For an hour they tried to maneuver the back roads. The freeways and the bridges were gone, clogged, damaged, and cluttered. Neighborhoods were riddled with debris. Dean would turn the car down one residential street and find it empty, only to turn down the next street and find a tow-truck blocking their way or a fallen tree left across the road. Down a different street, the road was washed out. One month since human life was ripped from the world and evidence of mankind’s absence rippled outward in ever-growing circles of devastation. They were not up against people, but rather the remnants of people.
Out in the city, further away from Whispering Waters, it reminded the group how egregiously the world was damaged. Some obstacles were moveable. Dean would throw the truck into park and wordlessly they would push a car out of the way or roll abandoned garbage cans to the side of the road. Some obstacles would stay forever.
Every roadblock incensed Darla.
“You’re too close to the main roads. Too many people tried to escape the freeway back-ups this way,” she complained.
Before people knew there was no escape, they tried to flee. Major cities like New York and Los Angeles were hit with multiple attacks. The worldwide wipeout created mass panic. No one knew who the adversary was, but while the virus—in their water, in the air—took effect, countries mobilized against their natural enemies. The masterminds had simply needed to give the world a push; governments accelerated annihilation.
“If we can get north of this, we’ll be fine. It’s going to take trial and error,” Dean replied. He was the picture of calm.
Ainsley sighed.
“We’d be farther along if we had hiked out,” Darla snapped. “We have about forty minutes before it’s dark, Dean. And then we’re stuck. We won’t be able to maneuver this truck after that. We’ll be one mile away from homes we know are empty and habitable, but unable to get back to them. And Washington is a bad idea. Last time I had radio contact, there were Raiders working up there who told me the bridges were out.”
“Raiders?” Dean asked and Darla didn’t feel like explaining what the world had been up to while he drunkenly slept his days away shut up in his suburban farmhouse.
“I don’t want to—” Ainsley interjected, but then she snapped her mouth shut, aware that she had lost her privilege to make demands of the group.
Darla eyed her and made an exaggerated scoot closer to the window. She restrained herself enough not to reply.
“I can do this,” Dean said. “Herculean, maybe. But not impossible. I know this area, remember?” With that, Dean took a sharp left and bounced up over a curb, the contents in the truck bed hopping and clanking against each other. He drove through a park, passed a jungle gym and a plastic slide, and then pushed his foot down to the floor. The truck lurched forward over the grass and dirt. The vehicle vaulted, and Darla grabbed on to the door handle. She felt herself lift off the seat and slam back down as the truck moved toward a chain-link fence on the opposite side.
“Slow down!” Darla commanded and she fumbled over Ainsley to grab at Dean’s shirt, but he ignored her pawing. “Don’t you dare—”
Gaining speed, Dean looked over at his passengers and said in loud enough voice to carry over the engine, “Trust me!”
The truck hit the fence with minimal impact. The chain-link broke free in a clean swipe and tumbled down off of the hood. Dean slowed down and led the car through an undeveloped plot of land, where he came upon an empty housing development. Unfinished homes dotted the landscape. A black sedan was parked in one of the driveways and the bloated body of a virus victim had fallen between stacks of rolled-up sod.
Darla exhaled.
“This shortcut is worthless unless you have a plan. One neighborhood to another neighborhood is not industrious, Dean.” She leaned her head against the cool glass and felt a rush of air through the gap that had once held the back window against her neck.
The car was silent as Dean meandered around side roads and cut across empty lots, attempting to get closer north while avoiding the jams. They left the underdeveloped neighborhood, driving up over someone’s lawn to avoid debris and demolishing a set of brass frogs playing musical instruments. No one said anything for several minutes; everyone listened to the cadence of each other’s breathing.
“I’m sorry,” Ainsley said, shedding her normal reticence in favor of peacekeeping. She shifted and turned to face Darla. Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen as if she had been in a fight. Dark streaks of soot smeared down across her temples, giving the illusion that she was sweating ash. She wiped off some, but not all, of the blood. She was a mess.
“Save it,” Darla replied.
“I just need you to understand,” Ainsley continued. “I can’t stand this. I can’t drive around with you like this. With you so unwilling to talk to me.”
“Ainsley,” Darla started, saying her name as a warning. “The mere fact that you are even in this truck, sharing the same space as me, should be seen as such a marvelous act of mercy...but if you sit there and tell me that you are going to force me to converse? You’re out of your mind.”
“I want to tell my story,” Ainsley added in a small voice. “Please, Darla—”
“My son is gone. You were in charge of keeping him hidden. Those people came in with the intent to kill. You are not dead. The conclusion is pretty damn obvious.”
“Ethan—”
“Was not as vulnerable as my child. Was not your job,” Darla seethed, every word punctuated.
“I thought—”
“Shut up.”
“I know it’s my fault, but—”
“Stop! Just stop talking!” Darla screamed. Her voice filled the tiny cab and even Dean bristled, shooting her a look over Ainsley’s head that she quickly ignored. “You are alive. Teddy is gone. That’s all I ever need to know.”
Ainsley dropped her chin to her chest and began to cry. Her shoulders bounced with sobs as she bawled and she brought her hands to her face. The car settled into silence again. Dean mumbled something under his breath and stopped the car in the middle of the street. He threw the car angrily into park.
“Give me the cigarettes,” Dean said, reaching across Ainsley to Darla, and waiting for her to reluctantly hand them over. When she did, he rolled down his window and lit one—holding his breath for a long time before exhaling, blowing the smoke outside, where the wind carried it up and away. “Oh, wow. I’d forgotten how that felt. Okay. Girls,” he stopped and looked between Darla and Ainsley—Darla stalwart in her anger, and Ainsley unable to stop crying. “We don’t go anywhere until we get one thing straight. We’re a team and our only goal is to rescue Teddy. I’m not really very good with the whole...crying bit.”
Darla sneered and Ainsley nodded as she pulled her sleeves over her fists and covered her eyes, stopping the flow of tears. Then she exhaled and nodded again.
“Can I say something?” Ainsley asked, her voice barely audible.
She didn’t wait for Darla’s approval. Dean put fatherly hand across her shoulder.
“My mom...” Ainsley started and then her voice broke, but she swallowed her pain, her eyes brimmed with tears automatically. “I was only worried about my mom. I heard the shot and...”
Consumed with her own pain, Darla hadn’t put all the pieces together. It wasn’t just Ethan in the upstairs part of the house. Ainsley’s mom had been up there, too. She closed her eyes, fraught with shame.
“Jesus,” she mumbled. “Ainsley—”
Unaware if Darla was frustrated or commiserating, Ainsley ignored her completely.
“It was just us. Just us left. Everyone lost someone, I know that. But I knew I could make it if I still had her. And I panicked...Darla.” Ainsley turned. “I panicked.”
“You weren’t down there at all,” Darla breathed. She thought of Teddy, scared, and alone. She pressed her eyes shut and tried to drown out his screams that echoed in her memory. However, even Darla had to admit that she was happy to abandon her original thoughts of Teddy witnessing violence against Ainsley. There were some things he’d never be able to un-see, some things she wouldn’t be able to fix. It was a small comfort.