Waves of Solace

by Ariel Bonin

  Lindsey flinched at her word choice, but unfortunately, it was the truth.

  "Please," she whispered.

  Guilt washed over Lindsey at the sound of Zoey's strained voice. She was being so fucking selfish. The realization almost made her sick all over again. They'd both lost someone special today—not just her. Zoey had watched her mother die only a year before and now she was fatherless. Caren, too! Lindsey didn't know which was worse—witnessing the death of a parent or being left with no closure whatsoever. Andrew and Charlie were just gone. Snap. Gone.

  Pushing her stiff body up from the chair, she took Zoey's hand and let the girl lead her down the hallway. She stopped outside of Lindsey's room and glanced at her before she opened the door. Lindsey tried to hide her fear, but the iron grip she had on Zoey's hand was a clear giveaway. Slowly, they entered the room and Zoey guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. The girl knelt down and removed Lindsey's sandals, placing them near the wall.

  After taking a deep breath, Lindsey forced herself to lie down. She rolled onto her side and Zoey covered her with the white comforter. As Zoey tucked it around her, she spotted her knife on the nightstand. The words engraved by Charlie and chosen by Andrew glared back at her.

  Until death do us part.

  She turned her head into the pillow, hoping to stifle her impending tears and push down the lump in her throat. The familiar smell of Andrew's shampoo on the pillowcase penetrated her senses and it was simply too much for her to bear. She convulsed under the coverlet, beginning to cry once again. Zoey rubbed her back, but she, too, was crying. She took the girl's hand and squeezed it within her own as they grieved together.

  Chapter 19

  Sometime during the night, Andrew decided he'd had enough tossing and turning. He sat up on the floor of the pharmacy and a shiver wracked his sore body. Florida could be hot as hell during the day, but in February, at night, it tended to run a tad chilly. Normally that wasn't much of a problem, but their current surroundings lacked blankets and the only new shirt he could find was a white tee. However, with an early morning gray hue illuminating the windows, it wouldn't be an issue for much longer.

  Careful not to wake Ana, he stepped lightly as he passed the sleeping woman. She was stretched out across a row of waiting chairs with her injured foot propped up on a box. He stopped to take a few more painkillers for his aching shoulder and then made his way over to Charlie, who sat against the wall by the front door.

  "Any movement out there?" Andrew asked as he eased down next to the other man.

  "A few turners…'bout it."

  Feeling guilty, Andrew went on to say, "Sorry I was out for so long. Still didn't get the best sleep, though." He massaged the back of his stiff neck and sighed.

  "I got a couple hours," Charlie said, motioning to Ana. "She woke up for a bit. Y'all needed the rest more than me anyway."

  Andrew rubbed his tired, grimy face, bringing his hands together at his nose and mouth almost like a prayer. He shut his eyes on an overwhelming wave of anxiety.

  "Try not to think about 'em," Charlie said as he gave Andrew a look of sympathy.

  Andrew scoffed. "Is it that obvious?"

  "I'd be worried if you weren't thinkin' about your wife and kids right now. Hell, I've been thinkin' about 'em," he said with a smirk, "and Caren and Rob, of course."

  "Zoey and Lindsey…God, they've been through so much. This shit's gettin' old…"

  "This shit got old a long time ago," Charlie corrected.

  Andrew sighed heavily and shook his head. "We're still losing just as many people as we were before. I thought New Canaan would be a safe haven for us…"

  "Ain't no safe places left. What we've got is about as good as it's gonna get."

  "You're probably right about that," Andrew mumbled.

  "I've been thinkin'…I'm not so sure that boat's comin' back. We gotta find our own way." Charlie reached into his pocket and produced a folded map and brochure. "There's a rich neighborhood half a mile from here. People with that kinda money got big ass boats..."

  Andrew took the map and spread it out on his jean-clad thigh. "Most of those people keep their boats docked at marinas. They've got money for that sort of thing."

  "Yeah, but some of 'em have trust issues and busy schedules while they're makin' all that money. They have big ass garages for their big ass boats."

  A quiet laugh rumbled in Andrew's chest at his friend's choice vocabulary. He then went on to say, "Well, I'd been thinkin' that we should find a vehicle and drive back to Vanderbilt Beach—fire off the flare gun. Then we can get back, sort things out and try again at a different boatyard."

  Charlie cleared his throat and turned to look at Andrew. "We came here for a reason, so we gotta get this done. When we get back to that island, Lindsey will kill you before she lets ya leave again."

  Andrew cracked a smile. That statement couldn't have been truer. Charlie was absolutely right. They needed to do this now, because there was no way his family would let him step foot off that island after everything they'd been through.

  "All right," Andrew said finally, "we'll do it your way."

  _____

  Lindsey forced herself out of bed in the morning. She'd barely slept and considered the night one of the longest in her existence. It was a close second to the night of the outbreak when she'd lost Jared. The only difference was that back then she'd been a stranger to the whole dead-people-walking-around thing.

  She slipped out of her room and into the quiet hallway. Jacob was still asleep—thank goodness. She went into the small bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror over the sink. Dark circles rimmed her puffy eyes, standing out against her pale skin. She dropped her gaze to the pearl necklace sticking out of her tank-top and experienced a surge of frustration. She was tired of the constant reminder of her dead husband, like her wedding ring had been months before.

  In a flash, she ripped the chain from her neck and threw it into the sink. Just as quickly, the remorseful part of her exhausted brain began to scream about the necklace being her last gift from Andrew; how thoughtful he'd been in giving it to her; how it was a token of his love, and if she broke it there wouldn't be another one to replace it…

  Lindsey snatched the piece of jewelry from the sink and, with shaking hands, attempted to fix the broken clasp. She struggled with it until tears erupted from her eyes. Falling back against the wall, she broke down as she clutched the necklace in her palm, intending to never let it go.

  _____

  A service was held later that morning for their fallen family and friends. Six white crosses lined an additional row in the New Canaan cemetery. General Kirkman led the group with a prayer and then allowed a moment of silence.

  Lindsey's expression was the very definition of sorrow—eyes wet, downtrodden, lips slightly parted from taking difficult breaths. She stared at Andrew's grave marker in numb disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Her husband couldn't be dead—again. How was she supposed to bury the past when they didn't even have anything to physically bury? She had no proof, no closure…

  As she stood there, her mind wandered. Various memories came flooding back as if she were watching them on a movie reel. She wanted to fight them off, but if there was ever a time to reflect, this was it. She remembered seeing Andrew's handsome face for the first time; him offering his hand and asking her to dance; the thoughtful breakfast in bed for her thirtieth birthday; their beach stop on the way to New Canaan; the first time he called her Lindsey Flynn; their wedding night; how he'd kissed her belly when she told him they were having a baby…

  The memories wouldn't cease—every one of them like a piece of her broken heart. She suppressed a sob as tears ran down her face. Caren reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  To add insult to injury, some tiny part of her always thought that if something happened to Andrew, she could have counted on Charlie to be there for her—but he was gone, too. Not to mention Ana and Kat, who she'd come to know as sisters.
She was grateful for the family she had left—she'd be nothing without them.

  "This is bullshit," Nicholas said out of the blue.

  A few people gasped, but everyone turned their curious gazes to the angry man.

  "Why are we just standin' around a bunch of empty graves? The place we should be is back at the mainland! What if they made it? We left 'em with no way back!"

  "Nick…" Hannah warned. Lindsey and Caren were watching the entire rant with wounded scowls.

  "No!" he shouted, and then pointed at the two women. "You know this is bullshit! Yeah, maybe they didn't make it…but if that were the case, wouldn't you want to know for sure? Don't you want closure?"

  "Of course I want that," Lindsey said, her voice tired, "but what am I supposed to do? We shouldn't waste fuel and risk more lives just to go back for whatever pieces are left of our family…" She pressed her quivering lips together and wiped away the moisture on her cheeks. "My place is here. Andrew would want that."

  Nicholas stared at the blonde, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. "Well, I'm goin' back. Who'll go with me?"

  "I will," Phil said from behind Hannah.

  Robert sighed. "Me, too."

  "Robert! No!" Lindsey demanded and stepped toward him as Caren clutched his arm.

  "I gotta see for myself. We owe it to them," he said, looking between the two women.

  Caren didn't say anything, but looked torn—reluctant to let him go and understanding why he had to do it. Eventually, she nodded her approval.

  "I'll get the boat ready," Nicholas announced before he stalked away.

  Robert and Caren held hands as they left to get a few things from their bungalow before he went with Nicholas. Afterward, the remaining people dispersed, some stopping to express their condolences to Lindsey and Zoey.

  When everyone was gone, Lindsey sat down on the grass in front of Andrew's cross and placed Jake in her lap. Her emotions were in limbo. She didn't know if she wanted Nicholas to find anything and she certainly would not get her hopes up—that would cause far too much damage to her heart, which was already in an insufferable state.

  A rustle caught her attention and she looked over to see Zoey sitting next to her.

  "What are you doing?" she asked with a frown.

  Zoey shrugged off her question and said, "Sitting with you," as if the answer was obvious.

  Lindsey attempted a smile, but only achieved a slight twist of her lips. "You don't need to do that, honey."

  "I want to," she replied, her blue eyes reflecting the truth in her statement.

  Now Lindsey was able to manage a smile, even as she fought off another wave of tears. She slid her arm around Zoey's shoulder and pulled the girl close so she could place a kiss on her temple. "Thank you," she whispered.

  _____

  "First thing's first," Andrew began. "We need a vehicle—preferably a truck. If we're gonna haul a boat trailer, we need something bigger than a car."

  Charlie, Ana and Andrew were packed up and ready to leave the pharmacy. The woman's foot looked better, but only slightly. They'd been lucky enough to find a dusty pair of crutches in the back, because there was no way she would be walking anywhere anytime soon.

  "All right, let's do this," Charlie said, wielding one of the rifles. "I'll stay behind Ana. That way she's covered at all times."

  "Sounds good," Andrew replied.

  Opening the back door of the pharmacy, they eased out onto the sidewalk. Ana's athletic physique allowed her to be efficient with the crutches, but it was still slow going. A male turner, dressed in what were once tan khakis and a light blue button-up, stumbled toward Andrew and the man brought his knife down, splitting the corpse's skull in two. He then kicked it back, freeing his blade for the next approaching turner.

  After about an hour, they made it to the front gates of the neighborhood, which lay in a tangled heap, pushed to either side of the main drive. They had yet to find a working vehicle, let alone something worthy of a boat trailer, but had high hopes for the abandoned community—even as it lay in a state of ruin.

  Andrew led the way as they approached the first house, a three-story mansion with tall pillars and about fifty windows—most of which were broken. Their interest wasn't really in the house, though, but rather, in the garage. The two doors were shut. When Andrew tried to open them, they didn't budge.

  "Go in through the house?" Charlie proposed, eyeing the smashed windows.

  Andrew shook his head as he looked up at the tiny garage windows. "Give me a knee." Charlie knelt onto one knee, allowing Andrew to step up and wipe dirt from the pane. He peered into the dark garage. "Nah, it's empty," he said, and dropped back onto the brick driveway.

  "Probably at work when it all went down," Charlie said. "I mean, why bother to close the doors?"

  "Sounds about right," Andrew replied as they walked to the end of the driveway where Ana was waiting.

  "Onto the next?" she asked with weary eyes.

  "Yup," Charlie said. "How're ya doin'?"

  "I'm making it, but don't worry about me—worry about yourself."

  "All right," he said, nodding once, and then waited for her to go in front of him.

  Their unlucky streak continued for multiple houses—empty garages, sports cars, crashed cars. Finally, they came across a newer-model Ford F-150 in a stunning shade of blue. Andrew recovered the keys from a hook by the door while Charlie used a portable battery charger from the garage's tool bench. When he got it started, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

  "So we've got the truck," Ana said as she eased into the back seat and propped up her foot.

  Charlie and Andrew climbed in, the latter taking the wheel and driving out into the bright sunlight.

  "Maybe we should try for Vanderbilt Beach," Charlie conceded.

  "Or there's that," Ana said, indicating something outside.

  The men turned their heads to see a house at the end of the street with three garage doors. One of which was twice as big as the other two—the perfect size for a boat.

  "There is that," Andrew said, his brows raised in disbelief.

  _____

  Phil pulled up to the boatyard, just as he had before, all the while Robert and Nicholas staring, flabbergasted, at the smoldering remnants. The roof had collapsed, leaving the building in a large mound of twisted metal. When they were able to tear their gazes off the surreal sight, Nicholas noticed something odd. Dead turners littered the ground, their heads stabbed or slashed down the middle.

  He jumped down onto the shore and rushed over to the carcasses of the New Canaan couple. He chose to ignore the wandering corpses nearby until they became an immediate threat—he was too focused on putting all the pieces together.

  "The ARs are gone," Nicholas said in bewilderment, glancing back at the other men. "They're alive…"

  "Anybody could have taken those weapons," Robert said, his tone doubtful.

  "It was them," he insisted. "Look."

  He pointed to a path of dead turners and began to follow it, Phil and Robert right on his heels. They rounded the corner and, sure enough, a shattered window gave way to boot-prints in the dirt and droplets of dried blood.

  "It is them." Phil gasped. "Holy shit."

  A wide smile adorned Robert's face and Nicholas spun around with tears in his eyes as he, too, smiled. They clapped each other on the back, celebrating the joyful discovery.

  "I can't believe it…" Nicholas whispered.

  Phil removed his knife to take down a heavily decayed turner and turned back to the others. "We gotta find them—and soon. At least one of them is injured," he said with a grimace.

  "You're right," Nicholas responded, his expression becoming serious, more like the trained professional he was. He gestured at the fallen turners leading to the street almost like a trail of bread crumbs. "This way."

  _____

  The red, white and gray speedboat sliced through the ocean water with Charlie behind the wheel. They'd been fortunate to find such
a beautiful vessel behind the enormous garage door. It was in perfect condition, which meant it wouldn't need constant repairs—another plus. With wraparound seating and a mini-fridge, it was made for entertaining, but, after some adjustments, would do just fine as a fishing boat, too.

  Andrew sat next to Ana at the rear and felt light-headed from holding his breath, as he was exceptionally anxious to get back. Every minute that passed seemed like an hour. When the dock came into view, he sprung to his feet and waited by the bow. Charlie pulled the vessel alongside the platform and Andrew hopped out with a rope to tie it up.

  Once he was finished, he started to rush down the dock, but stopped. He turned back to Charlie and Ana, but the other man waved him away.

  "Go! I got her!" he said, helping the injured woman out of the boat.

  "Thank you," Andrew answered, his voice bleeding with gratitude.

  He ran up the path to the bungalows, his boots thudding heavily on the solid ground. He made it to the end of their short walkway and stopped. His shoulder ached and his breathing was ragged from exhaustion, but he didn't care. Zoey sat on the porch, an open book in her hands. Andrew simply stood there as the girl raised her head.

  "Dad…?" Zoey asked, blinking rapidly, as if she could not believe what she saw.

  Andrew grinned and rushed toward her. She met him halfway and they embraced in a bruising hug. His shoulder objected, but he only allowed a wince in response.

  "I- we thought you were dead," Zoey said, her voice hitching.

  "I know," Andrew said with tears in his eyes. "Christ, I'm so sorry. I'm never leaving you again—I promise. I'm done leaving."

  "Good, because this is like the third time you've done this to me," Zoey said in all seriousness, but still managed a laugh.

  "I know! I'm sorry," Andrew repeated, hugging her once more. "Where're Lindsey and Jake?"

  "I can take you to them." Zoey shook her head. "Lindsey's gonna flip when she sees you."

  Andrew smiled faintly, feeling pity and excitement wash over him.