Last Light Read online

  I no longer believe in the words. I no longer trust in a God who takes care of us. I can’t imagine anyone does.

  My grandma’s favorite song might still be beautiful, but it has no meaning anymore. Not after everything that’s happened.

  Or maybe...

  Maybe now it means even more.

  A hymn of faith at the end of the world.

  I fall asleep to the soft chorus of insects I thought were gone for good.

  Three

  I DON’T WAKE UP UNTIL I feel someone shaking me gently by the shoulder.

  “Is it my turn?” I mumble, knowing immediately where I am and what’s happening.

  “Yeah. If you’re feelin’ okay.” Travis is leaning over me. I can see him in the light of the campfire. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

  “I feel fine.” I clumsily crawl out of the sleeping bag and plant myself on the rock where he’s been sitting. There’s a half-drunk bottle of water on the ground that he must have been sipping, so I reach down to take a few swallows of it, trying to wake up completely.

  He walks off into the dark. To pee, I guess. Then he returns and lowers himself onto the sleeping bag, placing his shotgun and knife within reaching distance before he unzips the bag and lays the top fold loosely across himself.

  I assume he doesn’t want to be zipped in so that he can jump quickly to his feet if necessary.

  “Poke at the fire every now and then so it don’t go out.” He puts his head on the same towel I was using for a pillow. “I never sleep deep, so I’ll wake up right away if there’s trouble.”

  “Okay. I’ll be fine. Get some sleep.”

  We don’t say anything else. Travis closes his eyes. His breathing evens out in less than a minute, and I’m pretty sure he’s already asleep.

  The night is long, with nothing but Travis’s steady breathing and my own thoughts to keep me company.

  I find myself watching him as he sleeps.

  He’s got a scar on his neck—about an inch long, slashing down from his left ear. His hair dried with a few kinks and a cowlick at the front of his part.

  One of his arms is resting on top of the sleeping bag, and the hair on his forearm glows in the light of the fire.

  He doesn’t snore, but he breathes loudly. It’s oddly reassuring.

  My grandparents bought me a four-year-old car for my sixteenth birthday. It had a bad transmission, so I had to bring it in to Travis’s garage semiregularly for repairs as well as for normal maintenance.

  As I sit in the silence of the night, I try to remember every detail I can about my interactions with Travis back then.

  I never thought much about him at all. I knew he was married. I never saw him as good-looking or interesting. I didn’t like the smell of smoke that always wafted around him.

  He was just a man who fixed my car, no more noteworthy to me than the butcher in the local grocery store or the guys who picked up our trash.

  The small office next to his garage was always messy, the desk covered with paperwork that looked years old. He always had a thermos of coffee. And a Virginia Tech ball cap propped on a shelf. I remember a framed photo of an infant next to it.

  His daughter, Grace, I assume.

  One time I went to pick up my car, he was on the phone. He made an apologetic gesture at me as he finished the conversation.

  I’m not sure why I remember what he said to the caller. It wasn’t all that interesting to me back then. But I recall most of his words as I sit on a rock in the middle of the woods with him sleeping at my feet.

  I gotta go, Cheryl. ... Yeah. ... Yeah. I know. ... We can talk about it tonight. ... I said I was sorry. ... I know that, but you’re the one who ain’t happy. ... I can’t do anythin’ about that.

  He turned his back to me as he finished his conversation, walking to the far corner of the office. I was still able to hear him, however.

  That’s not true. ... I never did anythin’ like— ... Cheryl, stop. I can’t go into all this here. I got a customer.

  He hung up after that. I passed him the check my grandpa had given me to pay him, and then I drove away in my car. I never thought a thing about the conversation again.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I believe I’d be sitting so close to that same man. That I’d listen to him sleep. That I’d wonder about his underwear.

  That he’d be all I had left in the world.

  I realize now that he was probably fighting with his wife on that phone call. Her name was Cheryl. He mentioned it yesterday. I still don’t know anything about her, but he obviously still loves her.

  His fear for her safety is the only real emotion I’ve seen in him—other than over the loss of his daughter.

  I sit on the rock without moving for a couple of hours, finishing the bottle of water that Travis started. Eventually I have to get up to pee.

  When I come back, Travis is still sleeping, but he’s tossing slightly like he has unconsciously sensed something’s different.

  I settle myself on the rock again, and one of his hands reaches out toward my foot. His fingers wrap lightly around my ankle.

  I check his face, but he’s still asleep.

  I don’t pull my foot away. He holds on to my ankle for the rest of the night.

  THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASS in a haze of uncomfortable monotony. We manage to get off the trail and back on the road, but then we spend the rest of the day searching for gas.

  We eventually find a couple of gallons in an old pickup parked next to an isolated cabin, and we end up spending the night there, taking turns sleeping on the one small cot since Travis doesn’t think the cabin is secure enough.

  The next day we run into more guarded towns, so we’re forced to leave the road again. We camp outside that night, but it’s not as companionable as the first evening.

  Travis has withdrawn back to grunts and silent stares. It feels like that first night in the twin beds. Not like that long evening by the creek.

  He’s locked up tight again.

  It’s ridiculous, but I miss him.

  We finally cross into Kentucky on the morning of the fifth day.

  Since we’re running short on gas again, we check the map and head to a small town not far off the road. To our relief, it’s abandoned. The main street has been thoroughly looted, but we search the neighborhoods on the outskirts where the houses are in better condition.

  We find one that doesn’t look like it’s been broken into and peer into the detached garage to see a car.

  “Yes!” I’m smiling as I step back. “Surely there’s gas in that tank.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Travis kicks open the side door. There is gas in the car. We fill the Jeep and find a gas canister on a shelf in the garage, so we fill up that as well to take with us.

  “Might as well check the house while we’re here,” I say, and Travis nods his agreement.

  He kicks in the back door. It’s neat inside. No broken windows.

  I’m holding my breath as we stand side by side in the kitchen and open the cupboard doors.

  The shelves are full of food.

  A lot of it went bad long ago—all the bread and crackers and granola bars and cookies—but there are cans.

  Shelves of cans.

  “Oh my God!” I breathe, pulling out two cans of green beans and seeing a row of canned soup behind them. “Oh my God, look at all this!”

  Travis grunts.

  I’m not sure why I would expect anything else.

  I find some old plastic grocery bags wadded up under the sink, and I start filling them with the cans. Travis takes another bag and fills it up with salt, pepper, hot sauce, and cans of Spam and tuna he finds in the next cabinet.

  I’m grinning like a fool as we put our bags down near the busted door and start to search the rest of the house.

  I find travel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner—the kind you used to get in hotels. Travis finds a gun safe. He can’t get into the safe, but next to it is
a drawer full of ammunition, some of which will fit our guns. In the basement are four large jugs of spring water.

  And in the master bedroom there are drawers and a closet full of clothes.

  I’m giggling as I sift through the underwear drawer, finding a few pairs of newish cotton panties that look like they’ll fit me. I check the bras, but they’re too small for me, and I’m not too keen on wearing bras again anyway.

  They were never very comfortable.

  In the next drawer are the men’s underwear. I shake out a pair of gray boxer briefs and hold them up to gauge the size.

  Travis is on his hands and knees in the closet, rooting through the shoes.

  “These look like they’ll fit you,” I say. “You want a couple of these?”

  Travis straightens up and glances over. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it looks like his face flushes slightly.

  “Sure,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes back to the shoes. “Looks like the woman’s shoes are too big for you and the man’s are too small for me.”

  “Naturally. But at least we got some clothes. There are men’s T-shirts here and some shirts I can use.”

  “Don’t get too much. We don’t have room for everything.” His voice is slightly muffled by the closet.

  “I won’t. This woman’s jeans are way too long for me anyway, but I can at least get a couple of spare shirts.” In the bottom drawer of the dresser, I find sweats and pajamas. I grab a pair of gray sweatpants for Travis and thick black leggings for me.

  It will be nice to have something to change into at night or while we rinse out our jeans.

  I’m stroking a pretty red silk camisole when I feel Travis standing behind me.

  “Not gonna take that, are you?”

  “No.” I sigh and stand up to gather my finds.

  I want that camisole. I want it so much my mouth waters.

  But there’s no room in my life for pretty lingerie.

  We haul everything out to the Jeep, and it takes almost half an hour to organize the cargo compartment to fit everything we’ve found.

  I’m so excited about everything we’ve added to our supplies that I’m clapping my hands as Travis slides the last bottle of water into place.

  When he turns to face me, I like his expression. He’s not smiling. He never smiles. But his face is relaxed, and there’s a glint in his eyes that matches the way I’m feeling myself.

  Without thinking it through, I throw my arms around him in a hug.

  He doesn’t return it. Not immediately anyway. He stands stiffly as my arms wrap around him, and then slowly his hands move up to rest lightly on the back of my ribs.

  I bury my face in his shirt for just a minute before I pull away.

  He’s staring down at me, his eyes appearing very blue. And the corners of his mouth are tilted up just slightly.

  I gasp. “Are you smiling?”

  “What?”

  “Are you actually smiling?”

  “Course not.” But his lips twitch up again, almost imperceptibly.

  I giggle and hug him again. Just a quick squeeze of my arms. “Yes, you are. You can act grumpy and stoic all you want, but I know you, Travis Farrell. And you’re just as excited about all our new loot as I am.”

  He mumbles something incomprehensible and gives me a little shove toward the vehicle. “Time to go.”

  AS WE’RE ON OUR WAY out of the town, we pass an old Dollar General.

  The glass front has been smashed out, and the interior appears completely trashed, so there’s not much chance of finding anything useful inside.

  But it’s stupid not to check. Travis pulls over.

  “I’m gonna go in and take a look,” he says. “Slide over behind the wheel.”

  I do as he says without questioning it.

  “Have your gun ready,” he says, his expression sober. “If you see any trouble, drive away.”

  “I’m not going to leave you behind!” I have to call the words out to his back because he’s already disappearing into the smashed storefront.

  He’s been in there for a few minutes when I hear something from down the road.

  It’s not an engine but the sound of voices.

  I pick up my pistol, but there’s no way I’m going to drive off and leave Travis in danger. Not if I have any choice.

  I don’t care what he told me. I’m not going to do it.

  Leveling my gun at the approaching voices, I relax when the first thing I see are two young kids on bicycles.

  Following them are three women and two men. All of them are riding bikes.

  I guess if you don’t have a vehicle, a bike is better than walking.

  “You don’t have to worry about us, honey,” one of the women calls out when she sees me. She looks like she’s close to fifty, and she has a pleasant smile. “We’re just passing through.”

  I nod but don’t say anything. I lower my gun but keep my hand in position. I don’t want to point it at children, but I also want to be ready in case this group isn’t as harmless as they look.

  “Are you on your own?” the same woman asks, pulling to a stop next to the passenger seat of the Jeep.

  “No.”

  “You sure ’bout that? You’re not in any danger from us, and you’d be safer in a group.” She nods back at one of the men—a grizzled guy with a shaggy beard and a gun in a shoulder holster. “Jimmy there doesn’t have a woman. He’d take real good care of you.”

  I dart a quick glance at Jimmy and fight to keep my face from changing expression. “No, thank you.”

  “Shouldn’t say no so quickly. Pretty girl like you needs a man.”

  “I have a man,” I say without thinking.

  “She’s got a man.” The voice follows on the heels of mine. Lower. Gruffer. Louder.

  Travis.

  He’s come out of the old store while we’ve been talking, and now he steps over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  It feels significant. Possessive. Like he’s staking his claim.

  I feel that tight curl of heat below my belly I remember from a couple of days ago by the creek.

  “I’m her man,” Travis says, rough and intimidating. He’s got his shotgun propped up against his shoulder. Not aimed or in position, but clearly visible. “So y’all just back off.”

  “We didn’t mean no offense,” the first woman says, looking surprised and slightly disappointed but not like she’s going to put up a fight. “Sorry ’bout that. We thought she was alone.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Thanks anyway,” I say with a smile, wanting to end this conversation before anyone gets angry. “I appreciate the offer, but he takes good care of me. Good luck to you.”

  “You too!” The woman and one of the men—not Jimmy—wave as the group pedals off down the road.

  Travis is frowning as he gives me a little nudge. I slide over into the passenger seat, allowing him to sit down and pull the Jeep back onto the road.

  I wave as we pass the bikers, and they’re out of sight in less than a minute as Travis accelerates.

  His eyes are narrowed as he turns to glare at me. “Told you to drive away if you saw anyone.”

  “You told me to drive away if there was any trouble. And there wasn’t any trouble. Those people were harmless.”

  “You couldn’t know that.”

  “Yes, I could. They thought I was alone, and their offer was genuine.”

  “Genuine?” Travis is sneering out at the road in front of us.

  “Yes, genuine.”

  “Did you want to hook up with them?” He’s shooting me quick looks now.

  “Of course I didn’t want to hook up with them. But they didn’t mean any harm.”

  “They wanted to stick you in bed with that old man!”

  His gruff outrage is making me strangely shaky. I have no idea why. But because I’m flustered, I say the most irrelevant thing possible. “I don’t think he was really an old man. He’s probably just in his forties.”


  “And you’re what? Twenty-one? You really want to fuck him?”

  “Of course not! What’s your problem? I’m just saying it wasn’t a big deal. You don’t have to get all growly and fierce about it. I was fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was fine.”

  “Y’already said that.”

  “All right.” I make myself relax and stop arguing. There’s no reason for me to feel all out of sorts like this.

  And there’s no reason for me to like the memory of the weight of Travis’s hand on my shoulder and the roughness of his voice when he said that he was my man.

  We drive without talking for a while.

  I think about why I might have liked the idea of Travis being my man and what it might say about me.

  “You mad?” Travis asks after a couple of minutes.

  “No.”

  “Thought it best to just scare folks like that away so they don’t get ideas.”

  “I understand. I’m not mad.”

  “So what’s wrong?”

  If I’m getting to know Travis better, then he’s obviously getting to know me too.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head as I try to find words for it. “It just makes me feel weird.”

  “What does?”

  “The idea that I need a man.”

  I risk a glance over at him and see he’s studying me with a thoughtful frown.

  I try to explain. “You know, it wasn’t very long ago when it never would have occurred to me. I was raised to believe a woman could do anything a man could. To know I could be independent. Live alone if I wanted. Or live however I wanted with whoever I wanted. The idea that I’d be somehow unsafe without a man to take care of me...” I clear my throat. “So it just... still sometimes feels weird.”

  “Lots changed since then.”

  “I know. Usually I don’t even think about it, but sometimes it hits me. And... I don’t know... I wish I could feel independent again. I wish I didn’t feel so small and helpless in this new world.”

  “You are small.”

  I make a face at him. “I know that.”

  “No. I mean that’s what it’s about. A few years ago, life wasn’t about physical size. You could take care of yourself without a man because life wasn’t about fightin’ for survival. But we’re back to survival now. Like it was way back in history. Men are stronger. Not every single one, but in general. And that makes a difference when you’re fightin’ for your life. It’s not ’cause there’s anything lackin’ in you, Layne. You’re just not as big as a man.”