When All is Lost

Chapter 16

"Careful." Ian caught my elbow, effectively stopping me. I turned ahead to see that I'd nearly stepped into a pile of burned books.

Kindling?

It was almost funny to me how in just a short amount of time the use for such items dramatically changed. I bent down, hovered my hand over, and then poked at the pile. It was cold. Standing back up, I prodded at it with my shoe, checking to see if there was still anything that could be of use but had no luck.

Moving around it, I followed Ian as he continued walking. "How much farther do you think?"

His posture stiffened. "I don't know. This is pretty much it. I don't know exactly where the patrol was going, just this general area. Probably to the center of town – that's usually how these things went."

"Ian..." I took a deep breath so as to not take my frustration out on him. "That's not a lot to work with."

"I know." He sighed as I caught up to him. "I know."

"Should we-" Ray started only to be cut off by Ian.

"Ah!" Ian's exclamation made us both jump. "I just remembered. They took out the red sedan. It had three 'Z's in the license plate."

"How do you remember that?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"The car?"

"No, the license plate."

Ian smiled. "Chris made a joke about sleeping in it."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Of course he did." Ian chuckled and our eyes met. I realized that, in that moment, we were both thinking about Chris. We both missed him – even his corny jokes. It stung.

It was still a bit hard for me sometimes to allow myself to acknowledge that Ian and Chris were friends. I knew on some level Ian was keeping something from me. The haunted expression he'd had when he first told me about Chris had never really left my mind, but the way he looked also gave me the hope that whatever secret he was keeping was something I could forgive. I had to believe he had nothing to do with whatever happened to Chris. He'd saved my life, stuck with me, and guided me as he'd promised. I wanted to trust him.

I already trust him.

I gave him a small, sad smile and he gave me one in return. I also saw him steel himself, his expression became shuttered as his smile shifted into one of determination. "Let's find him."

---

We walked for another mile. Every step was like a descent into a nightmare. A turn down one street led to three bodies left out to rot, and the next, five. Some people looked as though they had simply been shot, others were left in much worse states, leaving too much up for interpretation and allowing my imagination to run rampant. Off in the distance, shouting voices began before silencing again.

I was sure at some point we'd come across the town sign. One saying, "Welcome to Hell." In my mind, there was no other explanation for the remnants of depravity we were seeing. The only form of comfort I found was in the stomach-churning knowledge that the bodies all seemed to be in states of decay. Whatever had happened really did seem to be over. However, while that did give me a balm for my fear for my own safety, I was still near hyperventilating.

Chris.

Did he live through this?

Could he still be here?

Is he hurt?

Is that him?

I looked down at the corpse of a man, his neck had obviously been broken as his head was twisted at an unnatural angle. It could have been Chris. The bloated face and blue and purple skin made it nearly impossible to tell what the man had once looked like, but he had blond hair. I looked down at his clothes and didn't recognize them, but they could have been his. I cursed myself for the hundredth time for not having been awake on his final morning before he left. Far too late did I realize that I had no idea what he'd worn that day.

"It's not him." Ian tore me from my thoughts.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"His ears," Ian said, his voice sounding steady and sure. "Chris's didn't stick out that much."

He was right.

But what if it's just because the head's at an angle?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Stop it.

We trudged on, getting closer to what I assumed was the town center. There were fewer houses and more stores, restaurants, and business-centric buildings as everything became more congested. More abandoned, wrecked, and destroyed cars littered the streets.

There were also many more bodies.

I needed a moment. "Ian," I said, using my free hand on a tilted stoplight to hold myself up. The gun in my other hand shook so hard I could almost hear it rattling. "I just need a second."

"Take whatever time you need."

I stared down at my feet and counted my breaths. I could see a number of fresh footprints on the snow. I analyzed the designs of their treads, ignoring the soft whispers between Ian and Ray. I was looking for my husband's body.

They can give me a damn minute.

That's when it hit. I finally understood my own reactions.

I'm assuming he's dead.

As I erased a tread left in the snow with the sole of my own shoe, I tainted the snow a light red. At some point, I'd stepped on blood. I didn't look back to see my own prints, but instead, stood straight. "Let's keep going."

Wispy tendrils of smoke against the backdrop of the blue sky warned me that we were approaching the town center. I expected to see another burnt building or smoldering car. No part of me was really prepared for the reality I faced.

I stumbled past a red sedan with numb legs, not bothering to check the license plate as I approached the pile of charred bodies. A few on the top still had embers of flames flicking across their shirts, hinting that the burning had been somewhat recent. I could smell the gasoline and wondered who had bothered wasting it.

There are too many.

There was no way that the pile was made of less than thirty people. It dawned on me that someone, or a group of someones, might have been trying to clean up. They could have been trying to make the area livable again after the battle – or massacre – had finished.

"Kate. Don't."

I was already yanking a stiff arm, trying to free the rest of it from the pile. "I just need to check."

"The license plate..." Ray's voice trailed off, but it didn't matter. I knew.

I pulled and pulled at the body until I heard a pop. I had dislocated something. It didn't matter. I knew that they wouldn't feel it. I just wanted to check. I gave a few more hard tugs, but accidentally focused too much of my grip on their shirt sleeve. It tore and I fell back, landing on my butt.

I crawled forwards, hearing the metal of the gun that was somehow still in my hand scrape against the pavement under the snow. I stopped just a few feet short of the pile and just kneeled.

From my short distance, I could smell the distinct scent of rot under the smoke and gasoline. It nearly made my eyes water, it was so strong, but I just took it in. I took it all in.

"Kate?"

I was hollow. I'd spent the summer after my freshman year at college working at an ice cream shop. That was how I'd met Chris. I could picture one of those scoops digging into me and taking everything out with it.

I wasn't numb – just empty. It was like I'd known all along that I would end up exactly where I was. Past all the hope, worry, and determination, I knew.

There was no point in pulling apart the pile. There was no point in crying or screaming. I had already mourned him. I'd been mourning him.

I'd been seeking him to bury him.

I'd wanted to draw a pretty picture, too.

Chris was dead. And I was finally allowing myself to know it.