Ash's dark blue eyes lock with mine from across the kitchen. He leans back on the counter, dark hair shadowing his eyes in the dim lighting. His jaw ticks, but he doesn't say anything. One second passes by. Then another. Maybe he's just trying to gather the right words? The hardest part about telling a complicated story is deciding where to begin. Before or after the chaos? Delve into the back story, or glaze right over it? Who do you mention? The ones who are still with you or the ones who left before the story really began?
"Actually, I have a better idea," Ash says, breaking the eye contact and moving his attention to the front door, "let's check the rooms and security system first."
I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you said you weren't harboring any dead bodies here? And you have a security system? What kind?"
"It's not dead bodies I'm concerned about. With the world in the state it's in, everyone's in Robin Hood mode: steal from the rich, but instead of giving to the poor, it's every man for himself."
My lungs deflate and my face falls. I refrain from rolling my eyes and instead look down at our weapons scattered on the table. He's right. Conversations are mere distractions in the apocalypse. You either have them while you're on the run, or you don't have them at all. That's just how it is now, isn't it?
"Right," I mutter, pushing out of my chair. "And this security system of yours?"
"My dad installed it shortly before I joined the SWAT Team. He got overly protective after my sister ran away. That was shortly after my mom died, so ya know...guess he didn't want to lose me, too. Can't really blame him."
My eyes widen and my lips part. "You have a sister? Where is she now?"
Ash shrugs, avoiding eye contact. He crosses his arms over his chest, closing himself off. "Once she ran off, she was gone. Never wrote us, never tried coming back. I can't excuse her actions by saying my mom's death hurt her the most—it affected all of us pretty badly—but she definitely had a different way of dealing with it. Once she was eighteen, she vanished."
"Wow," is all I can say. "Are..." I hesitate a moment; a part of me doesn't want to push it, but with him opening up so much now, this might be my only opportunity. "Are you worried about her?"
Ash looks at me solemnly. He bites his lower lip before responding simply, "No."
The air tightens around us, pinning me in place. Even breathing feels like it will break the fragile silence that allowed Ash to temporarily open up. "Why?" I ask.
"She was always the most independent between us two. She can hold her own."
"Even now?"
"Especially now."
"But..." I pause. Ash and I are two completely different people. When people go, it seems like he allows them to go. Peacefully. No fight, no chase. So why can't I do the same with Carter? No reason will ever be good enough to allow me to believe he's content where he's at. I refuse to believe he left me intentionally. "But she's your sister. You wouldn't even want to try looking for her?"
"No," he answers in an instant. He sounds so resolute. "She's been gone three years. I'd rather not know her whereabouts."
"But how can you live with not knowing? Not even knowing if she's okay? Do you even care about her, like, at all?"
Ash sighs and looks away, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's just better not knowing. Not every circumstance works in your favor, Scarlett. Sure, maybe I'll run into her down the road. But right now, there's no lead. I wouldn't even know where to start if I tried. And believe me, when she first left, I did try."
A hint of an unidentifiable emotion seeps onto his last word, though I can't exactly place what it is. If anything, he sounds worn out. Something about the way he explains it is more vulnerable and honest than he probably realizes he's letting on. I do believe he tried searching for her. I guess the real question is, when are you supposed to stop?
"Well, we kind of deviated a lot. That's not exactly the kind of story I think you were looking for, but we need to check the security systems first, as well as all the rooms. Then we'll have all the time in this crappy new world for storytelling."
Right, today's mission: secure the new hideout. Surprisingly, this will be the simplest mission yet. Everything else falls second. I ignore the ache in my heart when I realize that means for the first time, Carter isn't first on my list of priorities.
I grab my gun from its holster and weigh it in my left hand. The trigger shifts every time I tilt my gun to the left or right as if it's about to fall apart any minute. But I keep my finger off the trigger and tighten my fingers around the handle. The gun feels a lot heavier than it did earlier, but maybe that's just because I'm tired. Tired and sore. It's still morning, and yet I'm ready for the day to end.
I don't realize Ash has moved behind me until his arm brushes against my own. I turn my head to the left and look up at him. He doesn't meet my eyes, but reaches out for the gun. "You won't be needing that for awhile."
Instead of allowing him to take it, I tighten my grip and tuck the gun back into its holster. Ash watches me with a furrowed brow, his eyes trained on my face.
"I think I'll hang on to it anyway," I say, slipping the holster back on my waist. Hair falls into my eyes as I adjust it tightly, the pansy still clinging onto the inside of the holster. The last thing I want is for a hoard to break in when I've finally decided to let my guard down. Ash may not be the threat here—as far as I know—but that doesn't mean there isn't still one exclusively large threat on the outside.
Ash's boots thud on the wooden floors as he makes his way back towards the front door. A curtain is drawn over the window to the right of the door. Ash pulls it back and studies the neighborhood, his head moving from one end to the other. The muscles in his arms are taught beneath his gray shirt and his camo pants hang loosely around his waist. Goosebumps crawl up my skin as I'm reminded of his shirt securing the broken parts of me right now. What would have happened had Ash not been there? I'd like to think I would have been okay, that the guy would have had second thoughts and I would have pushed him off me before anything happened. But then again, maybe not.
"Well," I say through a breath, cocking my gun in an attempt to speed up Ash's neighborhood watching, "I'll mind my guest manners, but if you don't direct me to a specific location to secure, I'm gonna go find one myself."
Ash doesn't move from his place. Instead, he turns his head to look back at me with a frown. "I'm waiting for you. We check the most obvious entrance first: the front door and windows."
"Roger that," I say, but not before noticing the picture on the refrigerator. Now that Ash is out of the way, I have a better view of it. Without realizing it, my feet carry me towards the picture and the smiling family inside it. A woman with golden-brown hair hardly smiles, but her eyes tell another story. Those deep blue eyes glow with life and warmth as she stares off to the left, where two small children giggle wildly on two separate swings that aren't in any particular direction; forward, backward, it's all the same: in the middle. I take another step forward to get a closer look at the picture. The children are close in age, but it's obvious the girl is older than the boy on her left. The little boy, whom I assume is—
"Crap," Ash says from the front room. I tear my eyes away from the photo and step away from the fridge. Ash still lingers in front of the window, but his attention is now focused on a black box in the upper right hand corner.
"What?" I ask.
"I think..." Ash begins, reaching up and gently tapping the box. He flips a switch a few times, but nothing happens. I can't see much from where I'm standing, but I know whatever it is shouldn't be happening. "I think this one's busted." he finishes.
"How?" I ask. I step forward anyway until I'm only a foot behind him. The black box is small and inconspicuous; no one would notice it unless they were searching.
"Not sure. Or the battery just ran out. Wouldn't surprise me. It shouldn't matter too much though; we have different set ups around the house. As long as we keep our distance from the window, it should be fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. At least we know." Ash looks back at me and a lock of his brown hair falls into his eyes. He doesn't make any attempt to move it. Instead, he levels his gaze on me, his hand still holding the curtain back. The sunlight streaming through the window falls into my eyes, reminding me of when he shone the flashlight in my eyes back at the flower shop. I put a hand up and take a step back. His eyes still linger over me. What's with him and bright lights? Is he trying to blind me? I open my mouth to ask, but—
"Were your eyes always that color?" He asks.
Huh? "What color?"
Ash releases the curtain and the sunlight melts away. "Hazel."
Hazel? He must read the confusion on my face, because he steps towards me and gently wraps his fingers around my forearm, pulling me a few steps from the window and in front of a mirror on the wall adjacent to us. He nods at the mirror and I follow his gaze. We both stare at our tainted features in the Victorian mirror, Ash hovering behind me, his hand still on my forearm.
And...Wow.
The two of us look like hung-over party-goers who got stranded at the beach bonfire overnight. Damp hair dried into twists and knots, and the morning sun scorched my pale skin and Ash's golden tan. But at least Ash is wearing clothing that fits. We both have smudged dirt on our cheeks, but I have a scar above my left eyebrow from the night he bombed my neighborhood. And with my makeup, I look like a clown who broke down over too many failed balloon animal attempts. God, I'm a mess.
"See? They were brown when I first saw them," Ash mutters.
Oh yeah, the eyes. I blink once, but that's all it takes for me to notice: they're honey-brown. Much lighter and glassy, as if my eyes are filled with tears. "Whoa..." I blink again, harder. Still the same. What in the world? Well, the original brown isn't that much lighter. And maybe they appear different because I haven't looked at myself in the mirror in awhile. "Maybe it's the lighting," I ponder. "The sun's shining right behind my eyes, you know."
"But last night they were darker."
"Last night the whole world was darker. Nighttime...darkness...tends to do that..."
"Is your vision okay?"
"What? Yeah, my vision's fine. Is your vision okay? Maybe you're hallucinating. Heat stroke? Dehydration? Can I get you some water?"
"Scarlett, seriously."
"I'm being serious." To prove it, I turn away from the mirror and look up at him straight-faced, lips pursed. "It's fine. Security systems, remember?"
Ash furrows his eyebrows and ticks his jaw. Even though he doesn't say anything, the intensity of his stare indicates the wheels are turning in his head. What does he think is happening to my eyes? Before I decide if I want to ask or not, his eyes drop down to my lips, then further down to the collar of my shirt. They freeze there. My skin itches for me to move, but I remain where I am. I'm tempted to slap him across the cheek or turn away from him, but his eyes jump back up to mine decidedly. "On second thought, maybe you should just change and get cleaned up. I'll take care of the security system."
I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Well, they're all pretty high up so you likely won't be able to reach them. Not to mention, unless you worked alongside my dad when he first installed them, you won't be able to operate them. And, uh, you're still wearing my shirt..." Ash ducks his head and bites his lip, fighting a smile, as he looks back at "my" shirt and nods. "You could probably fit into some of my sister's stuff. She left a lot of it in her closet, if you wanted something more flattering to your figure." He pauses, looking at me expectantly through his lashes despite our height difference. "But if you'd like to keep my shirt, well, I don't really blame you. I've got pretty good taste in clothes." He leans back on his feet and smiles fully this time—a real, honest smile.
And it's actually the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Not just because I haven't seen anything quite so lovely since the world fell apart, but because...well...because it just is. I let out a teasing laugh. "Ha...don't flatter yourself. This shirt only looked good once I put it on."
"You realize how generic that line is, right? Classic junior high stuff." Ash shakes his head, the corner of his lip still tilted up. "But I won't argue you on that one. You should wear oversized guy t-shirts more often. It's cute seeing you tuck in the bottom every so often and adjust the loose sleeves."
My breath hitches in my throat and I freeze, eyes widening. Did he actually just compliment me? In a roundabout way, I guess. My stomach twists in knots unmistakably dubbed as the cliché "butterflies." But his words surprise me more than anything. And it's pointless to let his words get to my head anyway; he's being nice. He's politely suggesting I change because he wants his shirt back. Mission two established.
But Ash's smile disappears as quickly as it surfaced, and his voice drops almost to a whisper. "Scarlett," he holds my name on his tongue like he's trying to taste each syllable, each letter, as if doing so will solve whatever puzzle he's trying to solve. Something about his voice, the deepness of it, the steadiness and smoothness, relaxes me more than it should. "I'm probably the last dude you'd want to get up close and personal with, but if you ever do need to...talk...you can. About what happened."
"Um..." I shift on my feet uncomfortably. "What?"
"When I first found you and I saw that guy... I mean, that's not something to take lightly. No person has any right to violate another under any circumstances. You shouldn't bottle that up."
"I'm not."
"You sure?"
I shrug and let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure. Why does it matter?"
"Why? Why do you think?"
For probably every reason besides the one going through your mind, I want to say. Maybe he's afraid I'll freak out on him and kill him in his sleep. Or maybe he truly cares. I won't voice either. But for me personally? It matters because...why wouldn't it? I shake off the new memory, ignoring the gross feeling on my skin it evokes, and say, "I know... I know what you mean. And thank you. For offering. But right now? There's not really any time for that, remember? It's all an afterthought. I'm okay. Really. Security systems, remember?"
Ash purses his lips. His eyes roam over me again before he nods once. "Yeah. If you go upstairs and straight down the hall, my sister's room is the second on the right. Take anything you want and just meet back in the kitchen."
"You'll be okay down here?"
A corner of his lip tilts up. "I'm not the one with a sprained ankle."
"Doesn't mean you're a better survivalist than me." When Ash raises an eyebrow, I add, "Anything could happen. You get caught off guard, accidentally set of the alarms, whatever."
"None of that will happen. Just go explore. I give you the okay. My house is now your house."
"Thanks," I say. I turn away from Ash while he goes back to checking the one broken security unit.
The stairs prove to be just as much of an obstacle as running from the zombies earlier, and I'm just beginning to feel the effects of our mini-marathon. I'm still dehydrated and my muscles are terribly weak. My pants rub against my scratched up knees and my head pounds. If I were to pass out, there's no telling whether it's from the lasting bump on my head or the dehydration. I take one step at a time, grabbing onto the railing for support. Once I reach the top step, I push my hair from my eyes. The hall doesn't stretch very far and two rooms line each side. Another mirror sits at the end of the hall. Well, I've had enough mirrors for today, and it's probably wise to check the other rooms just in case.
All the doors are shut. I step to the one closest to me, the first room on the left, and reach for the knob. With my hand positioned over my gun, I twist the knob and push the door back before taking a few steps back. Nothing jumps out at me; no new sounds, voices, noises, or strange lighting. Just a single room with...caution tape? The room looks like a set for a murder movie scene: the tape drapes down the walls like worn streamers from the end of a Halloween party. The yellow tape casts the walls in a lemon-y glow, though the curtains are drawn and covered by a black blanket crookedly hung in front of it. The room contains hardly any furniture besides a bed and cushioned leather recliner...and both are wrapped in clear plastic and bubble wrap. A fine layer of dust coats the wooden floors, not a single set of prints disrupting the gray.
What on earth?
Well...Ash did say explore, right? Maybe he wouldn't mind if I dug around a little bit... Although, it wouldn't help much. At least, not now. We—and if not him, then I—have more important missions to complete and questions to find answers to. And I need to get out of this t-shirt. My skin itches and crawls beneath the black fabric. Wearing something of Ash's isn't what bothers me, but the reminder that comes with it. Why I have to wear it. I shiver and pull the door shut before moving on to the next room.
And...well, well, well. The room right next to it just so happens to have burn marks on the door. From a small flame? Matches? Practice...and playing with fire. I twist the knob and nudge the door open with my boot. It creaks and widens just enough for a bed to enter the frame. Hunter green blankets balled into a heap partially drape over the bed. A machine gun sits in a glass case right above the head board, and a few medals dangle from hooks alongside the wall. I nudge the door open a little more and step into the room. It smells like a combination of pine cologne and... a familiar scent I've caught wind of while passing the bathrooms and hidden corners of my school. I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure it's what I think it is: weed.
"Go figure," I mutter, turning my head to the remaining items in the room. Aside from the clothes scattered on the floor, everything it meticulously clean. Next to the bed is a wooden side table with a handgun lying out in the open, the bullets scattered. I walk to the desk a few feet from the foot of the bed, my eyes settling on a framed picture on the very corner. There's a younger Ash, probably no older than fourteen, his dark hair sticking up in random directions—much like how it is now. His blue eyes are illuminated by the sunlight and he's aiming a fluorescent green water gun at a girl with wavy hair, same color as his. She has her arms up to shield her from the water, but she wears a smile colored with pink lip gloss. It's hard to tell where they are because the picture is so close, but it's outside where the sun shines.
So...this is where Ash sleeps, huh? Not much to it, but I guess that's a pretty clear depiction of his personality. At least, the parts he wants people to see. The walls are up no matter where he is. No wonder he doesn't care if I explore without him monitoring. He doesn't have to worry about hiding anything when everything's already hidden within him.
I exit his room and shut the door behind me. The last room turns out to be a bathroom, so I continue onto his sister's room. I expect her room to be colorful and lively, a complete juxtaposition to Ash's room, but everything but the furniture is cleaned out. Her bed, complete with frilly white sheets and a bed skirt, is neatly made. The nightstand, however, stands alone, and the vanity is bland as well. No pictures line the walls, no posters, and a single pink rug is the only piece of color near the side of the bed. What was she like? If she hadn't cleaned out her room before running off, what would it look like?
I'm surprised she even left any clothing. The closet door is open, so I dig through the few shirts and pants hanging up. I grab a purple crop top from a hanger and hold it against me. The bottom reaches mid-stomach. So, we're close to the same size. How ironic? I toss the top to the floor and yank shirt after shirt after shirt down, acting as if I'm on a shopping spree rather than picking survival clothing for an apocalypse. When I find a pair of shorts, I shut the door and strip down completely, tossing my current clothes in a heap and kicking them aside. Get rid of it all, my body screams. I don't want any piece of the Before Me; that Scarlett is gone; dead with everything else. Maybe I could burn my clothes once I put fresh ones on. Watch the fire crackle and the smoke rise as the clothes shrivel to nothing but ash, mixing with the dirt in the ground and melting away deep, deep, down into a pathetic little grave.
Can't think about it; can't let it get to me. It's all done. All gone. Everything before today...gone. I just need to forget. Maybe that's what Ash does. Is it really such a bad alternative to being constantly haunted by deadly memories?
I grab a black tank top from the pile of clothes I tore from the hangers and put it on, then add a black-and-white plaid flannel over it. I roll the sleeves up my forearms. If it gets in the way, I can just tie it around my waist. And then I figure...what's the point of minding my guest manners anymore? In this new world, rules no longer apply. I rummage through any drawers in the room; vanity, dresser, nightstand, until I find a few hair ties to keep around my wrist. I tie my hair up and out of my face. I avoid looking in the mirror. I toss stuff aside and dig through hampers and jewelry boxes and makeup bags. But apparently, Ash's sister took everything useful she could. After all, she was going on her own survivalist journey, wasn't she?
Before I can finish my raid, Ash's voice cuts through the silence: "Scarlett!"
I freeze, my hand on another drawer handle. He's still downstairs, but his voice is more distant than before. Muffled, even. "Yeah?" I call.
No answer.
"Ash?"
Again, no answer.
"Crap," I mutter, pushing to my feet. I whip out my gun and sprint out the door and into the hallway, when suddenly—
Bang!
I freeze again. Was that a...?
Bang-Bang!
Gunshot. Outside. Not too far and completely clear; unmistakably clear.
Oh no. No, no, no... De ja vu sends my mind spinning and my heart hammering as I take tentative steps towards the stairs. "Ash?" I call. My only responses are several dull thuds coming from what sounds like the front door.
Can't be knocking...can it?
I pad down the stairs and peer out from behind the wall near the front door. Thud, thud, thud! From where I stand, it's impossible to capture anything out the window... Where's Ash?
I emerge from behind the wall and back away towards the kitchen. Can whoever's out there see me even though I can't see them? I don't want to wait to find out. I continue backing as quietly as I can into the kitchen, my gun steadied out in front of me. The wooden floors creek behind me, and just as I'm about to turn towards the sound, someone grabs hold of my arm and pulls me away from the kitchen and into a neighboring room. I stumble to the left and nearly drop my gun just as a hand claps over my mouth. A scream fights to escape, but I'm pulled against something solid and the wind is knocked out of me. But before I can squirm or put up a fight, Ash whispers behind me, "It's me...it's okay. Did you hear the gunshots outside? I think someone's following us."