented his findings—aspirin tablets, cotton balls and a package of blood-clotting powder.

  As Charlie gave Ana some aspirin and wrapped her ankle with one of the bandages, Andrew delicately removed his shirt. He took a few aspirin himself and then inspected his injured shoulder. The cut was deep, but had missed his major arteries. He waited for Charlie, leaning against the counter and closing his eyes.

  "You okay?" the other man asked suddenly.

  Andrew took a deep breath and shook his head. "I need you to set my shoulder. Think you can do that?"

  "Yeah," Charlie replied. "Lie down on the counter."

  Andrew did so, swiping random boxes and bottles onto the floor.

  "Gimme your arm and hold this," Charlie instructed as he placed a gallon of cleaning solution into Andrew's hand.

  Slowly, the man rotated his arm upward, sending an intense wave of pain with it. When the joint slipped back into place, he let out a groan of relief.

  "How'd you learn to do that?" Andrew asked, returning to his feet.

  Charlie didn't look up as he unwrapped the various medical supplies. "Nadie taught me."

  Andrew nodded and left it at that. He grabbed one of the chairs next to Ana and moved it over to where Charlie was standing. As he sat down, Charlie held up one of the alcohol bottles, which was now open.

  "This is gonna sting like a son of a bitch…"

  "I know," Andrew replied, steeling himself.

  Swiftly, Charlie poured the clear liquid over his shoulder and followed it with a second bottle. Andrew grunted, breathing heavily through his nose. Without stopping, Charlie tore open the packet of WoundSeal and sprinkled it over the newly cleaned wound. Andrew slammed his fist down onto the arm of the chair and clenched his jaw to ward off a shout, instead, hissing through his teeth. Charlie finished it off by pressing a swatch of gauze to the raw skin.

  "Good?" he asked.

  Andrew gave him a nod, fending off a surge of wooziness. When it dissipated, he reached up to hold the gauze in place as Charlie wrapped his shoulder with the other bandage. Afterward, Charlie took a few minutes to soak the cotton balls with alcohol and used them to clean the cuts on Andrew's hand. Any remaining gauze was then swathed around his palm.

  The three survivors sat in silence, relishing a moment of rest. They were burnt, bruised, bloody—and utterly exhausted.

  "Now what?" Ana asked, her voice thick with fatigue.

  Andrew sighed. "As much as I hate the idea of it, we're not goin' anywhere. We've got no modes of transportation—it's not like we'd get that far anyway. Charlie, you mind takin' first watch?"

 
; The rancher stood and reached for one of the blood-spattered rifles.

  "And keep an eye on the boatyard," Andrew prompted. "They might come back for us." But even as he said the words, he knew he didn't believe them.

  _____

  That night, Lindsey planted herself in the living room, unable to walk the few feet to her bedroom—not because she physically couldn't, but because she didn't want to. She hadn't stepped foot in there since before their trip to the beach earlier that day. She could picture Andrew's plaid blue shirt hanging from a knob on the dresser, his Clive Cussler trade paperback setting on the top…

  Hell no, she wasn't going in there.

  Jacob had gone to bed hours before, fussing and fighting Lindsey the whole way. Somehow he knew his father was gone, and Lindsey could swear she was being punished for it. She felt defeated in every possible way. At least Zoey was old enough to give her a break. She owed the girl more, but currently had nothing to offer.

  So she refused to move from the chair, even as her lower back throbbed and her temples pounded. Every part of her body begged for the quick relief of a soft mattress. She'd cried herself dry, a damp handkerchief forgotten on her lap. But she would take it all over the torture of remembering every moment with her husband in that tiny bedroom.

  Sometime later, the clicking sound of a door latch caused Lindsey to open her eyes. She must have drifted off, exhausted by her paralyzing stupor. Zoey marched across the room and stood before Lindsey. Her sharp movements signaled that she hadn't been sleeping, but brooding. Lindsey expected harsh words to spill from Zoey's mouth, but instead, she spoke softly.

  "You need to go to bed, Lindsey."

  She shrugged her wilted shoulders and stared at the fraying pieces of wicker beside her. "I'm fine right here."

  Disregarding her protest, Zoey proceeded to say, "After we went back to the ranch, my dad left for the school and made me promise that I would take care of you if something happened to him. I disappointed him enough when he was alive—I want to make him proud now, even if he's dead."