Chapter 15
Fifteen
I t is early morning when I park the truck in the garage. Ryland and Wes follow me to the bunker and patiently wait as I scan my finger into the security pad. The door clicks, and I slide it open, trying not to disturb everyone inside. The burning furnace in the far corner casts a warm orange glow that illuminates the mess of wires scattered on the kitchen table and Dylan’s smartphone connected to River’s old laptop. From the look of it, Noah kept on task while we were gone.
I turn my attention to the sleeper sofa and find my side occupied. Noah looks back over his shoulder at us with River encircled in his arms. I raise an eyebrow at the lack of clothing on his upper body and pray it doesn’t extend to his lower extremities. I’m not ready to consider just how serious things are getting with him and my cousin.
“How did it go?” he asks with a gravelly voice.
“We got it,” I say.
It’s the most forthcoming statement I can make about our mission. Saying it went great is not true. It sucked, it was hard, and I don’t want to do it again. We accomplished what we set out to do, and that’s all that matters.
I turn on the lantern by Aiden’s bedside where he’s been propped up to keep from choking on his blood. Unfortunately, it’s done little to save his shirt from the red stains splattered on the front. His skin is a sickly pale, and his lips are chapped. Small beads of sweat line his brow, and he looks absolutely awful. Ryland steps beside me, handing me the bottle of steroids before I carefully shake Aiden.
“Hey, I need you to wake up and take these.”
With heavy purple lids, he opens his washed-out blue eyes and weakly smiles. “How did it go, beautiful? Did you bring me back anything good?”
“Only the best stuff for you, stud. Open and take these; let’s see if we can get you better again.” I set a pill on his tongue and help him take a sip of water.
He swallows and falls back on the mountain of pillows. “Did you pick out a restaurant in the city for our date?”
I chuckle at his unyielding sense of humor. “I was thinking we should just order pizza and watch a movie. The nightlife in the city is overrated.”
Aiden’s head lolls to the side, and he looks past me to Ryland. “I feel like I have competition. I’ve never seen him so into a girl before.”
My jaw drops, but I quickly recover. “All right, now I know you’re delirious. Let’s get you comfy and back to sleep so you can start healing.” I rearrange his pillows before moving on and wring out the cloth soaking in clean water on the nightstand. As gently as possible, I wash away the blood around his mouth .
“Are you jealous?” Aiden asks, continuing to egg Ryland on.
“That you’re choking on your own blood? I don’t know, that’s a tough one,” Ryland quips with a cocky grin.
I run the cloth over Aiden’s forehead and place a light kiss on his blond hair as he continues bantering with Ryland. “No, that the girl you like is tucking me in and kissing me goodnight?”
If he weren’t sick, I’d flick him on the side of the head. He’s trying to be funny, but I’m mortified.
“Are you jealous that I got to hold her in my arms last night and watch her sleep?” Ryland asks, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
With a wide-eyed shock, I look at him over my shoulder, but he isn’t paying attention to me. The two men are in an intense battle of the wits and emanating too much testosterone. I need to get out of here, put some space between me and them. I go to my dresser and pull out a clean pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. Grabbing my toiletries and towel, I rush to leave the room. With a quick stop at one of the boxes in the basement, I gather my old comforter and pillow before heading for the top floor for a warm shower.
My mind is flooded with Ryland’s taunting. There are a million other remarks he could have made to gain the upper hand over Aiden, but he chose to bring up our sleeping arrangement last night. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, and the reality is that my home has been overrun by the sick and deliriously tired; both of whom are not in their right minds.
I lock myself in the bathroom and set all my necessities on the countertop. I stare at myself in the mirror like a curious bystander on the side of the road, gawking at an accident. I’m a total wreck—my hair is matted with clumps of blood and hay, and my face is coated in filth. The image looking back at me is haggard and beaten. She requires extensive work in order to get remotely back to her old self. My jacket is crusted in blood and uncomfortably stiff as I pry it from my body, followed by my less disgusting shirt. I unbuckle the knife holster from around my waist and check my pants for any weapons I may have overlooked. My hand reaches into my back pocket, and I pull out the flyer I took from the light post in Blythe. Moving to the closed toilet seat, I sit and unfold the paper.
I recall the judge at the capitol warning the people about the Sanctuary and what would happen if they were found with propaganda promoting it. He said people believed that by following the riddle they’d find safety or maybe a better life. It is hard to believe this paper holds such a great promise. There is nothing special about it except for its eye-catching orange color. In big block letters, it reads:
Dearest Explorer,
Follow the blue mist to the mountains aglow in the morning sun.
Trek the path that goes up, up, up to the dome in the sky.
Catch a glimpse of where the new founders dwell.
Safest of journeys,
The Sanctuary
I read the printed words over again, but they make no sense. What the hell does this all mean? Blue mist and domes in the sky—it’s gibberish. What transpired at the capitol was utterly wrong, but the judge may have had a point when warning the people not to buy into this.
I fold the paper and place it in the front pouch of my toiletry bag. I’ll look at it again when I feel like I’m not on the brink of passing out, which won’t be anytime soon. I sluggishly finish undressing and enter the warmth of the shower. It takes minutes to clean every disgusting thing imaginable off my body, but I don’t mind. The heat relaxes my aching muscles. After brushing the knots out of my hair, I head to my old room. It’s been ages since I’ve slept there. Having my own space is an ancient concept to me, and I miss it.
I put my loaded gun on my nightstand and open the curtains, letting the sunshine in. Taking my overstuffed comforter, I wrap it around my body and fall onto my bed. I study the area where I spent almost every night of my life. The pale gray walls with dusty white trim used to be decorated with clear twinkling lights and a collage of monochrome photos of my family and friends. The remnants of my past life no longer exist in this space. Its reflection of me has been wiped away, and now, it’s a blank slate waiting to be designed into an expression of someone else’s life.
Funnily enough, my room is an accurate metaphor for my uncertain future. Blank. The course my life has taken is new. Nobody has ever forged their way in a world like this. There’s not a “How to Survive the Affliction Handbook,” filled with helpful hints on how to better my life while trying not to be eaten alive. There’s no list of high demand careers in a demolished continent or access to a post-apocalyptic dating site. I’m a pioneer, starting a new beginning and rewriting all the rules. And damn, it’s a scary thought.
I pull the reins on my random thoughts and relax as my body sinks into the mattress. The past twenty-four hours haven’t been gentle with me physically or mentally, and I need to unwind. It would be easy to lay here all day and ponder all of the what-ifs as I stare at the ceiling. It’s a struggle at first, my inner dialogue keeps going off on tangents, but finally, the warmth of my bed lulls me to sleep.
My eyelids are extremely heavy, but my mind is aware of the sound of shuffling steps moving across the wooden floor. Something is sat on the nightstand next to the bed, and the mattress sinks under the weight of someone sitting next to me. Not only do my eyes not want to open, but my muscles are so relaxed I don’t think I could move if I had to.
“Quinn.”
A tiny cluster of butterflies takes flight inside of my stomach. The deep voice has become familiar to me in the last few days, but I can’t say I’m entirely used to it. I’m still fascinated by each word, even when his tone is laced with frustration. It captures my attention and intrigues me. My body’s reaction to Ryland merely speaking my name is proof of the effect he has on me.
“Quinn, are you hungry?”
I hum an indistinguishable answer, and at the same time, my stomach growls. The discomfort helps pull me away from the hold of my fatigue. I stretch my body and slowly open my eyes, bracing for the invasion of light. Instead, I find the room dimly illuminated by an oil lamp. Ryland is seated on the edge of the bed, looking down at me. The grime of our mission is washed away, leaving in its wake soft brown waves framing his cleanly-shaven face. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The light colors against his skin making it look golden in the flickering flame of the lamp. His eyes seem to sparkle, and his lips form a lopsided grin as he looks down at me. He’s quite the image to wake up to .
“Do you want me to let you go back to sleep?” he asks.
I move into a sitting position. “No. How long have I been asleep?”
“Almost twelve hours.”
“Seriously, I’ve not slept that long in forever.”
Guilt bubbles inside me. I was given the luxury of sleeping the day away and didn’t contribute to our group. It could be argued that I spent the day before in harm’s way, and I earned it, but I don’t see it that way. It’s what needed to be done, making it undeserving of a reward. Going to Blythe was my choice and not a reason for me to gain a reprieve from my responsibilities, not even a temporary one. Sleeping all day feels more like stolen time than a gift.
“How are you feeling?” Ryland asks.
I assess my body—wiggle my toes, roll my shoulders, and bend my neck side to side. “My head hurts a little from being knocked around too many times, but it could be worse.”
He reaches into my hair, and his fingertips rub small circles at the back of my head. I’m torn between closing my eyes and staring at him as he massages my scalp. I want to give in to his touch, and lay my head in his lap, savoring the feeling for a while, but my bliss is short-lived when he grazes a tender bump, and I hiss in pain.
“Sorry,” he says, withdrawing his hand.
I hide my disappointment that the head rub has ended behind a forced smile. “It’s okay.”
“Do you need me to grab you something for the pain?”
I shake my head and take a closer look at him. I’ve been witness to his worry for Aiden, but never has he directed it at me like this. Not that he never shows concern for me. Let’s be honest, sometimes he can be a bit overbearing, but this degree of worry is unfamiliar. It’s sweet, tentative, and a little strange, but it’s something I could get used to.
“I’m just really hungry,” I say as my stomach angrily gurgles again.
His gaze darts to the nightstand. “Everyone has already eaten, but I brought you some soup.”
Ryland reaches for the two bowls, handing me one before taking the other for himself. I savor the taste of the warm liquid as it slides down my throat and hits my empty stomach. It’s the same canned soup I’ve eaten more times than I can count, but tonight, it tastes a little better. It might be my extreme hunger, or a heightened sense of appreciation after making it through yesterday’s ordeal. Or maybe it’s my company that makes the flavor of the meal extraordinary. Either way, it’s delicious.
“Why didn’t you eat with everyone else?” I ask after I’ve inhaled half of my bowl.
“I just woke up a bit ago.”
“You got a ton of sleep, too!”
“I had a difficult time falling asleep.” Leaning forward, he sets his empty bowl on the nightstand and gets to his feet. He paces back and forth, running his index finger over his bottom lip and diverting his eyes from me. Every muscle in his body is tight, and his long strides appear to be a rigorous chore rather than a natural act.
“Ry?” I say, gently urging him on.
He doesn’t answer as he moves to the window, leans his shoulder on the frame, and folds his arms over his chest. Looking over the property, he takes a deep breath and says, “I lied to you last night.” He shakes his head, his hair gleaming in the moonlight. “Let me rephrase, I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell the entire truth.”
I sit up straight, my brow crinkled with concern. “What are you talking about?”
“Most nights, I can’t sleep,” he says. “Actually, I don’t want to sleep, unless I absolutely have to. Every day, I try to push myself to my breaking point, hoping it’s enough to make my body give out. I don’t want to take the chance of being in an uncontrollable state of half-asleep and half-awake. Every moment of quiet I have is bombarded with images of him. Last night in the barn, I knew if I fell asleep you would join him.” His words are said in a haunting voice while he stares at the yard. None of what he’s telling me makes sense. But I remain silent and give him time to gather his thoughts.
“You claim it’s mercy, Quinn, but where’s the mercy for me? If it’s the right thing to do, then why don’t I have a moment of peace?”
I’m scrabbling for the right answer. He’s in so much pain, and I’m unsure how to ease it. “I don’t know.”
“When you held out your gun to me, all I could see was him—his screams filling the house and the sounds they made as they ripped him apart. With every ounce of strength we had, we fought off the Afflicted as they attacked him. He was going into shock by the time I got to him, but he had enough energy to beg me to kill him. I was the one with the gun. I could end it quickly. I wanted there to be another way. I wanted to save him, but I couldn’t. With my last bullet, I killed him and ended his suffering. It was the merciful thing to do, like euthanizing an animal. But he wasn’t an animal. He was one of my best friends.”
“Dylan,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand to stifle a sob.
Most would believe he had done the right thing, but he was left to carry the weight of his friend’s death. He killed Dylan. And I’d asked him to do the same for me.
Without hesitation, I leap from the bed. I’m not sure if he wants my comfort, but it’s all I have to give. I wrap my arms around him from behind and rest my cheek on his back. He tenses at the contact, but I don’t let go, saying, “I wish I could take away your hurt.”
He unfolds his arms, resting one hand on top of mine and propping the other on the side of the window to hold himself up. With his face buried in the crook of his elbow, his body shudders. There are no words coming from him, just an occasional rattled breath. I hold him tightly as he mourns all of his losses.
He didn’t just lose a friend; his innocence was ripped from him as well. He was given no choice but to go against the very basics of human morals. Even small children know it is wrong to kill. When he fired the deathblow, it scarred him in a way that will never heal.
We’ve all lost tiny bits of who we are throughout the progression of the virus. Circumstances have forced us to abandon those things we don’t consider essential to our survival. Certain emotions and consequences have no place in a society like ours. If the ultimate goal is to live, then we can’t be bound to rules, not even those that are naturally designed to separate us from other animals. We’ve abandoned what defines us as human.
After several minutes, Ryland raises his head and turns to me with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. He leans back on the window, placing his long legs on either side of mine, and reaches out to me. I rest my hand inside of his, but don’t move any closer. It would be so easy to fall into his arms and press my body against his. In fact, it’s overly tempting.
Ryland plays with my fingers, comparing the size of them to his own. “Yesterday, when you gave me your gun and begged me to kill you…” He shakes his head. “I can’t go through that again, Quinn. I’m barely hanging on as is, but if I had to take your life, that would’ve been it. No matter how justified it is, I’m still plagued with crippling guilt. My soul can’t withstand it again. I’d rather die.”
I despise the very thought of damaging him beyond repair. He’s the embodiment of strength and bravery, and now, he has revealed his weakness. His vulnerability is equally noble. It drives him to protect those around him. It’s rare, even in a perfect world.
“I’m so sorry, Ryland. If I had known, I would have never asked you to do it. I wish I could take it back.”
With my hand intertwined with his, he pulls me closer. His other hand slides across the side of my downturned face, using his thumb he guides it up. His facial features are set in severe lines saturated with compassion and vulnerability.
“You can’t go rogue on me anymore. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but I can’t risk losing another person I care about.”
My chest tightens at the admission of his feelings for me. We were never supposed to get to this point. I’ve been relying on him to remain at bay, to keep the emotional gap between us while my defenses slowly crumble. The line separating our responsibilities is blurring. Whether I want it or not, he and the other three men have wiggled their way into my life and divided my focus from River.
I search his face for any sign that his feelings are clouded. Too many things can factor into an unnecessary meltdown—sleep deprivation, stress, and traumatic events—all of which he has experienced. As hard as I try, I can’t find any fault in his resolve. It’s terrifying.
I move to pull away, but he holds firmly to my hand. Desperation laces my words as I say, “Please don’t do this. I’m failing to keep you out. I’m relying on you to stay strong and keep your distance. I can’t afford even a second of letting my guard down.”
“I can’t take the words back, and if I could, it wouldn’t change the truth.” He smiles, but there’s an air of sadness behind it.
Our boundaries have been compromised, and the odds of everyone we care about surviving have suddenly decreased substantially. Neither one of us wanted this, yet here we are.
He pulls me closer again, his hands sliding to my hips and under the hem of my shirt. His thumbs massage small circles at my waist, every little rotation sending a spark through my body. His touch comforts my aching soul while awakening a part of me I thought was dead.
“When we leave, I want you and River to come with us,” he says.
I open my mouth and close it again as I search for the right words. We’ve fought side by side and looked out for each other. There’s an unsaid agreement between us—we will not leave the other behind. It was a temporary promise that was never meant to extend beyond the time he is here.
“We can’t, Ryland,” I say.
“Why?”
“What if our family comes looking for us? This will be the first place they search.”
He shakes his head and says, “And what are the chances of that happening? What if they can never come back? You’ve waited long enough.”
He has a point, but I’m not convinced he’s thought this through. River and I are tightly shackled to this continent. There’s no way out, and our future is paved for us in fear. Fear of Zs and fear of those who have not been infected by the virus. At least if we’re locked away in our home, we can strive for some kind of normalcy. Ryland and his friends have an agenda. They plan to use their status as Giran citizens to cross into Oscuros. I just don’t see how our situations can combine and have a positive result for us all. Whether it’s the guys or us, someone is going to have to make a sacrifice. They will have to stay behind with us on this decaying continent, giving up their hopes of going home. Or River and I follow them to the border and are left to fend for ourselves with no constant food source, weapons, or shelter when they go. The gamble is too high, and I won’t risk our lives without a solid plan.
“It’s not like we can just pick up and go with you. How will you get the border guards to let River and me into Oscuros?”
“We’ll tell them we’re married, and you lost your passport. Noah will do the same for River.”
I cock an eyebrow. The story has too many loose ends with no guarantee of working. And he knows it.
With a sigh, he says, “We have time to figure something out. Aiden’s still sick, and I don’t want to leave until he’s at a hundred percent. River suggests we stay until spring, so we don’t take the risk of him relapsing.”
“Are you sure she’s saying this for Aiden’s sake, or is it for the sake of her and Noah?” I ask.
He tenderly brushes the backs of his fingers over my face and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Hundreds of thousands of bumps rise on my flesh, and I turn my face to the warmth of his palm. My lips sweep across the callused skin, taking a deep breath and filling my lungs with the scent of him. Damn my body for betraying me for his physical attention.
In a hushed voice, he says, “Does it matter?”
“No,” I say, the confession easier to admit than I thought. There was a time when I counted down the minutes until he left with his friends. Now, all I want is for him to stay a little longer.
He pulls his lips between his teeth, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls me so close my chest meets his.
All boundaries between us have vanished, along with some of my trepidation. I don’t want to yield to my emotions. I need to keep battling. To give into whatever is occurring between Ryland and me is to relinquish my promise to right my wrongs. I’m selling my soul to the devil to momentarily abandon my responsibilities and indulge in something beautiful in a corroding world. Fuck, I don’t even regret it.
I encircle his neck with my arms and tangle my fingers in his soft waves. With my face in the crook of his neck, I close my eyes and inhale. There’s not a scent on earth I can compare him to. It’s distinctly him—strength, passion, bravery, and dedication. He embodies everything I’m striving to be.
His hands press to my spine, and he buries his face into my disheveled hair. “I don’t need an answer tonight. Just think about coming with us, all right?”
I can’t fully surrender, so I say, “I promise I’ll think about it.”