Last Light Read online

  I miss the house. I miss our shower. I miss our bed.

  The dog seems happy enough, eating his small portion of dog food, lapping up some water, and then wandering out in the woods by himself for a while before he comes back to scratch up some dirt and curl up in a tight ball beside where we’re sitting.

  I brush my teeth, rinse out my mouth with a swallow of water, and take off my overshirt, shoes, and belt. Travis is sitting with his back to a tree and his shotgun beside him.

  He always lets me sleep first, so I spread out the sleeping bag beside him, fold up a towel as a pillow, and lie down.

  The ground is hard and lumpy.

  I miss having sex with Travis.

  I miss feeling close to him. He’s a tense, silent presence beside me.

  I turn several times, trying to get comfortable.

  “Y’okay?” Travis asks after a few minutes.

  “Yeah.” I roll onto my back and look up at him. “I just didn’t think I’d get so spoiled after four days.”

  Travis gives a soft huff. “Yeah. Know what you mean. The ground ain’t too comfortable.”

  “No.”

  He meets my eyes in the dying firelight. “Come over here, darlin’.”

  I’m surprised—both by the sentiment and the endearment. He only ever calls me “darlin’” when we’re having sex, usually right before he comes. But I do as he says, getting up and moving the sleeping bag closer to him. He arranges me so my head is in his lap. He strokes my hair lightly with one hand.

  “Is this all right?” I ask, worried that he’ll be uncomfortable or won’t like having me on top of him since he won’t be able to jump to his feet as easily in case of trouble.

  “It’s just fine.” He sounds tired, slightly stretched.

  Exactly as I feel.

  The dog lifts his head and sees our new position. He hefts himself to his feet and comes over to curl up right beside me.

  I close my eyes, feeling Travis and the dog against me.

  It’s not the bed. It’s not our little house.

  But it’s better than it was.

  Life isn’t going to be good—not anymore, not like it was for four days at that house. But that wasn’t real. This is.

  And at the end of the world, you learn to take what comes.

  You don’t daydream about better.

  I go to sleep, aware of Travis occasionally caressing my hair, my neck, my face.

  At least he doesn’t feel so far away from me anymore.

  Ten

  THE NEXT DAY IS A LOT like the one before.

  We’re finally getting out of the mountains, and the woods are slowly thinning into hilly pastureland. In some ways this makes traveling easier, but it also leaves us a lot more exposed.

  People in this area haven’t left like they did in Virginia—which is on the coast and threatened by hurricanes—or in the parts of West Virginia and Kentucky that were bombarded by all those damaging earthquakes.

  Folks around here must have had it pretty good in terms of natural disasters, but that means there’s a lot more of them around. Most of the towns are occupied and guarded, but there are also groups still living on farms and in small communities throughout the countryside.

  We’re shot at a few times as we drive by. Just warning shots, but still... It makes me nervous. We’ve been able to stay under the radar for most of our journey, but here at the end we can no longer keep out of sight.

  We stop a couple of times to plan a route away from any sort of town or community, but it’s harder than it should be. I remember driving to Saint Louis when I was a kid, and once we got away from the East Coast, it felt like we’d go miles and miles without seeing any sign of life except the other cars on the interstates.

  But now the middle of Kentucky feels crowded.

  Too crowded.

  Travis is on edge. The dog doesn’t look comfortable cramped up on the floor at my feet. And more than once I wonder why we’re even doing this.

  This trip is taking forever, and there’s a good chance the drove will have gotten to Fort Knox before us. Even if we get there first, why would they believe us? And if we can persuade them to leave, where will everyone go then?

  I think longingly about the little house we left behind but push it out of my mind.

  Even that house probably wouldn’t stay safe forever.

  It’s midafternoon now, and we’ve stopped to stretch our legs and use the bathroom. I’ve found a stick, and I’m throwing it so the dog can fetch when I hear a sound in the distance.

  It’s a strange sound. Like a dull, soft roar.

  The world is so quiet since technology fell that I don’t even recognize it at first.

  Travis is leaning against the Jeep, studying the map pages for the tenth time today. But he lifts his head at the sound, his body growing still.

  “What is that?” I ask, moving toward him.

  “Engines.” He’s frowning, still listening. “A lot of ’em.” He straightens up with a jerk, lowering the map pages. “Grab the dog. Get back in. Hurry. Hurry.”

  Jarred into crisis mode by the edge of urgency in his voice, I call for the dog and hustle him back into the vehicle, jumping in after him. Travis is already in the driver’s seat, pulling the Jeep out onto the trail we’ve been following through what used to be a large farm.

  “Surely they’re not going to come right through these fields, are they?”

  “Don’t know. But they’re gettin’ closer.”

  “You don’t think it’s the drove, do you?” Even the word frightens me so much my voice catches.

  “Hope not.”

  Not a very encouraging answer.

  “I thought they stuck to the interstates.”

  “Me too.” He scans our surroundings and points to a clump of trees in the distance. “There. We can get some cover there.”

  He drives us over the pastures much faster than our usual speed. I’m holding my breath and hugging my stomach and praying there’s not a drove nearby.

  Everyone has heard the nightmare stories of stray travelers overrun by a drove.

  The men who fight back are killed quickly. They’re the lucky ones. The women and children—even those who don’t try to resist—are raped. Over and over again. Some are kept for weeks, months, forced to service whoever has claimed them.

  I’m not going to let that happen to me.

  I’ll kill myself first.

  I have absolutely no hesitation about that conclusion.

  I’d rather die than be taken like that.

  If they get me, Travis will already be dead. He’ll fight to protect me even if it’s a losing battle. I know that for sure.

  If Travis is killed, I’ll have nothing left anyway.

  I’m battered by these bleak reflections until we reach the cover of trees. It’s not a forest or anything close. Just a small grouping of about twelve pine trees. But there’s room between them to fit the Jeep, and I let out my breath when I know that we’re no longer out in the open.

  If someone gets close, they’ll see us for sure, but I can’t imagine anyone would be coming very close to where we’re hiding.

  If it’s a group of people in regular vehicles, they’ll need some sort of road.

  As if he read my mind, Travis nudges my arm with his elbow and points through the trees and down a hill in the opposite direction from where we came. “Look,” he murmurs. “That’s an old county road. They must be on it.”

  I nod and start to say something, but the sound of engines is growing louder. I look in the direction of the noise and see a pickup truck coming into sight.

  I freeze, my hand on the dog to make sure he doesn’t jump out.

  We keep watching as a few more pickups follow the first. Then a couple of large SUVs. A Jeep. A school bus. They’re not driving very quickly. In fact, they’re just inching along.

  “A bus?” I whisper.

  “That’s no drove.” Travis’s eyes are narrowed as he peers at the ve
hicles driving two-by-two in a planned formation. “It’s a caravan. I bet it’s a town on the move.”

  I know he’s right a minute later when I see a large group of people walking behind the vehicles. Guards with guns are on the perimeters. Kids and seniors are probably on the bus. There’s another bus following the walkers. And then more pickups and SUVs. As many as they can gas for the trip. That’s how many they’ll have taken. They’ll be filled with supplies. Food. Weapons.

  When Meadows packed up and left, they did it in the same kind of caravan.

  “Bet they’re heading to Fort Knox,” I say. “On this route, where else would they be going?”

  “Yep. Probably so.”

  I watch the large group crawl slowly down the road. “It’s funny,” I say after another minute. “When I was a kid, I never even thought about what it meant to be part of a town. It was just somewhere you lived. People you knew. Where you bought your food and fixed your car. But now...”

  “Yeah.” Even though I didn’t finish my sentence, Travis seems to know what I mean.

  Ever since impact, small communities have pulled together in a way they never did before. They have to. It’s the only way to survive. The people who don’t care leave to fend for themselves or join militia groups or hook up with droves. But everyone who stays needs each other.

  Meadows meant a lot more to me after the asteroid hit than it ever had before. Last year, if anyone had asked me where I was from, I’d have said Meadows. Not Virginia. Not the United States.

  Just Meadows.

  Your people are your immediate community now, when it never really felt that way before, living in a nation connected by widespread media and overrun with interchangeable suburbia.

  “We could ask ’em where they’re headin’.” Travis has turned to meet my eyes. “If they’re goin’ to Fort Knox, they might let us join up. You’d be safer in a big group like that than you are with just me.”

  His suggestion surprises me, although it makes perfect sense.

  “I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I think we’re doing fine just the two of us, but I’d be okay with that if you think it’s best. What do you think we should do?”

  “I really dunno.” He scans the caravan again with a sober expression.

  I wait. I have absolutely no idea what the best course of action would be. I’m not actually too thrilled about joining up with a bunch of strangers. I know and trust Travis. I don’t know or trust any of those people on the road down there.

  But I want to be safe, and I want Travis to be safe. If we’re safer in a large group, then that’s what we should do.

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Travis says at last.

  “Okay. Worth a try.”

  He drives the Jeep out from the trees and starts down the hill toward the road.

  We’re not even very close when a shot cracks into the air.

  It’s a warning shot, and Travis immediately brakes, pulling to a stop.

  “Not very friendly,” I say.

  Travis sticks his arm out the side of the vehicle and waves in an attempt to indicate peaceful intentions.

  I jump in surprise at another shot. This one isn’t a warning shot. It hits our top, cracking a piece off the corner.

  “Fuck,” Travis grits out. He pushes my head down into my lap with his hand on the back of my neck and holds it there as he turns the steering wheel with his other hand, doing a quick U-turn. Even as he’s turning, they take another shot at us.

  I huddle down, holding on to the dog, who began to growl and tremble at the first gunshot. Travis keeps his hand on my neck as he accelerates back up the hill.

  “Assholes,” I hear him mutter. “Another warnin’ shot woulda done it.”

  “They’re scared.”

  “I know. Don’t mean they had to up and shoot at us. Coulda hit you.” He’s scaled the hill now, and he finally moves his hand, letting me sit back up.

  “Or they could’ve hit the dog.”

  He snorts. “Right. Coulda hit the dog.” He’s almost smiling now.

  I smile back although my heart is still racing. “I think we’re better off with just us.”

  “Yep. Seems that way. We’ve done okay so far.”

  “We’ve done better than okay.” I reach out to touch his arm. “We’ve done good.”

  He slants me a warm look. “Yeah. We’ve done real good.”

  WE CAMP AGAIN THAT night—we have no other choice—and I begin our third day on the road feeling stiff and sore and frustrated.

  I recognize that part of my frustration is that I want to have sex. And it’s going on three days since we have.

  It’s not just that I want the orgasms. Those are very nice, but I can live without them. I miss feeling close to Travis the way I do when we’re having sex. I miss having him look at me in that soft, hot way—the one that makes me feel like I’m special, that I’m his.

  He’s still as good a traveling companion as I could ever hope for, but it’s not the same.

  We feel like partners. That hasn’t changed.

  But we don’t feel like a couple anymore.

  And there’s no sense in lying to myself. I want to be a couple with him.

  I want to be everything with him.

  I’m not silly enough to expect it will happen. Happily-ever-afters don’t exist in the world anymore. There’s still a good chance that one or both of us will die before we make it to Fort Knox.

  And even if we do make it...

  Travis is with me because I was dropped into his lap. He’d never have picked me if he’d had any sort of choice.

  That reality closes in on me as the morning progresses, our travel just as slow and frustrating as before. I’m not in a good mood. I try not to grumble, but I don’t feel very cheerful or friendly.

  Travis seems to know it. After a failed attempt to talk about our route, he keeps quiet, occasionally shooting me little looks.

  At one point he gives me one too many questioning glances, and I snarl at him. “Stop peering. I’m fine. I’m just in a bad mood.”

  He blinks. “Did I do somethin’?”

  “No! Of course not. Aren’t I allowed to be in a bad mood just because?”

  “Course you are. But you normally aren’t. Sure somethin’ didn’t cause it?”

  For some reason his mild voice gets to me. I shake as emotion rises into my throat, my eyes.

  I see his eyebrows drawing together in concern, and I quickly pull myself together. “It’s just... everything,” I manage to say.

  His mouth relaxes. “Okay. I get it.”

  “I’ll be fine in a little while. Or maybe tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He nods and starts driving again. “But if you’re not feelin’ better tomorrow, then we’re gonna have this conversation again.”

  I shake my head, but he’s actually made me feel a little better.

  He knows me.

  He cares about me.

  He immediately recognized that I was upset and wanted to do something about it.

  It’s nice.

  To have someone in your life like that.

  He doesn’t have to be anything more to me.

  BY THE TIME WE STOP for lunch, I’m feeling more like myself. Travis obviously notices and is pleased by this fact. We have tuna and some of the shelf-life-of-twenty-five-years crackers for lunch, and I find another stick to throw for the dog.

  We all enjoy it.

  We’ve been driving off road for the most part, but we’ve run into a small road and are planning to follow it until we can get to some woods that are coming up in a few miles and should give us better cover.

  There’s been no one on this road the whole time we’ve followed it, and we pulled off onto the grass to stop for lunch.

  Nothing feels as safe as the woods over the mountains did, but this is as good as anything else around here.

  I’m laughing and chasing the dog, trying to get the stick out of his mouth since he’s decided not to
relinquish it.

  Travis is finishing a bottle of water and watching me play with the dog with a slight smile on his face, but he suddenly snaps out, “Layne!”

  I straighten up immediately and look at him.

  “Engines,” he says. “Movin’ fast. Come on. Hurry.”

  I grab the dog’s neck and push him toward the vehicle. He’s smart and knows exactly what I want. He drops his stick and runs toward the Jeep, keeping pace beside me and jumping in right after me.

  I hear the vehicles approaching now. It’s a different sound than the caravan. And moving fast.

  Very fast.

  They’re on us before Travis can get the Jeep back on the road. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because they could have easily overtaken us.

  This vehicle has served us well, but even at top speed, it doesn’t go very fast.

  There are five of them. On large, loud motorcycles.

  I know immediately that they’re dangerous. I stopped judging people by appearances a long time ago, but there’s no mistaking the aggression in this group. They must have just been traveling down the road, but as soon as they see us, they come up on us fast, surrounding us with their motorcycles.

  They’re all big and frightening and nasty. They all have guns.

  Travis already has his shotgun propped against his shoulder and aimed, and I draw my pistol and aim it too—at the man closest to me.

  “Keep your back to me,” Travis murmurs hoarsely. “Don’t get out for any reason.”

  I nod mutely, my eyes never leaving the man I’m targeting.

  There are five of them.

  There are only two of us. And a dog.

  The dog is growling threateningly, baring his teeth and turning from side to side as if he’s trying to find the main source of the threat.

  “There’s nothing for you here,” Travis says, his voice loud, authoritative. “Might as well move on.”

  “I see somethin’ I’d like to get my hands on.” The man who spoke is the oldest of the group. He’s got grizzled hair and a beard, a tattoo covering his neck, and an ugly smirk.

  My panic must have heightened my powers of observation because I see something in the man’s tattoo.