"WELCOME TO BRAXTON. A GOING, GROWING TOWN," the wooden sign reads before us in white saloon-style letters. The minimal landscaping surrounding the large sign is pitiful. The once-leafy plants are shriveled up and brown. Flowers are nothing more than black stems.
I can't believe it's really here in front of me. My home town. After days of wandering alone in this horrific world, I've made it back.
My pace slows as the sign grows in front of us. We've done it.
I'm basking in my overwhelming sense of relief when I hear, "What's next?"
Travis's eyes are rimmed and saggy. He bumps Emmie awake and sets her onto her feet before sinking down to the floor. My reflexes cause me to reach for him, initially thinking he is fainting, but my hands never meet his skin. And all he does is sit.
"Are we there?" Emmie moans, her eyes blinking slowly.
Travis glances up at me from the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. Now that we've arrived, I somewhat know my way around, though the virus has definitely taken a toll on the place. The good thing about Braxton though, is that it's not very big. There's the tiny downtown area and then large-land homes and farms spread throughout the rest of it.
"It's...on the other side," I tentatively inform him.
Travis wipes his pale face clean of sweat and built-up grime and sighs. "We'll rest for a couple minutes. But it's almost dark, so not long." He falls backward onto the ground, overcome by exhaustion.
I sit on the curb of the road, the tightness in my joints relaxing. The ache sets in then and I feel it in my back, my feet, and my ankles. Getting up and moving again will be one of the hardest parts about today.
As Travis and I recharge, Emmie is bending her knees and stomping her feet to get her blood flowing again.
Before we have to get up and keep pressing onward,"Are you feeling okay?" I ask.
He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them back up to fix his gaze on me. "Yeah, I'm...I'm fine," he says while blinking repetitively, as if he's trying to convince himself.
"You should eat something," I suggest. "It'll help. You've been hauling a lot of extra weight." A backpack, a sniper rifle, and Emmie.
Travis purses his lips, considering it. He then swings his backpack around and unzips the main pocket. His hand disappears into the bag as he searches for the energy bar and he hurries to tear off its packaging. The aroma of the nutty protein-packed bar instantly spreads through the air when he rips open the package and breaks it into three even pieces. The thing looks more than delectable and has my mouth watering at the sight of it. It has the appearance of a squashed chocolate brownie, and I can't imagine something tastier at this moment.
Travis hands one of the three parts to me. "Here."
I want it badly, but find the will to deny his offer. "You deserve it more than I do," I reason.
His hand remains suspended in the air, clutching the piece. "That's not how I play. Take it."
I pluck the piece from his hand, thank him, and toss it into my mouth. The tiny helping reingivorgates my dormant taste buds as I savor its chocolatey-peanutty goodness until it completely disintegrates on my tongue. Once the bar is gone between the three of us, Travis groans as he gets to his feet and stretches his back out. I already know what he's going to say.
"I'm sure we'll get there before dark if we wait a few more minutes," I tell him. Then I gradually rise to my feet. Ugh, the pain. My legs feel like cooked noodles.
"The sooner the better. Go on, lead the way." He gestures at me before Emmie takes his hand.
At the front, I lead the group, but am taken back by the change that's transpired since I was in Braxton last. The strip of brick-faced, family-owned restaurants and chain grocery stores have been invaded and wiped clean. The longer I focus on the destruction, the stronger the awful smell in the air seems to get; it's a solid concoction of spoiled food and animal feces—certainly nothing to smile about. I choose not to prolong my stare into the shops—afraid I'll catch sight of more dead—so I concentrate back on the road ahead to redirect my attention.
That's when I spot the silver SUV. It's in decent condition despite a minor dent in the front bumper and dire need to be cleaned, and sits alone in the middle of the road, parked at an angle as you'd see in car commercials. Right there in front of us, ready to be driven off. Could it still be running? Maybe the owner is doing a supply run.
Slowing my pace to meet the others, I wait for Travis to notice the vehicle as well. His eyes are on Emmie until they shift upward and lock on the SUV. That's when his feet lock, too. We exchange glances and Travis swivels his gun around to his front before inching toward the car. I hang back behind him with my arms around Emmie, who leans into my side. She must recognize his stance.
Travis scopes out the vehicle as we encroach upon it and jerks the passenger door open, his gun at the ready if anyone pops out. I notice the keys in the ignition, but I can't be sure he has. When he finds nobody, he steps away and checks the back, moving ever so cautiously, his muscles stiff and controlled.
I peek around too, and I do, I spot movement through the driver window. A body runs and hides behind a building about a hundred feet from where we stand. I go still.
"Travis," I try to say coolly, but my voice cracks.
He's focused on the car when I speak, but meets my eyes regardless, clearly catching on to my tone.
"What?"
I stare at the road where someone new is creeping forward with an object the size of a crowbar in his fist. He's wearing old jeans and a grey sweatshirt with the hood thrust over his head, blocking all details of his face.
"Shit," Travis spits out, and repositions his body in front of us, revealing himself to the man, who is quickly joined by the other. "It was a trap," he mumbles and starts cursing under his breath.
Travis's presence spooks the two guys, but doesn't deter them completely. He raises his long gun to fire, and right as he shoots, the guys separate, racing toward us in two diagonals. After the misfire, I hear, "Get in! Get in!"
The scrambling commences.
Travis and I rush to swing open the car doors, but by the time I shove Emmie inside, the guys close in and the car starts and takes off. I try leaping into the back, but the hooded man snatches my arm, thwarting my escape. With no weapon, I jab him with my elbow and sprint for my life. The SUV is swerving around madly, spinning in circles with no rhyme or reason before going full speed ahead down the road, leaving me to fend for myself.
Behind me the engine of the SUV gains speed and I check my left to see Travis steering it straight for us. With nothing but adrenaline fueling me at this point, I give it all I can and pump my legs harder to gain more distance between both of the men in my wake. Suddenly the vehicle zooms by and I hear a sickening crunch and I can only assume the worst fate. I peer over my shoulder and one of the guys is down on the ground, motionless. The man with the hood makes a break for it, cursing loudly as he takes a sharp turn into one of the stores.
With nowhere to go, I anxiously scan my surroundings, wondering where the hell to go next. Will Travis come back for me?
I have no idea the intentions of the hooded man. Is he searching for a weapon inside the store? Is he done with me? Is he gathering more of his friends?
My throat on fire, I hustle to the alley behind the stripmall, gasping for air. But I know I can't stay here. I'm not exactly hidden, but I'm winded and getting hit hard with nausea. My head is spinning like a runaway tire and my legs are shaky and numb. I don't even have the breath to scream for help.
After a few seconds, I jog out from behind the wall and am stopped in my tracks as the man meets me on the other side.
"Surprise," he says, his voice unnaturally hoarse. Gulping down fear is impossible, but I try. "Don't really appreciate you killin' my friend back there. We just wanted your shit, but hey, I could settle for you, too." His gaze falls as he drinks me in. "Don't know the last time I saw a healthy girl."
I'm nearly blocked in. My only way out is around him.
"Help—"
"Ah ah ah," the guy scolds me. He grabs my shoulders and slams me into the wall, causing the back of my head to collide with the jagged brick. I wince at the pain, but pretend it doesn't phase me. The man adjusts his hands and grips onto my throat. "No yelling," he warns, his dark eyes narrowing as he closes in tighter, compressing my windpipe. "You're coming with me."
My chest begins to convulse as my lungs struggle to pump air through them. I reach for his face and push, squeeze, do anything I can so he loosens his grip, but the black spots distorting my vision make me fade faster.
The sound of a car screeching to a halt weakens the man's hold and I get a couple breaths in, enough to make the black dots retreat. Fifty feet from us sits the silver SUV and I find myself sighing at the sight. Travis didn't abandon me after all.
I wedge my arm underneath the man's grasp and pry him off me right as I hear a shot ring out.
The man's force against me instantaneously stops. His mouth pops open and he glances down at the augmenting bloody spot on his stomach as red seeps through his shirt. Instant tears fill my eyes as I cough oxygen back into my system. He loses all balance and tips toward me, so I use all my strength to throw him off and watch him fight for breath like I had. Then go totally silent.
He's dead. Someone who'd survived this far into the epidemic—gone.
"Come on!" Travis calls out from the window.
Eventually, I'm at their side, huffing and puffing as I yank the car door open and fall into the passenger seat.
"Thanks," I wheeze out.
"That's two bullets now," Travis replies curtly.
I'm too tired to truly understand the meaning behind his words and ultimately decide to ignore whatever his comment implied. Then I lift my hand and stroke the back of my head where it met brick. Sure enough, there's a bleeding cut along my scalp about an inch long. It doesn't hurt too bad now, but I'll probably feel it tomorrow once it bruises.
Nobody further discusses what happened. Travis doesn't ask me if I'm alright or console me in any way like I half-heartedly hoped he would. His focus is purely on the road ahead.
I think about Emmie in the back seat having witnessed all of it. Front row to cold-blooded killing. My stomach churns at the idea of her watching Travis shoot that man dead like it was nothing. The worst part is how unaffected she acts because of it. She's simply staring out the car window longingly, like she's on her way back from vacation and ready to nap as soon as she sets foot inside the house.
"Which way are we going?" Travis growls in a low voice. "I'm already sick of this damn town," he continues under his breath.
Still gathering myself from the recent events, I relay the directions to him with a wavering voice. It won't be more than a ten minute drive from here at the speed he's going. The radio is static, so labored breathing and the hum of the engine are the only sounds filling the car until we reach my long gravel street. I inform them of the news of being close and Travis's hands start fidgeting at the wheel. He lightens his force on the accelerator and spends time inspecting the area as he drives as though he's still convinced I've lied to him about the place.
I press my forehead against the window and observe the wasteland. The rolling farmland stretches far and wide on both sides of the road, the smell of cattle infiltrating the A/C as we travel. Rows of crops ranging from corn to potatoes to soybeans spread across the land from neighboring ranches. My parents never owned any large, harvestable patches of land, but our house is wedged between some which are.
Are our neighbors dead?
Up ahead, my rusty silver mailbox with the three-digit address nailed onto the post stands, welcoming me back. As my family's lot formulates in front of me, I notice the sprouting weeds at the edge of the lawn. Dad used to be so good about keeping up with those. A weed never wins in my yard, he'd always say.
"This is it," I say quietly, and Travis pulls into the dirt driveway. Tears accumulate in my eyes as I gaze upon the farmhouse. Never did I believe I'd actually see it again. But here I am, back to square one.
The faded yellow house is frozen in time with its white trim, black shutters, and wrap-around porch. As I step into the long, grassy yard—an ideal habitat for snakes and ticks, I might add—I become increasingly disappointed. A window pane has been smashed in and the front door has been pounded open. Someone has been here. Someone came here and destroyed my home.
Travis releases an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe it..."
"Where are we?" Emmie whispers to him.
I beckon at them and they follow me toward the cornfield where the shelter resides several feet underground. Travis's eyebrows burrow toward his noise and his eyes squint just a little as he and Emmie trail behind. We weave through a forest of tall corn stalks and halt at the series of locks hooked on the thick steel doors. I sling my leather backpack off my shoulders and snag the set of keys at the bottom to start the unlocking process. The security my dad incorporated is quite excessive, with three interwoven locks for both the inside and outside, impenetrable bulletproof doors, and steel-reinforced concrete walls.I hadn't thought about the extent of it until...now.
"Talk about precaution," Travis remarks as I pop open the last one, half-hoping my parents will be inside waiting for me. "It's like you all knew this would happen."
"Help me with the doors, will you?" is all I say, and he does, lifting the right one as I do the left. My face falls when I peer inside and see no one. "Climb in Emmie. Travis."
They do.
I swallow back my emotions before collecting the locks and entering last. After I drop the other door down and seal us in, it turns pitch black in here, so I rush to find the generator in the corner and switch it on. It kick starts and slowly breathes electricity into the few lights in here.
Travis laughs hysterically when all the lights illuminate. Emmie looks confused, but pretends to react the same way as Travis. "You have a generator?"
I nod. "Propane-powered. We have them stocked in the barn. There's a backup crank too, though. Somewhere..." I search the generator for some sort of handle, but decide it doesn't matter right now.
"Why did you leave, again?" he asks rhetorically.
I bite my lip and can't find it in me to meet his eyes. "Just go have something to eat." I point to the cupboards. "Over there."
The layout of the shelter is a sort of a kitchen/bedroom combination. There's a mini fridge that is only turned on if needed, a microwave, numerous cupboards filled with non-perishables and health supplies, and whatever else my mom and dad decided to store in here. Honestly, I didn't take the time to rummage through it all. Only took what I thought I'd need before leaving.
After Travis and Emmie's in-awe moment at the place, they both rush over to the shelves of food and grab away.
Suddenly at a loss of appetite, I slump down on my stomach on the bottom bunk I used to sleep in before I fled. Across from mine is another set of bunk beds that my parents slept on—my mother on the top, and my father below. I wish they were here. I wish I could introduce Travis and Emmie to them. My mom used to love it when I brought friends home, and as I got older, she got giddy at the mention of grandchildren in her future. It always stumped me when she'd talk of family though, because we hardly ever saw ours.
Despite my killer headache, I know I can wait until the morning to eat. Resting is first on my list of priorities.
"Aren't you gonna eat?" Travis wonders behind me.
I don't bother turning to face him directly. "I'm fine," I mumble. The thought of getting up is enough to keep me down.
Part of me is angry at the idea of hiding away and giving up on my parents. Another is telling myself to face reality: they are dead.
I turn over and watch Travis lean against the wall as he gobbles up two Pop-Tarts and guzzles down a bottle of apple juice. I can't see what Katie's munching on, but she's eating just as fast.
After a minute of rest, I rise to go lock the doors up. I mosey on over, up the stairs, and thread them through one another the way my dad showed me before taking off. I take my time closing shop, mostly because the deja vu strikes hard, and I hate the feeling of it. My heart sink into my stomach as I turn back down the stairs, Travis's eyes on me like a hawk.
I don't feel fear with him when his gun is out of his reach. Killing me off is still a possibility, now that I'm just another mouth to feed. He's seen the keys. Seen the food. He would manage just fine with me gone. I've yet to get a read on how he feels about me. So far, I've been nothing but a problem, aside from bringing them here.
Now that I'm up, I rummage through the cupboards and grab a bag of potato chips for the trip back to my bed. Meanwhile, Travis is shedding his jacket and taking Emmie's from her. He then lays them over the footboard of the bunk and lifts Emmie up to the top. I slip my boots off and shove them beneath my bed, tug the covers back, and start to duck under when I sense a hand on my shoulder. I cringe away from Travis's touch and stare at him like he's nuts.
"What?" I huff out.
"Are you alright?"
I blink my eyes hard to shake off his sudden care for my well-being. "Fine. And if it's okay with you, I'm going to bed."
He scoffs at my attitude, but tries ignoring it. "You look upset."
I grind my teeth. "What do you expect?"
He veers his gaze from me. "Nevermind."
"I'm going to bed, Travis. The generator will shut off on it's own. If you want to kill me, at least have the the decency to take me outside first." I toss the bag of chips on the ground and climb into bed, but once I'm sandwiched between the blankets I'm too cumbersome, so I slip out and rearrange myself before finally crashing onto my back. I stare up at the mattress frame above me.
"Look, I just wanted to say—"
"Goodnight," I interrupt him and turn in to face the concrete wall.
"Thank you," he mumbles.
All the sound inside the shelter dissipates and my thoughts consume my brain. I only gave Travis what he gave me all day—avoidance. Clearly, he used me to get to the shelter. Never once did he want to have a normal conversation on the way. Never once did he attempt to spew anything but hate or regret about keeping me around. So what makes him think I should give him some kind of benefit of the doubt now that he's trying?
I still feel like a total bitch for blowing him off. Maybe because he did save me when it came down to it. He wasn't going to let that man kill me or allow me to get taken away by those guys. The first time around he didn't even know about the shelter.
My mind wanders, backtracking to when the hooded man from earlier had his hands on my throat. The scene reenters my head and plays like a horror movie. I remember thinking no one was going to rescue me, that I was done for, that I'd been betrayed and left by Travis just like I was by my parents. But he did return, and I'm alive now because of him.
"You're welcome," I murmur.