by Sylvia Ryan
The reason they’d not been provided shoes became painfully obvious as they moved through the woods toward the fence separating New Atlanta from the Onyx Zone.
As they neared the fence, shadows came out from between trees and guided them in the right direction.
“Laila!”
She spotted Journey up ahead, waving her to come. Laila pointed out the rest of the shadows to her fellow escapees and waved them in the right direction before she broke away toward Journey. Together, they slid silently through a slit in the chain-link.
“I have a truck waiting for you a few miles away,” Journey said. “It has everything you’ll need to get to Rock. The map to the drop house is inside. He will either be there, or will have left instructions on how to find him.”
“How far away will he be if he’s not at the drop-house?”
“He’s going to the ocean. The good news is, the road will have already been cleared for you, and it should only take you a day or two to reach the coastline.”
Laila stopped. “My mom.”
“I have a letter from your mom and one for Rock from his dad.” She slung a pack off her shoulders and rummaged through it, pulled out two folded up squares of paper.
“So you’re the origami master.” Laila put them in the pocket of her hideous institutional dress.
Journey nodded. “Did you give Rock my message?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
They hiked the rest of the way in silence. Some places they passed were wide open, others heavily forested with rougher terrain. Laila’s legs were scratched up from pricker bushes and other brush, and she was sure her feet bled.
When finally, they rounded a corner and she caught sight of the truck, her stomach plummeted. “I’m scared, Journey. What if I can’t find him?”
“Then make your way back to the drop house. Someone travels there weekly, and they can take you to Jordan to start a new life. She slipped her hand into Laila’s. “You can do this. Stay on this road. It’s the same one you took to the drop house before. Refuel there, and there’s a map in the truck in case you lose your way.”
They stopped at the driver’s door, facing each other.
Journey squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll find him. Look for lights at night.”
Laila hugged the woman. “Thank you so much.” She got into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
As Laila drove away, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Journey was already gone.
She drove at a snail’s pace for five hours on the dark road. She hadn’t turned on her headlights for fear of drawing attention to herself.
As the eastern sky paled, she turned into an out of the way spot to relieve herself, which was a lot easier in that damn dress, and then she got back into the truck. Her gaze landed on a flashlight. She shook her head. She hadn’t realized it was there. She could have read the damn letter hours ago instead of agonizing over what it might say.
During the hours of driving in the dark, she’d talked herself into thinking that Big Rock would escape New Atlanta as planned, and bring her mother with him. They all could be together. She fished the letters out of her pocket and unfolded one.
She shone the light onto the writing. It was hers. She slipped Rock’s back into her pocket. The paper shook slightly as she read.
Dear Laila,
I’ve been sitting here at the kitchen table, looking at your chair and reminiscing the day away. I can picture you sitting there, with your two front teeth missing, saying your ABCs. And just the memory of it makes me smile. I’ve had so many wonderful recollections today, and you were in every one.
I am heartsick that these will be my last words to you. I guess everybody has last words, and I should consider myself lucky to have the luxury of thinking about them in advance and writing them down.
I need you to know you’re not leaving me alone here.
I’ve been sick for over a year, baby. The visiting nurse thinks it might be cancer. At this point it doesn’t much matter. In a few months, I’ll be gone.
I decided I’d get word to you about my illness after you returned from Washington. My failing health would have been too much of an extra burden you didn’t need before you left.
I prayed, Laila. Prayed so hard these stupid zones would be history so I could hold you, love you in the same room instead of having the Gov separating us.
What I got was not exactly what I wanted, but maybe something better. I know you’re pregnant with my grandchild, and I’m ecstatic you have found a good man, someone to take care of you, to love you.
And, surprisingly, I’ve gotten the same. I’d never experienced what it’s like to have a man love me. Now, for the first time in my life, I do.
Thanks to our Rocks, I am not leaving you alone in the world, and you are not leaving me to die by myself. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t look back. You’ll have no more ties here in New Atlanta.
Go and live your life. If your Rock is even half the man his father is, I approve. Find him. Love him, and make me lots more grandchildren. I’ll be watching them grow up right along with you.
I love you, my baby girl,
Mom
Tears streamed down Laila’s face as she clicked off the flashlight and set it beside her on the seat. She stared out the windshield. The sun was beginning to rise and a lone bird chirped its good morning nearby.
Everything seemed as it always was, except she would never see her mother again.
Picking up the flashlight, she shone the beam on the letter again, searching for a date. There was none. The letter could have been written weeks ago.
Her mother could be dead already. Suddenly, the walls of strength she’d built to cope with her captivity and fear crumbled, leaving her vulnerable and raw. Her silent tears turned to wracking sobs. The loss, the absolute and never-changing loss of it hit her and left her emotionally decimated.
She lay on the bench-seat and balled herself up the best she could.
She closed her eyes and remembered like her mom had done before she wrote the letter.
The images and instances that floated around in her mind were wonderful, soothing her enough to lull her into sleep.
The sun was high when Laila awoke. She’d slept until the sweltering heat inside the truck woke her up. She was covered with a sheen of sweat. Her hair stuck to her face, and the material of the bench seat was scratchy underneath her cheek. The woven gray material of the seat filled her vision.
She was calmer than the night before, but she didn’t move, staying there in the stifling heat for another minute before she gathered the scraps of herself and hauled them up, ready to drive again.
Laila referred to the map obsessively as she drove the route indicated. This task was made even more difficult by the tears seeping from her eyes. She tried to put her mother out of her mind so she could concentrate, but it proved too difficult. Guilt from abandoning the woman who’d lovingly raised her barreled its way to the forefront. She wasn’t there to give comfort or take care of her. She would not see her through her passing.
Stopping the truck for the third time since she’d started the drive, Laila wiped her tears and nose with the hem of her skirt. She was fighting a losing battle with her grief.
Then, she spotted the Onyx Zone rest stop, where they’d spent their first night on the mission. Hope swelled as she hoofed the final few hundred feet to the drop-house.
The back door was unlocked.
“Rock?”
The response of unadulterated stillness told her immediately there was nobody there, but she still checked every room, hoping she’d find Rock sleeping.
No such luck.
Letting out the breath of anticipation she’d been holding, she wandered through the house. The bright shafts of daylight slanting in the window highlighted the dust motes floating in
the air. She couldn’t find a note or message from Rock.
For a few short seconds, she lost it just a little. She’d never find him if he didn’t tell her where he was going. It took only moments for the sense of hope she’d had when she walked through the door to snuff out.
She clenched her fists, and her temper rose. There must be something.
She walked through the house, searching more thoroughly through drawers and cupboards. When she still hadn’t found anything, she moved on to the garage. A large van, different from the vehicle there the last time she was at the drop house, sat in the garage. However, this one was also filled to the brim with black duffel bags. A piece of folded paper was under the rear wiper blade. She took the yellowed note and opened it.
Dad,
I waited for you ten days as we agreed. I couldn’t wait any longer. I have a lot to do before I return to New Atlanta to pick up Laila. This vehicle is brand new and ready to go with a full tank. Gasoline additives are in the back.
You know where to find me. The copy of the map I’m using is between the seats.
Rock
Laila pulled the brand new van out of the garage and then re-entered the house through the back door. Her bloody footprints on the white kitchen floor drew her attention. She laughed out loud. She’d forgotten about her feet.
She searched for water, wanting to wash the cuts so they wouldn’t get infected. She found a handful of bottles and a box of crackers in an otherwise empty cupboard. She took the crackers and two bottles and left the rest.
Laila sat on the bottom step of the house’s back entrance and carefully washed the bottoms of her feet. She snacked on a few stale crackers left in the box while her mind wandered to the activities that took place the last time she was there. They’d conceived their baby in this house the night he’d punished her by giving her exactly what she’d wanted.
When her feet were relatively clean, she closed her eyes and hung her head, taking a moment. She was so close to the rest of her life.
With her determination fortified, she stood.
“Find Rock, or die trying,” she said with determination. With that mantra guiding her, she set off to the east, vowing not to stop until she hit the ocean.
Chapter 29
Laila walked the coastline in the dark, keeping the ocean on her right and peering into huge houses to her left. A couple of hours later, she saw it. A point of light in a house set back from the water.
Her excitement exploded. It had to be him. She cut across the sand toward the bridge that would take her to the home, and stood on the back deck, looking through the wide-open threshold of a sliding glass door. She spotted Rock sitting at a bar not unlike the island in his kitchen in Emerald.
She stepped forward. “I saw your light on.”
Rock whipped his head around. Whatever was in his hands fell, clanking to the floor. He advanced on her fast. “I could never get you to fucking hold,” he growled as he lifted her off her feet and crushed her back against the wall. His mouth covered hers with a brutal kiss.
He clawed at the hem of her dress, bunching it up around her waist and then tore the institutional cotton panties from her. When she wrapped her legs around him, he groaned into her mouth.
Rock fumbled with the button of his jeans while he held her sandwiched against the wall. It only took a second for his raging cock to spring free, its blunt head nudging against her opening. He looked down at her, eyes blazing. Every horrible event, paralyzing fear and second of misery melted as their gazes locked.
“Hi,” he whispered.
She was near tears, and couldn’t reply without letting all of it go. Instead, she opened herself to him, and his overwhelming love swallowed her completely.
He sank deep inside her without another moment’s hesitation, and then his frenzy slowed. His breathing still came hard and fast, fluttering the hair by her ear with warm air. “Welcome home, peanut.” He moved one of his supporting hands from her rear and cupped her chin in his hand, angling her so they were eye to eye.
Then he just stood there, motionless, and read her. She did the same. At least a full minute passed while a cascade of his emotions followed. He’d suffered without her. She was ashamed she’d had even a moment’s doubt while she was locked in her white, sterile prison, because his love was there, full force and overwhelming.
His stare delved into her soul. She worried what he would see there. So much had happened since he saw her last. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“You’re home, baby. You’re safe.” He pressed her more firmly against the wall. His grip closed on her nape and drew her head closer. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you spend the rest of yours happy.”
They were locked together. It seemed like every part of her was sheltered by a larger, harder part of him. Laila laid her cheek on his chest and absorbed the moment. She reveled in her heart’s recognition of their connection. His presence filled all her empty spaces, turning her fear to safety, her doubt to certainty, and loneliness into a place she belonged.
“It’s over. We’re free.” He whispered into her hair.
Her throat was still overfull with the lump she seemed unable to swallow down. She nodded, just a slight movement. It was all she could do with the death grip he had on her.
Nothing but the faint sound of the ocean and the feel of their frantic hearts beating against one another’s penetrated her senses. Everything else was him, would always be him, and she willingly handed every molecule of her being over for his safekeeping. Every hope, every wish she’d ever had was him. Her life became complete during those seconds. She could never dream for more than she had at that moment.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, angling her head back and kissed her again, but slower this time. His thrusts began as a slight cant of his hips. He was barely moving.
He groaned. “Fuck, baby. I’m in trouble here.”
“Me, too.” Her clit was pressed firmly against the base of his dick, already stimulated from the prolonged time he’d been inside her.
Placing both hands firmly under her rear, he began pumping in earnest. Hard and fast jabs, impossibly deep and ramming. She hung on for dear life, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the bunch and strain of muscles underneath the slick skin on his back.
“Together, baby. We go together,” he growled through clenched teeth.
She cried out as he pistoned harder and faster, forcefully knocking her against the wall.
“Rock?” she cried, seeking permission “I can’t—”
“Go, baby. Go now.” He slammed into her three, four, five more times as she gave herself permission to let go of the orgasm she’d been reining in so tightly.
“Rock!” she screamed. The pulsing jets of his come only added to the spasms of pleasure rippling though her. She rode the wave, convulsing and quivering underneath the wall of hot, damp flesh surrounding her. The pleasure went on and on until her cries were raspy and her muscles lax.
After some recovery time, he took a knee, still carrying her full weight, until her feet found floor. He looked a lot like Prince Charming, on his knee in front of her.
He frowned as he inspected the dirty mincemeat of her feet. The smock she wore with her name and number patch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as the realization his decision to make her go back into New Atlanta had been an awful mistake. Their gazes met. Held. She smiled her reassurance, because at that moment, her throat was stuffed with words that wouldn’t come.
He scooped her up and walked through one of the huge glass doors that led to the deck overlooking the ocean. “I’m sorry, peanut,” he whispered into her hair. “So sorry.”
He carried her over the long, planked bridge trimmed with tall grass on each side. The thundering growl of the ocean became louder as they continued along the walkway.
When he set her down, the soles of her feet met wet, shifting sand. He took a knee again directly in front of her, and
he placed her hands on his shoulders, shifting her as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.
Carefully, he lifted her foot and gently stroked it in the advancing and retreating surf. When he was satisfied, he repeated the cleaning with her other foot.
“Does it sting?”
“No. I think they’re already healing. I’m okay.” She would have been more convincing if her voice hadn’t trembled.
Rock remained perfectly still while his emotions exploded around them.
“Our baby—”
“Is fine.”
He stood, letting the soles of her feet land in the shallow surf.
One-by-one, he unfastened the plain white buttons of her institutional dress and then pushed it off her shoulders until it fell to the sand.
The process was silent. She didn’t know why he didn’t talk, but she knew why she couldn’t. No words could measure up to the significance of the moment.
Seconds later, his jeans joined her dress on the sand.
She sensed his anxiety. He knew she had terrible things to tell him.
“Tell me.” The spike of emotion that rushed at her with those two words nearly broke her.
“I just want to leave New Atlanta behind us.”
He stilled, looking at her, reading her for several seconds before he nodded.
He took her hand, and they walked side by side into the pitch-black void of the ocean.
It was over.
As the moving surf splashed the front of her, it washed away the fears and everything else that had come with Being Emerald, replacing it with cool relief and everlasting love.
Meet the Author
Sylvia is a wife, mother, and professional, living in Midwest Suburbia, USA. She reads voraciously and loves to lose herself and fall head over heels for the alpha males in her favorite novels.