20. Knox
TWENTY
KNOX
I rap my knuckles on his bedroom door. “Dad?” I’ve never seen him so still and silent, and I am beginning to worry he is more than exhausted, he’s broken. When he doesn’t answer, I peek my head inside. He’s sitting on his perfectly made king bed, fully clothed, facing the window that overlooks the stables and the pastures that extend beyond it. With his back to me, I can’t tell if he’s crying or simply staring, but I go in anyway.
“I brought you water and toast in case you’re hungry.” I inch around his bed. His eyes are dry, exhausted, and red-rimmed in the dawn light. He blinks but doesn’t look at me as I set the plate of food and a water bottle on his nightstand. “Pop?—”
“Why is the Hernandez girl here?” he asks. His voice is rough from disuse, but he doesn’t look away from the window.
I eye him as I consider my reply. “We ran into trouble at the supply store, and she was hurt. So, I brought her here.” Lowering myself into the chair adjacent to the window, I stare down at the sheepskin rug at my feet, where my father has tied his boots every morning for years. Even the chair cushion is molded to fit him. “Scott’s dead,” I add, trying not to relive all that again. “I brought him back here to bury him.”
Finally, my father looks at me. “How?”
“Lars and some of his guys. Scott was helping us get supplies when Lars came looking for Ava.” I rake my fingers over my head and lean back in the chair, exhaling the emotions sharpening with every image. “It was bad, but...”
“But what?”
I meet his gaze. “At least they are dead now too.”
My father’s brow twitches slightly. I can see the questions in his eyes, or maybe it’s relief that I’m alive? Even in his altered state, it’s hard to tell with him. Seeing my angry, obstinate father browbeaten and barely speaking is so unsettling it brings the sting of tears to my eyes. “What happened?” I whisper. “When I heard about the sinkhole, I was going after you?—”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
I swallow the bitter words that start to form on my tongue. Why, because you wouldn’t have? I want to say it, but as much as I think that might be true, the sudden lift in his shoulders and the terror in his voice, clipped and edged with a hint of desperation, make me think otherwise.
“There’s nothing left, Knox. There’s nothing south of here. The things I’ve seen—” When my father’s voice cracks, he looks away from me as if he can’t stand to show such weakness. “It’s over—all of it. I don’t care what they’ve been saying for years. There was no preparing for what’s happening...It was stupid to think we could.”
“Tell me,” I urge. “Tell me what you saw—what are we up against? We’re limited to generators and the radio. It’s all I can do not to drive to town to get Ava’s meds, but I don’t know what’s out there.”
Mitch Bennett frowns at the mention of Ava, but I don’t think it’s with hate or censure. If anything, he looks surprised. Whatever curiosities he has, however, he locks away and blinks out the window instead. My father is quiet so long I think he’s refusing to answer me.
“I always knew death was a bitch,” he finally mutters. “But...I never thought it was evil.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I never knew it was alive—a parasite spread through the wind. The ground shakes and swallows a man whole, but it’s the people it doesn’t swallow that wreak the most havoc. Fear—all it does is unleash the devil.”
I think my father has finally lost it. That he’s snapped past the point of repair. But the stoic horror in his voice that borders on awe is the most sober I’ve ever heard him. He’s not raw and riddled with guilt and anger like every other day of his life, and I run my clammy hands over my basketball shorts, holding my breath as I wait for him to continue.
“I stopped for the night in Kerrville,” he says, his voice a million miles away. “I woke up to a quake so bad, I heard the walls splitting, and everything went black after that. I don’t know how many hours I was out, but gunfire—” He swallows thickly. “Gunfire woke me again, and I was half buried in rubble. My leg was pinned under a shelving unit, and before I could really gain my bearings, I had to watch three men shoot an old man without a second thought—to put him out of his misery , they said.”
My father’s voice breaks. “But I heard the old man begging—I still hear it. Just like I can still hear the amusement in their voices when they told him it was better this way and pulled the trigger. I knew right then if they found me alive, I was going to be next. So, I lay there, pretending I was dead for what felt like hours, while I watched them through the rubble, tending to their own injuries. They planned what to do next, like it was just another day,” he bites out.
Elbows on his knees, my father clasps his hands behind his head and peers down at the floor. “And the whole time,” he says hoarsely, “I knew the old man was just out of sight. Dead, with who knows how many others.”
My chest squeezes, imagining my imposing father reduced to a terrified child, hiding in the rubble.
“My truck and the steers were gone when I finally got out,” he says, which is why he didn’t try to reach me over the radio. “So, I walked. I looked for survivors. For information—trying to figure out how bad it was beyond Kerrville. There were no evacuation centers I could find. The town was leveled by sinkhole tremors.” He shakes his head, disbelief pinching his features. “After hours of walking, I spotted a group of people surrounding a car. I heard the breaking glass before I registered the people inside were screaming.” He pauses. “They were trying to keep the others out.”
There’s a long stretch of silence and sunlight brightens the room before my father looks up again, his eyes hollow. “I wanted to help them but couldn’t get my feet to move,” he admits. “What would I have done? They were desperate—all of them. The people who broke into the car and the people who were trying to keep the others out. There was no stopping them. Why didn’t they just drive away?” His voice pitches. “Why didn’t they leave?”
I want to reach for my father, to comfort him in some way, but that’s not how we are, and even now it doesn’t feel quite right. “You couldn’t have helped them,” I say instead. “Not one against many. Not without putting yourself in danger.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to reassure my callous, cruel father of anything, but I do, and his eyes shift to me like he’s as shocked as I am.
“It was all for nothing,” he murmurs. “Four people against two. They pulled that couple out of the car, beat them enough to immobilize them, and sped away...And I just hid behind a tree, waiting for it all to be over. And in the end, it was all for nothing.” He sneers at that, a huff of disbelief escaping him. But as the moments pass, his eyes glaze over once more. It’s like I can see every moment replaying in that mind of his. In the way his eyebrows draw together. The way his chapped lips press into a hard line and his scruffy chin trembles. It’s like he’s searching each scenario for answers he’ll never find.
“They were dead too.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I found the car later, in a ravine just down the road. And when I looked down...”
My father pales again, and tears fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks when he blinks. I want to know how he got the Prius parked haphazardly in the driveway, and I have a dozen other questions, but I’m scared to learn the answers. Scared of what reliving it all again will do to him.
“What about the roads?” I ask instead, focusing on more pressing information. “Are they drivable? If we have to get to Ransom?—”
“No.” My father’s head snaps up. “You stay here where it’s safe, Knox.” He says it like a command, and it fills me with unexpected relief to know my father is still in there, somewhere. Not entirely broken. “Leaving is too dangerous.”
I lean my head back on the chair and squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t matter if my father thinks we should stay here, because I don’t know what Ava will want to do, and the ranch might not be a viable option forever.
The bed creaks and my father unties his boots. Each movement seems a chore, and I can only imagine how exhausted he is. One boot has blood on it. It could be his; his clothes are ripped and soiled. But it could be someone else’s too.
I clear my throat. “We heard a report about fires in the north. Did you see anything?”
“No.” My father pulls his boot off. “But I’ve smelled them for days. Now—” He drops it on the floor beside him. “Leave me alone, Knox.” It’s a half-hearted command, but I know better than to prod the bear.
Clenching my hands into fists, I rise to my feet, hesitating for only a moment as I brace myself. “I’m glad you’re alive,” I admit. “But—” I let the word hang in our silence, and when my father finally looks at me, I continue, “If Ava decides to stay here, and I find out you’re bullying her or pulling any of the shit you have been lately, we’re going to have problems.”
At least my father has the decency to look guilty as he averts his gaze. That’s enough for me, for now. As I reach the door, I barely hear my name above the turning handle.
“Knox?”
When I glance back at my father, he’s staring at the boot in his hand. “Have you heard from your brother?”
The regret in his voice is unmistakable, and I shake my head. “No,” I whisper.
Thunder rumbles in the distance as if it’s heralding a new day of uncertainty, and I close the door behind me.