Revenants Series (Book 2): Remnants

by Elisabeth, Lee

  So stupid.

  "Stop worrying, Daniel."

  My heart rate increases. I didn’t know she was awake.

  "Who says I'm worried?" I ask.

  She rolls over and looks at me. Her blue eyes are as clear as a summer sky. She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Maybe the cheeks are as far as smiles go anymore, but I don't think so. I think she's sad.

  "I told you last night I didn't want anything from you. That hasn’t changed," she says.

  I breathe deeply, then exhale slowly. My heart hurts a little. It’s a dull ache, and I don't know if it's there because her words hurt my feelings, or because I feel like I've betrayed Meredith by sleeping with another woman.

  I look at the ceiling, and say, "Okay."

  "Do you want to lie here a little longer?" she asks.

  I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat. "I don't know what I want," I admit.

  She sighs. "Congratulations, Daniel...you're just like everyone else."

  "Yeah?"

  She nods. "Yes. So, stop worrying."

  I take her advice and stop worrying about what happened between us. Instead, I switch back to thinking about the farm Allyson described last night. It sounds like a dream come true, but she’s adamant that it’s dangerous. Is it? I don’t know what to believe anymore. Is the farm dangerous, or is she just an outcast who was forced to leave by the others who live there? I want to believe it’s the latter. I want to believe there’s a chance we can find the farm and become members of the city of fifty.

  “What are you thinking about now?” Emily asks.

  “Allyson.”

  She cuts her eyes at me. “I must be worse company than I thought.”

  I laugh. “Not like that. I was thinking about the place she described last night.”

  “What about it?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It sounded like a great set-up. Heat. Food. An actual shelter instead of these flimsy tents.”

  “She also said it was dangerous,” Emily reminds me.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it is,” I counter.

  She shifts in my arms. “Don’t get me wrong, Daniel. We can’t get out of here soon enough for my taste, but I don’t want to trade these tents for a pile of trouble.”

  “Only Allyson says it’s trouble. And we don’t know her.”

  She looks at me for a minute, then says, “Let’s say we find the farm. What then?”

  “We ask whoever’s in charge to let us crash there through the winter.”

  “And if they say no?”

  “We leave. Surely they would give us the option to turn around.” I shake my head. “We’d have to find another spot, though.”

  “There’s not a lot of action in this part of the state as far as houses go.”

  “I know. But maybe if we can get closer to Asheville, we’ll start running into those vacation homes perched on the outskirts of the city. I feel certain one of those would have a generator, or wood-burning fireplace at the least.”

  “Maybe.” She sits up and begins pulling her clothes on.

  I watch her dress. A whisper of desire winds its way through my body, and I consider asking her to stay, but before I can she’s crawling out of the tent. I spend a minute thinking about all the ways physical contact should make me feel more alive, while simultaneously questioning the growing sense of resentment. It’s not something I can solve right now, so I get dressed and climb out of the tent.

  I need to talk to Erek and Wayne about the farm.

  They’ll know what to do.

  * * *

  Allyson

  Chloe crouches down beside me. She doesn't speak right away; instead, she stares at the tree line, twirling a dead leaf between her fingers, thinking. Finally, she says, "Daniel has been different lately...colder, I guess? Worried, even. But he shouldn't have reacted the way he did last night." She shakes her head and stands. "Anyway, that's all I came to say."

  "What's he worried about?" I ask.

  She shrugs. "Everything. Shelter, mostly, since it's getting colder. Me." She sighs. "Meredith."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

  "Just someone we used to know," she says and walks away.

  "Meredith was one of the original group members," Wayne says, sitting down beside me. "She left one night and never came back. Haven't seen her since."

  "How do you do that?"

  "Do what?" he asks.

  "Just show up out of nowhere."

  "I'm always around," he says.

  "It sure seems that way," I say, smiling. "So, your friend left in the middle of the night. Why?"

  "Only she knows, and we can't ask her."

  He sticks a bent cigarette between his lips and strikes a match against a worn matchbook. There's a name and number scrawled across the inside cover in faded blue ink.

  "Was she pretty?" I ask.

  He squints, trying to keep the smoke out of his eyes as he puts the matchbook away. "Was who pretty?"

  I nod at the matchbook. "Candy, was it?"

  He laughs. "Who knows? Found the matches in a bar a few weeks ago...left behind like most e'rthing else." He takes another drag of the cigarette. "Sometimes I think about her though...whoever she is. Was." He shakes his head. "Kind of silly, I guess."

  "I don't think so," I say. "Tell me about her."

  "What about her?"

  "You said you think about her sometimes. Don't tell me you've never tried to imagine what she looked like." I lean back on my elbows. "So, what does Candy look like? What's her story?"

  "Yeah, I don't know," he says.

  "Come on, Wayne. Humor me. It's not like we have any other entertainment out here."

  He takes another drag off the cigarette, and a pale blush colors his cheeks while he thinks about how to describe a woman he's never met. It's cute...proves he has a vulnerable side underneath all that rough and tough.

  "Okay. Well, obviously she goes by the name of Candy," he begins. "Is she a Candy on her birth certificate? Nah. She's probably a Sheila or a Linda when she isn't crawling bars."

  I close my eyes, and push everything else back...all the worry, and fear, and bad memories...deep down and to the back, until all I hear is Wayne's voice describing this fictional character who used to be a real life doing real things in some North Carolina bar.

  "Candy's your stereotypical barfly," he continues, "with over-bleached hair, bright red lips, and way too much eye makeup."

  I open one eye. "What's wrong with a woman wearing a little makeup?"

  He shrugs. "Just think a man should know what he's gettin'."

  I laugh. "Really?"

  He pretends to be offended. "You wanna hear about Candy, or not?"

  "Sorry. Please continue," I say, closing my eyes again.

  "So, Candy…being the southern belle she is…likes skin-tight, acid-washed jeans and high-heeled leather boots, and those skimpy tops that show her back. She never wears a bra, even though she needs one."

  "How old is she?"

  "Claims thirty-five, but she looks closer to fifty."

  "Ouch. Tan skin? Or pale?" I ask, trying to conjure up his version of Candy in my mind.

  "Definitely tan. Years of tanning. And, her voice has that raspy, too-far-gone sound of a lifetime of cigarettes." He pauses. "She says she don't have kids, but I glimpsed a picture of a boy on her phone screen, so she has something waiting for her back home...a son, grandson...maybe a step-kid." He takes a final drag of the cigarette and stubs the butt out on the cold ground. "Yeah, she's a real jewel."

  I open my eyes. He's staring out across the meadow, lost in thought. Finally, he turns to me and shrugs, as if saying well, there you have it...but he looks sad…sadder than usual…as if describing this fictional woman took an emotional toll on him.

  "Was there a Candy in your own life? From before?" I ask softly.

  He shakes his head. "Not like that. I never went to dive bars. Too many people."

  "Who was she, then?" />
  He looks back across the meadow. "I think that's what I remember my mom lookin' like. Her name was Tammy, though," he says. "She left when I was a youngin'. Don't remember much about her."

  I reach out to touch his arm, but he jumps up, dodging my touch.

  "I don't know why I just told you all that. You must think it's pretty stupid," he says, then walks off before I can tell him I didn't think it was stupid at all, and that I'm honored he would trust me with that piece of his history.

  He doesn’t strike me as the type who sells his secrets cheap.

  * * *

  Chloe

  Erek is at the worktable, sanding a large rectangular piece of wood. It looks like it would make a nice ramp once it's finished, but I guess it could be anything. I take a deep breath and approach the table. I'm nervous. He hasn't spoken to me since last night. At all. Which is even less than the three or four words I typically get these days.

  "What are you working on?" I ask.

  "What do you want?" he asks without looking at me.

  "Well, hello to you, too."

  "What is it, Princess? I'm busy."

  "Are you hungover? Is that why you're so cheerful today?"

  "I'm always in a great mood," he says. "Until you come around and ruin it for me."

  I roll my eyes and plant myself on the other side of his worktable. "I was hoping we could talk."

  He doesn’t respond.

  "Erek, I know you understand why I want to stay near Asheville."

  "No, I don't."

  I sigh. "Would you stop sanding that piece of wood, and talk to me?"

  He throws the sanding paper down and places both hands on the table, leaning forward. "This better, Princess? You've got my undivided attention now."

  His grey eyes bore into mine, and they aren't the least bit friendly. I struggle to find the right combination of words. Finally, I settle for, "Traveling long distances with a group of people is dangerous, Erek. We've never had good luck with it. Plus, how can I find my parents if I'm on the other side of the state?"

  "You can build them a nice memorial on the beach and visit it every morning, if you need to."

  "Erek!"

  He pushes off the table and walks around it until he's standing in front of me. "What? You want me to lie to you? You want me to tell you they're still alive, waiting for you to come find them? They're not, Chloe! They're dead! They’ve always been dead!” He waves his hand around the camp. “We're all dead at this point...it's just a matter of when it finally happens!"

  The color drains from my face. "You can't mean that," I whisper.

  He spits a stream of tobacco juice onto the cold ground. "Oh, but I do, Princess. And when the snow starts falling, and you're still sleeping in that flimsy tent you call home, you'll be praying a Rev comes along to put you out of your misery."

  "Why are you always so mean to me?" I ask, trying my best not to cry in front of him.

  Something flashes in his eyes, but he hides it with a snarky, "I’m trying to make you stronger."

  "By breaking my heart," I say sadly.

  That seems to draw him up short. Good. I’m tired of pretending he’s not hurting me. I’m tired of all of it.

  "Chloe, I didn't..."

  I hold a hand up. "Stop, alright...just stop. I get it. I'm weak, you're strong. You hate me."

  He takes a step closer. "I don't..."

  I take a step backward. "Forget it. I'm done, okay? I can't keep..."

  Wayne walks up, lighting a cigarette. "We need to head out soon,” he says, interrupting us. “We've got two more days, maybe three or four, but it’s gonna get ugly soon."

  "Two days?" Erek and I ask at the same time.

  He nods and points to the sky. "Gonna come a storm. Could see four or five inches of snow in the next few days."

  I look up at the sky, searching for signs of snow, but it's clear for miles. "How can you tell? It looks the same as it always does," I argue.

  Wayne shrugs.

  "A hunter knows how to read the sky," Erek says, looking at Wayne. "They're rarely wrong."

  Wayne nods. "Time for talkin' is over. We either leave soon, or we stay and hope for the best."

  "Graveyards are full of people who hoped for the best," Erek says.

  “Right. I’ll go get Dan,” Wayne says. “We need to talk ‘bout where we’re goin’ next.”

  I look back at the sky, wondering how much longer before even it tries to take our lives.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daniel

  Snow is coming. If we don’t find a new place to hunker down for the winter, we’re going to be in big trouble. The tents won’t protect us. I feel a little crazy; stressed, like I used to get when a tax deadline was looming or when annual budget hearings were underway. Only this is worse, because lives are literally on the line. Erek walks up, chewing a piece of straw between his teeth. Wayne joins us a second later, smoking a cigarette.

  “Well,” Erek says, “I’d like to say I know of a few different places we could choose from, but all the ones I know are pretty trashed.”

  “Could we make any of them work? For a few months, at least?” I ask.

  “We can make anything work for a brief time, but I keep coming back to that farm.”

  “It did sound pretty nice,” I agree.

  “Allyson said it was dangerous. Seemed like a genuine response,” Wayne says.

  “No offense, Wayne, but we don’t exactly know much about your girlfriend, or her history,” Erek points out.

  “Not my girlfriend.”

  “Anyway,” Erek continues, “if they have a generator and food, we could be straight for a while. It would definitely keep us going until we left for the coast in the spring.”

  I look from Wayne to Erek. “Devil’s Advocate…what if there’s some truth to Allyson’s story? What are the odds it could go sideways?”

  “Slim to none,” Erek says.

  “Fifty-fifty,” Wayne counters.

  Erek looks at Wayne. “Come on, man. I’ve fought enemies a lot worse than some backwoods hillbillies.” He pats the side of his coat; we all know there’s a gun hidden one layer down. “Ain’t nothing getting through me, I can promise you that.”

  “I want to give it a shot, but what if we’re wrong? What if Allyson’s right, and someone gets hurt?” I ask, feeling unsure and not liking it.

  Erek rolls his eyes. “You were all for this yesterday, Daniel. What changed?”

  I shrug. “I just don’t like uncertainty.”

  “Daniel. Trust me. We’ve got this,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ve fought some of the meanest SOBs in the world, and I’m still standing. And those were trained soldiers.” He gives my shoulder a light shake. “These are just scared folks who got lucky and survived the end of the world. I won’t let anything happen to Chloe. I promise.”

  “And if they don’t welcome us?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “We’ll either convince them to let us stay through the winter, or we’ll turn around and find someplace else.”

  “What do you think, Wayne?” I ask.

  Wayne finishes his cigarette, then tosses it to the ground. “Ain’t nothing left to do but try, I guess.”

  Erek claps him on the back and smiles. “My man. Alright, let’s get going. We can get the hard work behind us before the snow hits.”

  I watch them walk away. Erek is smiling; Wayne seems nonplussed. As far as they’re concerned, it’s all settled. I wish I could be more like them. Fearless. I wish I wasn’t so used to playing it safe or being conservative. I wish I didn’t have a little sister depending on me. I wish a lot of things, but I’ve got little to show for it.

  Wayne is right. There nothing left to do but try. And I’m perfectly willing to do just that. But if we’re wrong and this whole thing blows up in our faces, it could carry the worst kind of penalty.

  Our lives.

  * * *

  Allyson

  I shouldn’t have mentioned the
farm.

  I can be so stupid sometimes.

  I should have made up a lie…something dull and uninteresting. I should have lied and told them I’ve been camping here and there since May, like them. Then they wouldn’t have given the farm a second thought, and I wouldn’t be fighting the urge to vomit.

  But I can’t change it now.

  I said it.

  They heard it.

  It’s through the gate now, running free.

  It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I shouldn’t have let them catch me off guard. Why did I make such a big deal about the one place I wish I could forget? I wish I could take it back. I wish I could put it back in the fence and weld the lock shut.

  I wish I had a rewind button. If I did, I’d rewind it all the way back to that hot day in May, and purchase a plane ticket to an exotic island, far away. Somewhere far from Asheville, and this plague, and everything else that fell apart in May.

  I rub my eyes. They feel like sandpaper, and I want to sleep, but I feel guilty resting while others are busy doing chores. I walk to the clothesline, where Emily stands, hanging wet clothes over a thick rope.

  “Can I help with anything?” I ask.

  She turns and smiles stiffly. She seems to struggle with the gesture, but her eyes say she’s really trying. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though,” she says.

  Next, I seek out Chloe; I find her washing dishes. She lifts her hand and wipes a strand of hair away from her face. “What’s up?” she asks kindly.

  “Need any help with the dishes?” I ask, pointing to the plastic bin.

  “I’m good,” she says, smiling. “Helps me pass the time.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “You could check on the kids,” she suggests.

  I thank her and walk to where the two children sit around the fire, looking forlorn and older than any child should, but I guess kids don’t have the luxury of innocence the way they used to. Kate, the older of the two, looks up as I approach.

  “Kate, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she responds obediently.