Last Light Read online

  But it means we have to go off-road for more than thirty miles to get around them.

  One guard we talk to tells us about an old mountain trail that runs through the woods and will eventually take us back to our route, beyond all the roadblocks. After searching for almost an hour, Travis and I eventually find the trail. It’s rough going, covered with dead branches and curving tightly up and down mountains. It’s a hell of a lot slower than the road, and I don’t even want to think about how much gas we’re using.

  We’re only halfway down the trail when it starts to get dark.

  There are no houses around. No structures of any kind. Nothing but the half-dead woods that surround us.

  “We’re gonna have to camp,” Travis says at last.

  I’ve already come to the same conclusion. “That’s okay.” I swallow. “You think we’ll be safe?”

  “Think so. Not a soul around. Can’t imagine anyone else’ll be coming through here.”

  He keeps driving for a few minutes until we find a good spot, level and with easy access to the creek that’s been running alongside the trail.

  After he parks, we both get busy.

  He digs a hole and builds a small campfire in it. I check the water in the creek, and it’s cleaner than anything I’ve found in a long time. I fill up the one big pot in our supplies and start to boil the water over the fire—as extra step to make sure we don’t get sick from any bacteria lurking. Once it’s boiled and cooled, we can fill up all our empty water bottles. While it’s boiling, I open a can of baked beans and pour it into the one smaller pot we have.

  We warm up the beans and eat them with venison jerky. I drink two bottles of water, one right after another, and Travis does the same. Since we’ll have water to fill them up afterwards, it’s an indulgence we can afford.

  It’s actually a pretty good meal.

  When we’re done, I pull out our new tube of toothpaste and rub some on my teeth, rinsing out my mouth afterward.

  I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to have a clean-tasting mouth.

  Inspired by the toothpaste, I decide to bathe in the creek. I grab one of the towels and take a half-used bar of soap from my bag.

  Travis is using the toothpaste when I stand up and say, “I’m going to wash up.”

  He nods and grunts.

  “I mean really wash up. In the creek.”

  I see it register on his face. “Ain’t gonna look.”

  “Thanks. Lord knows neither of us smells very good. You might think about washing up too.”

  His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

  “Not at the same time,” I explain hurriedly. “I mean after me. You could wash up after me. If you want.” Damn. How much stupider could I sound?

  He makes one of those odd, soft snorts I’ve heard from him once or twice before. “Got it.”

  The sky is getting darker, but it’s not pitch-black yet, and there’s plenty of light from the fire anyway. I walk to the bank of the creek and peel off my dirty clothes after verifying that Travis has adjusted his position so his back is to me.

  I keep on my tank and panties since I can’t bring myself to get naked out in the open air. Then I wade in.

  It’s a large creek, and the water is a couple of feet deep. There’s more than enough for me to get wet and then soap myself up and rinse off.

  I enjoy it. A lot. Feeling all the dirt and sweat and grime of the past few days running off me with the cool water.

  I squat down and lean over to submerge my whole head, unbraiding my hair as I do and looping the elastics over my wrist so I don’t lose them.

  As I scrub my scalp, I wish I had shampoo. Lacking that, I lather up my hands and use the soap instead.

  It’s not great, but it beats the alternative.

  I feel better in every way as I stand up. The air is starting to cool as the day darkens, but the temperature is perfectly comfortable.

  I look over toward Travis. He’s still sitting in the same position. His back is ramrod straight.

  He probably isn’t even tempted to sneak a peek at me.

  Whatever feminine charms I possess obviously don’t appeal to him.

  I wonder what his wife looked like.

  On that rather silly thought, I hear something. A sudden crack of sound that makes me jerk and cry out softly.

  Travis has already jumped to his feet and strides over in the direction of the noise.

  I wrap my arms across my middle and stand in two feet of water, wearing just a soaked white tank top and panties and watching as Travis investigates.

  “Stay there,” he says curtly, continuing to walk toward the sound.

  For a minute he disappears into the growing darkness and the trees.

  I’m about as helpless as it’s possible for me to be, and I don’t like it, so I manage to wade out of the creek and grab my pistol from the holster next to my clothes.

  I’m holding it ready when Travis reappears.

  He shakes his head. “Nothin’ there. I think a branch just broke and fell.”

  I relax and bend over to put my gun back down.

  When I straighten up, Travis is staring at me. His eyes focus on my face and then travel down. His shoulders stiffen. His cheeks flush slightly. He takes a weird little breath as his gaze makes another quick detour down my body.

  Then he jerks and scowls at me. “Damn it, woman. Cover up. You might as well be buck naked, standin’ there wet like that.”

  I reach down for a towel and scowl back at him. “You don’t have to be mean about it. We heard that sound, so I thought the gun was more important than my modesty.”

  He’s scowling more dramatically than I’ve ever seen him as he turns his back to me. “Tell me when you’re decent.”

  I sigh as I dry myself off. The thought of putting on my dirty clothes over my nice clean body makes me want to gag. “I’m going to wrap up in a towel for a while until my tank and underwear are dry.”

  He grumbles wordlessly. Then after a minute, he asks, “You covered up?”

  I tuck the end of the towel to secure it around my chest. “Yes. I’m covered. Jesus, Travis. It’s like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

  He gives me a dirty look as he turns around to face me, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I’d prefer it if he just argued with me. At least then we could have a real conversation instead of one person grunting at the other person’s attempts to communicate like a human being.

  I give up on the infuriating man and sit in front of the fire to comb my hair. It takes a long time since my hair is long and thick and I haven’t combed out the braids in three days.

  Travis walks over to get a towel from the cargo compartment.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “I’m gonna wash up since you told me I stink.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was stinking too.”

  The only answer is another wordless grumble.

  “Here,” I say, turning in his direction with the small piece of soap in my hand. “You can use—” I gulp because Travis is halfway through taking off his shirt.

  My eyes land unerringly on the broad expanse of man-chest offered to my view.

  It’s a very fine chest. And his abs are flat and lightly defined. He’s got a scattering of blondish chest hair that I really like the looks of, and a thin white scar runs from his right armpit down toward his belly button.

  I process all that in the few seconds it takes for him to pull his shirt off over his head.

  “Sorry,” I say, my cheeks burning. Which is ridiculous. Nothing has happened except he took off his shirt. “I was just giving you the soap if you want it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” He takes the soap and waits until I turn around before he does anything else.

  I sit on a rock near the fire with my back to him as I finish combing my hair. I hear him moving around. The rustling of clothing. The splashing of water.

  I wonder if he kept his
underwear on the way I did. Probably.

  I wonder what kind of underwear he wears.

  I really want to turn my head and catch a quick glance.

  But that would be rude. And inappropriate.

  He didn’t peek at me, so I can’t peek at him either.

  I focus on combing my wet hair instead.

  “The soap is gone.”

  I turn back without thinking at his words. To my relief—disappointment?—he’s already pulled his jeans back on and is towel-drying his hair.

  “That’s okay. Maybe we can find more soap at a house or something.” I’ve gotten the tangles out of my hair but haven’t braided it yet. I can see Travis slanting looks at it, as if something about it surprises him. “I’m going to rinse out my shirt. Do you want me to rinse out yours too?”

  He blinks like he doesn’t understand what I’m asking.

  “Travis?”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” He’s still rubbing the towel through his hair. He’s been doing that for a long time now.

  I pick up my shirt and then snag his along the way to the creek, where I get them both wet and try to scrub out some of the dirt and sweat.

  Both are in bad shape, but there’s nothing we can do. Neither one of us has a spare set of clothes.

  When I’m through cleaning the shirts, I turn around to discover that Travis is seated on my rock near the fire, shaving with a straight-edge razor.

  “You can do that without a mirror?” I ask him, genuinely curious.

  “If I’m careful.”

  I watch with interest. “Do you have a pair of scissors? You should trim your hair while you’re in the grooming mood.”

  His lip curls up. “No. Don’t have scissors. But if you wanna groom, you should let me chop off that mess of hair with my knife.”

  I gasp and raise a hand to my hair. “Why should I cut it?”

  “Too much of it. If someone comes after you, you’re giving them somethin’ real easy to grab on to.”

  I part my hair in the middle and start braiding. “I’m not going to cut my hair because of that. If someone is able to grab me, they’ll get me whether I have long hair or not.”

  He shrugs and drags the razor over the last few lines of his jaw. He hasn’t nicked himself yet, even without any shaving cream.

  It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But it bothers me that he wants to cut my hair.

  I like my hair. I’ve had it long all my life. Everyone has always said it’s really pretty.

  My boobs and my hair. Those are the only things I really have going for me in the looks department.

  Travis called it a mess of hair.

  I finish making my braids. My panties are mostly dry now, so I stand up and walk over to where I left my jeans. I drop my towel, and before Travis can make more than a guttural sound of objection, I pull my jeans up over my legs.

  I’m going to sleep in my jeans and tank like I did last night.

  Our shirts are drying near the fire. Nothing but dark and silence surrounds us. And it doesn’t matter even the slightest that Travis wants to cut my hair.

  He wipes his face with his damp towel. “Did I get it all?”

  I come closer as he lifts his chin to show me his newly shaven jaw.

  He’s better-looking than I originally thought. I realize that as I peer at his face. Yesterday I thought his eyes were steel gray, but they’re a blue gray that shifts with the changing light. I like the strong line of his jaw and the chiseled contour of his cheekbones.

  He’s not wearing a shirt, and I like that too.

  I’m close to him now. Despite having just cleaned up, I can still catch a faint whiff of Travis’s scent. It’s familiar to me even after just two days.

  An unexpected curl of heat tightens beneath my belly.

  “Well?” Travis says, sounding grumpy. He’s rubbing his face, checking for stray bristles.

  I pull back, feeling my cheeks flush again. “Looks like you got it all. How should we sleep?”

  Despite the vague question and the lack of segue, Travis understands what I’m asking. “Got a sleeping bag in the back of the Jeep. Only one, but we both can’t sleep at the same time out here. Gotta keep watch.”

  “That makes sense. We can take turns sleeping.” I go to get the sleeping bag, realizing as I do that I actually feel good.

  I’ve got food in my stomach. I’ve had plenty of water. I’m somewhat clean. I still taste toothpaste. Travis might be annoying, but he isn’t a creep. And I’m getting ready to sleep.

  I don’t realize that I’ve been humming as I spread out the sleeping bag next to the fire, very close to where Travis is sitting on the rock.

  “What’s that?” he asks abruptly.

  “What’s what?”

  “That song. Sounds familiar.”

  I have to hum a few notes to recall what song has been on my mind. “Oh. It was my grandma’s favorite.” I hesitate. Then I sing the first couple of lines.

  Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart.

  Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.

  My voice isn’t great. Not like my grandmother’s. But I can hold a tune, and the sound of my singing isn’t unpleasant.

  Travis’s eyes are fixed on me as I trail off.

  “You know it?” I ask, strangely self-conscious.

  “Yeah. Your grandma would sing it at church sometimes. Always liked when she sang.”

  I always liked it too.

  For a moment I miss her so much my eyes burn.

  I didn’t cry when she died. I couldn’t. There’s a defense mechanism built into the human soul. You get to a point where loss is so immense that the part of you that hurts when something dies simply shuts down. You go numb.

  I can’t even process what it means that billions of people have died in the past four years.

  That nearly everyone I love has died.

  That my grandma died only a few days ago.

  I can’t process it. It sits like a weight in my chest, but it doesn’t make me cry.

  It just is.

  “You know the whole song?” Travis asks, his gruff voice breaking into my thoughts.

  “Yeah.”

  He hesitates as if he’s waiting. Then, “Well?”

  I let out a soft huff of amusement. Then I sing the whole song for him, sitting on my knees on the sleeping bag.

  I haven’t sung in years. It’s strange. Emotional.

  I don’t know what to do when I’m done, and Travis doesn’t say anything.

  He was listening though. I can tell he was listening.

  Finally I shake myself out of the daze. I get up to pee behind a tree, and then I fold up the last dry towel as a pillow and crawl into the sleeping bag to lie down. “I’ll sleep for half the night. Just wake me up when it’s your turn.”

  He grunts.

  I sit up and catch his eye. “You can’t stay up the whole night. You need sleep too. Promise me you’ll wake me up when it’s my turn.”

  He gives me an impatient look and makes another wordless sound.

  “A grunt is not a promise. Promise me.”

  “Damn, girl, you’re stubborn. Fine. I promise.”

  I nod, pleased with my victory, and stretch out in the sleeping bag.

  It’s thick and warm and smells strongly of Travis. The ground is hard and lumpy, but I’m comfortable enough to sleep.

  I like the crackle of the fire. I like that Travis is sitting so close that I can reach out and touch him if I need to. I like that, for once, I don’t smell my sweat every time I move.

  I lie on my back and close my eyes and listen to the night.

  After a minute I realize what I hear beyond the sound of the fire and the creek. My eyes pop open. “Bugs!”

  He shifts from his position. “What, now?”

  “Bugs. Listen. You hear them?”

  “Yeah. Not much. But somethin’. Crickets. Katydids.”

  “It’s been ages since I’ve heard them at all.
” I’m smiling up toward the sky. “I remember as a kid, on summer nights they’d be so loud I felt like covering my ears.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe the scientists were right. Maybe the planet will eventually bounce back. They said it would take several years, but it would happen. Maybe the world will come back to life.”

  “Maybe.”

  I turn my head to look at his face in the orange firelight. He’s watching me. Not smiling, but for once he doesn’t look grumpy.

  “Maybe when we’re old we’ll go camping again, and the woods will be green and filled with bugs and birds and critters. Rabbits. Squirrels. Raccoons. Possums.”

  “And deer,” Travis murmurs thickly.

  “And deer. There used to be so many of them around that they’d roam all over our neighborhood. Come right up to our back porch and eat my grandma’s hostas.” I giggle. “She got so mad. I’d sneak out in the mornings and throw them apples.”

  “Shouldn’t have fed ’em.”

  “I know that.” I scowl at him but without any heat. “But they were so cute, munching away on the apples.” I breathe deeply, wrapped up in the sleeping bag and the heat from the fire and the darkness of the night. “Listen to those bugs. I thought I’d never hear them again.”

  We both listen for a long time. After several minutes, I adjust my head to see what Travis is doing, and I catch him turning away from me.

  I wonder what he’s thinking.

  I’m not likely to ever know.

  He’s not a man who lets people in.

  “Sing it again.”

  I’m surprised by his blunt words, and my eyes fly over to his face again.

  His expression is unreadable, but he’s meeting my gaze now.

  “Sing it again,” he says, his tone gentling to almost a plea.

  So I do. I sing the song again as I lie staring up at the darkness above me.

  There’s a strange eeriness to the sound of my voice in the open air. A poignancy to the old, familiar words. My voice breaks a few times on the last lines.

  Heart of my own heart, whate’er befall.

  Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

  Neither of us speaks after I finish, so my voice lingers in the air, mingling with the other sounds of the night.

  I think about how I used to feel when I sang the song as a kid. Sometimes I’d sense a presence inside me rising, lifting, straining, as if my soul were reaching up toward heaven.