Falling Together (All That Remains #2) (8 page)

* * * *

Eric
and I have managed to piss off everyone with our travel plans. In the last few
days I’ve had a visit from every family member. I’ve patiently endured their
pleas to cancel the trip, and ultimately their anger and frustration when they
fail to change my mind. When Carson joins me in the tool shed, I’m anticipating
more of the same, but he surprises me.

“If
you find Jon, what will you tell him?” he asks. Averting his gaze, he fiddles
with the tools on the work bench. God, he’s grown six inches this year, and
there’s a slight shadow above his lip. He’ll be shaving soon.

“What
would you like me to say to him?”

“Just
tell him I’m alive, and give him our address. I know he doesn’t care, but…just
in case,” he murmurs, sounding ashamed and embarrassed. It may not be a good
thing if I find his father. At the moment I could happily choke him to death.

“I’ll
make sure he knows where to find you.” He nods and heads toward the door.
“Carson, wait. I don’t know your dad or why he left you and your mom, but I
know it has nothing to do with you. Do you understand? You’re a great kid and
already more of a man than he could ever hope to be. I’m proud of you.”

“He’s
not my dad. You’re my dad. I just want to know more. To know
why.
”

“I
understand.” My hand rests on his shoulder as he peeks up at me.

“Part
of me really wants you to kick him in the balls,” he confesses with a small
grin.

“I
can’t promise I won’t do exactly that, buddy. But then I’ll leave our address.”
We laugh together, and he runs off to find Jayla after swearing me to secrecy
about his request.

It’s
barely light when Eric and I begin our trip the next morning. I can still feel
Abby’s arms around me, clinging to me as if she’ll never see me again. As I
glance out the rear window of the truck, watching them grow smaller, Joseph
puts his arms around her, and I feel a modicum of relief, remembering the words
he whispered in my ear when we said goodbye.

“I’ll
take care of them.”

Joseph

Troy’s
arms wrap around my back and pull me into a warm hug. “They’ll be okay,” he
says, trying to reassure me. Airen and Eric have only been gone for a few
hours, but I already feel the void. I can’t imagine how Abby must feel.

“I
know. I’m just worried about Abby. She says she’s fine, but I know better. I
can’t believe he actually left her and Lane after what happened in Illinois.
He’s a self centered dick.” My head throbs as my anger collides with the mind
numbing terror I feel when I think about what could happen to them. To Airen.

The
corners of his mouth twitch as he suppresses a small grin. “I won’t disagree
with you, there.” He pours me a drink and we settle onto the couch. “Abby
seemed to deal with it well when he left.”

“It’s
an act. She hates to admit she’s hurting or that she needs help.”

“I’ve
noticed,” Troy murmurs. “She’s a strong woman, though, Joseph, and we’ll help
her through.”

I
nod and pull him closer, seeking comfort in the warmth of his body and his
reassuring words. “Abby
is
strong, and that’s the side of herself she
likes to display. She masks her emotions with anger or indifference, and hates
for anyone to see her cry.”

“She
shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Troy declares. “After Airen, you’re the one she
trusts the most, Angel. She may not want you to be there, but you should be.
I’ll keep Walker, and I’m sure Julie will watch Lane.”

“You’re
the sweetest man,” I reply, bringing my lips to his for a soft kiss.

“Abby
has always been kind to me. Sleeping alone for a night or two is the least I
can do.”

A
few hours later, Julie and I let ourselves in Abby’s back door. “We’re here to
steal your children,” I call out.

“Well,
you aren’t being very stealthy about it,” she quips. Lane plays on the floor at
her feet while she sits on the couch, a book resting in her lap.

“Do
you mind if I keep your little man for the night?” Julie asks, and scoops Lane
into her arms, kissing his cheeks until he squeals in delight.

“He’s
trying to get a tooth through,” Abby warns. “He’ll be a grouch.”

“He’ll
be fine.”

“Hey,
Carson. Walker would love it if you stayed over tonight. Troy is baking
brownies,” I offer. If you want a teenage boy to cooperate, offer him food.
They’re human garbage disposals. He throws a doubtful glance at his mother,
hesitant to leave her alone. Smiling at him, I plop onto the sofa beside Abby.
“I’m going to hang out and ply your mother with alcohol.”

“I
don’t need a babysitter, Joseph,” Abby huffs, giving me a petulant glare. God,
she’s stubborn.

“Well,
I need a drinking buddy so you’ll just have to suck it up and fill in for the
next few weeks.”

She
sighs, resigned. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of
course.” I produce two bottles from my duffel bag. “Bourbon or vodka.”

We
spend the evening watching movies and talking about trivial subjects. Neither
of us has mentioned Airen, but I see him behind her misty brown eyes. Her face
is drawn and pale, and her hand trembles as she brushes a stray lock of hair
behind her ear.

“I
should go to bed,” she murmurs.

“You
know, you’re making me look like an alcoholic. You only had a few shots.”

She
forces a grin. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not in the mood to drink tonight. I’m
going to bed. I know you’re worried about me, and I appreciate it, but I’m
fine. You really don’t have to sleep here.”

“Are
you kicking me out?” I press my lips into an exaggerated pout. I’m not going
anywhere.

“Of
course not. The bed in your old room is made, or you can crash in Carson’s
room. Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”

My
arms envelop her before she can escape. She’s barely holding herself together
and desperate to escape me before she succumbs to her emotions. Her chest
shudders against mine and she swallows hard while I squeeze her tighter.

“Joseph,
don’t,” she pleads.

“I
know you’re scared, honey. I am too. Just remember I’m right here when you need
me.” I kiss her warm, flushed forehead, and her resistance breaks, her body
softening against mine as she clings to me. She allows me to pull her into my
lap, hiding her face in my neck while the fear and sadness overwhelm her. My
throat burns and my voice is husky as I speak softly, trying to find the words
to comfort her while she cries. Goddamn Airen for leaving her like this.

After
a few minutes her sobs subside, and she sighs. “You couldn’t just let me go to
bed,” she grumbles, her face still concealed in my shirt.

“You
mean I wouldn’t let you hide in your room and cry alone,” I whisper, running my
hand down her warm back.

“Without
an audience,” she agrees, sniffling.

“You’re
allowed to fall apart sometimes, Abby, and to let it happen in the arms of
someone who loves you.”

Her
head tilts back, and my heart aches at the sight of her red puffy eyes. “Stay
with me tonight,” she whispers, finally reaching out for the comfort she needs.

“Oh,
honey…as if you ever had a choice.” Emotionally exhausted, she falls asleep on
the sofa, barely stirring when I tuck a blanket around her. Her sweet face, so
vulnerable in sleep, sends a wave of melancholy flowing through me. This stubborn,
infuriating woman can drive me crazy, but under all the bluster is an insecure
girl trying to pretend everything is under control. She affects me like no
other woman ever has, and all I want to do is gather her up, hold her tight,
and protect her from the world. I’m seeing Airen’s overprotective behavior in a
new light.

My
stomach aches as I settle on the couch and stare into the fire, wondering how
far they made it today and if they found a warm place to sleep. Three weeks.
They’ll be back before Thanksgiving and everything will go back to normal.

Airen

Eric
glances at me from the passenger seat. “Do you want to stop in Evansville for
the night or keep moving until dark?” he asks casually, breaking a two hour
long silence. Eric and I haven’t spent much time in conversation without anyone
else present. Although he’s been with us for nearly a year, we barely know each
other.

A
peal of thunder swells and reverberates through the air a second before the
truck is pelted with a mix of cold rain and sleet.

“Evansville
it is,” I reply with a shake of my head.

“This
weather sucks. I hope we aren’t in for a rough winter.”

“At
least we know they’re well prepared at home.” I wouldn’t have left them
otherwise.

“Mmm,”
he agrees. “Are you worried about them?”

“Always.”

“But
you still left.”

“They
can manage a few weeks without me. House or hotel?” I ask.

“House.”

Nearly
half an hour later, we finally find a vacant house that hasn’t become a tomb of
the unfortunate former inhabitant. After a quick cold dinner and a few drinks,
we settle in the tiny living room. Eric drags a mattress in from the bedroom,
and I ride the couch. Although there’s a fireplace, we opt not to use it. It
isn’t worth the chance that someone will see the smoke. Besides, with the small
kerosene heater and the sleeping bags, it’s not uncomfortably cold.

Eric
spreads out the atlas and gestures for me to join him. “We can take US41 North
to Terre Haute, then 70 East into Indy if they aren’t jam packed,” he explains.
It’s the strangest thing. The highways are completely clear for miles and then—bam—bumper
to bumper vehicles. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.

“Fine
by me,” I reply. He’s the one who knows the city. “I’m going to crash.” My body
wants to sleep, but my brain won’t let it happen. Every time my eyes close, I
see Abby’s worried face. Is she asleep yet? Did Joseph stay with her and the
boys tonight? Their faces seep into my dreams and I carry them with me into the
darkness.

We
wake to a clear cold day, and make excellent time, pulling into the city of
Terre Haute in the late afternoon.

“Why
don’t we keep going? It’s only an hour or two from here, isn’t it?”

“I
really don’t think entering Indianapolis after dark is a smart idea. Plus, I
don’t relish the idea of spending the night in the truck if US70 turns out to
be a parking lot,” Eric argues.

“Fine,
pick a house.” His prediction is horribly accurate. The highway is a disaster.
Miles of vehicles stretch out in front of us, packed together like sardines,
full of rotting human remains.

“Where
the hell did they think they could go?” I grumble when we have to back track
again to find a passable exit. I’m pissed off at a bunch of corpses. A more
pointless anger I can’t imagine. They’re victims, and way beyond giving a cow’s
ass what I think.

“Away,”
Eric mutters, his face sullen.

In
addition to the sea of metal we have to traverse, our progress is further
impeded by giant slabs of upheaved pavement that leave massive craters in our
path. Whole sections of the interstate have been washed away. Eric closes his
eyes and holds his breath as I skirt the edge of a particularly large hole, the
concrete crumbling and shifting beneath the wheels.

It
takes us four days to travel the eighty miles from Terre Haute to Indianapolis,
and I’m trying to recall why the hell I wanted to do this. “This is 465,” Eric
explains. “It loops around the entire city.” We had to remove barriers to get
through the exit. Apparently, the highway was closed to traffic early on. Was
it a quarantine? Whatever the reason, it’s a stroke of luck we desperately need.
We can travel around the city on a nearly deserted road that appears to have
survived mostly intact. As it’s nearly dark, we hole up in a small apartment
building to sleep.

It’s
freezing when we prepare to leave the following morning. “Where are we headed?”
I ask, throwing my bag in the truck.

Wiping
his glasses on his shirt, Eric shrugs. “I was going to ask you the same.”

“This
was your idea. I’m just along for the ride. Let’s go check your father’s house
first.”

An
anxious expression creases his face as he nods. “He lived in Speedway. It isn’t
far from the address Abby gave you for her brother. Hopefully, we can make it
to both places today.”

“Let’s
go.” I tuck a pistol in my waistband and prop a rifle behind my seat. We
haven’t seen a soul since we left, but I want to be ready if someone fucks with
us. Eric folds his long legs into the SUV, and we venture out into the city for
the first time. It’s unnerving to be in such unfamiliar surroundings,
completely reliant on Eric and his knowledge of the neighborhoods. I’m not accustomed
to being so dependent.

“We’re
nearly there,” Eric says. “There’s the racetrack.”

“Where
they ran the Indy 500?”

“And
the Brickyard 400. These streets would be packed for days before a race. It’s a
party that would rival your Mardi Gras. Perhaps a little more raunchy.” He
smiles, probably remembering the streets filled with partiers.

“You’ve
obviously never been to Mardi Gras,” I reply dryly. “Abby told me about the
parties before the race. She loved it.”

“This
is my dad’s place,” he murmurs, turning into a small driveway. He kills the
engine, but makes no move to get out of the vehicle. He’s going to draw blood
if he keeps chewing his lip like that.

“We
can wait as long as you need to,” I assure him. I can’t imagine how it must
feel to see your hometown in ruins. And now he’s facing the possibility of
finding his father’s house empty, or worse, discovering his remains.

“I
don’t know. Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he whispers, staring at the door of
the small brick house. His face grows paler by the second, his knuckles whitening
as he grips the steering wheel.

“Eric,
it’s better to know. You came all this way. I’ll go in first, have a look
around, and tell you what I find,” I offer.

He
nods and swallows audibly.

The
front door is slightly ajar. Probably not a great sign. Creeping through the
door as if it’s rigged with explosives, I expect to find either an empty house,
or a body in the bedroom. When I round the corner into the kitchen, my heart
jumps into my throat, and I barely manage to prevent a cry of shock from
leaving my mouth. A decaying skeleton swings from a light fixture, a rotting
rope cinched around its neck. I should be used to corpses by now, but this one
snuck up on me.

The
remains of a pair of blue jeans hang from the hipbones, and I swallow back bile
as I slip my hand into the back pocket, withdrawing a wallet. The name on the driver’s
license is Samuel Turner. Fuck. This has to be Eric’s father, and I have to
break the news. Footsteps thump across the porch, and the front door creaks as
it opens.

“Airen?”
Eric calls in a shaky voice. Fuck!

“Don’t
come into the kitchen!” I rush to grab his arm and drag him back out to the
porch.

“What
is it?” he whispers, terrified.

“Is
this your dad?” I pull him down to sit beside me on the tiny concrete steps,
and hand him the I.D.

“Yes…is
he…in there?” he stammers.

I
nod, wishing this task had fallen to anyone else but me. “I’m sorry, man. He’s
dead. I took the license from his wallet.”

Looking
away, he nods and swallows. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, just
because I’m immune…it was stupid think that meant anything.”

My
hands travel through my hair as I struggle with whether or not to tell him his
father apparently committed suicide. Fuck it. I’d want to know.

“It
wasn’t the plague, Eric. It looks like he hung himself,” I reply softly.

“Oh
God.” His head drops into his hands. After a few moments, he looks up, shaking
his head in denial. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He said it was an
unforgivable sin. Someone must’ve killed him.”

“Okay.”
I’m not going to argue with him, or mention the chair tipped over just below
his father’s feet. It was obviously suicide, but if it makes him feel better to
think otherwise, so be it. “You should go see if there’s anything you want to
take with us. Pictures, maybe?”

“Wait
out here,” he orders gruffly and walks slowly into the house.

“Take
your time, but Eric, for your own sake, stay out of the kitchen. You don’t want
to see.” It’s nearly an hour later when Eric returns carrying a box of pictures
and mementos. His face is impassive, but his eyes are red and swollen.

“Are
you okay?”

“Fine,”
he replies shortly, placing the box in the rear of the SUV and slamming the
door.

“Look,
man, we can find a house and call it a day if you want.” He’s upset and overwhelmed,
and I have no idea how to deal with him.

“I
said I’m fine! Do you want to look for Abby’s brother or not?”

“Lead
the way.”

He
nods curtly and climbs into the driver’s seat. “It’s not far,” he mumbles,
“maybe ten minutes.” I nod silently, taking in our surroundings.

I
can’t imagine what this city must have been like through the height of the
plague. It took less than two weeks to sicken and kill the entire population,
save for a few lucky survivors such as us. Still, that seems to have been
sufficient time for rioters to loot the city and demolish everything in sight. We
pass a drugstore and multiple fast food restaurants, all with shattered
windows. Eric pulls into the parking lot of a convenience store and produces a
camera, quickly snapping a few pictures of the place.

“Abby
will want to see,” he mumbles, when I stare at him in confusion. He gestures to
the sign over the door that reads Village Pantry.

“V.P.”
I murmur.

“It’s
just a goddamn gas station, but it’s funny what sticks with you when you leave
a place. This is the neighborhood she talks about, Airen. This is where she
grew up.”

“She
used to meet her friends here after school, or before if they were cutting
class.” Picturing Abby as a teenage brat makes me grin. “She’ll hate to see it
like this.”

“Actually,
if you ignore the broken glass it looks pretty much the same as I remember,” he
says.

“Jesus,
she told me she grew up in a bad neighborhood, but I didn’t picture this.” Most
of the houses and buildings we pass are boarded up or falling apart. Gang signs
mar the buildings, and I can only imagine what the area looked like pre-plague.
The sickness must have been a mercy to some of these people. Eric pulls off the
road again and points to a small brick building to our right.

“Where
are we?” The camera clicks as he takes a photo.

“You’re
looking at one of Abby’s favorite places when she was a kid. Michigan Library.”

“This
is where she used to come to escape her mother, and where she decided to become
a librarian. Let’s go in,” I insist.

It’s
the tiniest library I’ve ever seen. A narrow table that appears to have once
held a few computers rests against the right hand wall. Five small round tables
with wooden chairs and a cluttered desk complete the furnishings. To the left
is a small children’s section that someone tried to brighten with a blazing red
carpet. It’s pitiful.

The
walls are covered in books. It seems no one considered them important enough to
take. My heart aches as I imagine Abby here as a little girl, sitting at one of
those tables with her nose in a book. This tiny, sad, broken down, inner city
library was her escape. Her safe place in the middle of a war zone built of
gangs, drugs, and poverty. I have to swallow the lump in my throat when I
recall she was living on her own at the age of fifteen, although she was alone
when she was far younger. I couldn’t have survived this with my family by my
side.

“Who
wrote A Brave New World?” I ask.

“Aldous
Huxley,” Eric replies, locating a dog-eared copy and handing it to me.

“It’s
her favorite. She has a copy, but…” I shrug.

“She’ll
like one from here,” he assures me. “We should go.”

Eric
guides us onto a four lane road, weaving between abandoned vehicles. “The
apartments Brandon was living in are a few miles ahead. I can’t imagine anyone
would continue to live there though.”

“Maybe
he left something that shows he survived. I’m not expecting much.” I’m flipping
through Abby’s book when Eric slams on the brakes, and I barely manage to avoid
smashing my head into the windshield. “What the fuck!” I snap.

“No,”
he whispers. My eyes widen as my gaze follows his. It appears we’re at the edge
of a lake.

“White
River,” Eric breathes. “The levees must’ve given. It’s all underwater.”

“All?”
He climbs out of the SUV and walks to the edge of the water. His chest heaves
as he takes a deep breath and turns, slamming his palms down on the hood.