The Last Woman (All That Remains #1) (2 page)

“You never know what we might
need. One of the kids might need stitches or...something,” I finish lamely. He
looks at me with an expression of amused skepticism. Hmm, maybe it’s time to
straighten something out. “I’m not asking your permission, you know. I’m
going.”

“So damn stubborn,” he mutters
under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you
are stubborn
.
If you insist on this ridiculous trip then I’m going with you.”

“You don’t...”

“I’m not asking
your
permission. We’ll go in the morning,” he snaps.

Airen doesn’t speak to me for
the remainder of the evening, but he’s prepared for our excursion into the
hospital the next morning. He’s more than prepared with two high-powered
flashlights and a set of walkie-talkies.

“They have a two mile radius.
The kids can stay in a nearby house and remain in touch with us,” he explains.
“We have one stop to make along the way.”

Once in town, he stops to
search through a police station and returns with two gas masks. That never
occurred to me, although I did skip breakfast out of fear I’d be sorry later.

With the kids safely ensconced
in a nearby trailer, we prepare to enter.

“Put your mask on, Abby. We
stay together. Understand?”

I nod. He’s so bossy, but I
know he’s frightened. We don the masks and enter the lobby. It’s dark and empty
with a horrid putrid smell, somehow sweet and rotten simultaneously. I hate to
think of how strong it would be without the mask.

“You okay?” Airen’s muffled
voice is barely audible. I nod and point to a sign, SURGERY, and we head in
that direction. The Bluegrass Medical Center isn’t exactly a hospital, although
that’s how everyone in this small town once referred to it.

It’s a small, one level
building with an emergency care wing on one side and patient rooms on the
other. Two operating rooms are in the rear along with a recovery room, ICU, and
a radiology department. To the right of the entrance is a small cafeteria, a
staff break room, and a multipurpose room used for educational purposes.

I shift the empty backpack
higher onto my shoulders as we push through the double doors separating the
lobby from the hallway. Oh fuck. Oh, we shouldn’t have come. This is too much.
I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut. Airen takes my hand while I try not to
breathe too deep. The stench is much worse. Of course, it is. The emergency
room to our left is packed with corpses.

The remains of men, women, and
children are scattered about the floor and lying on the benches and chairs. Gurneys
line the hallway end to end, filled with plague victims, decomposing in the
cool dark building. A shudder runs through Airen, and I instinctively move
closer to him. After what seems like an eternity, but was surely only seconds,
he points his light at the door at the opposite end of the hall. It’s an
operating room.

We make our way down the hall,
careful not to step on anything. The OR is mercifully empty. In a small
storeroom at the rear, I load up on surgical instruments. I have no idea what
we need so I grab a little of everything.

Taking Airen’s hand, I lead
him out of the OR toward a row of offices and through a door etched
Chief of
Surgery
. On a bottom shelf, we find thick medical reference books with
diagrams and multicolored plates, most of which I couldn’t understand if I had
a hundred years to study. Luckily there are more useful manuals showing how to
start an IV drip, calculate the dosage of antibiotics, and stitch and bandage a
wound. We add them to our backpacks which are growing heavy.

We turn left out of the office
into the back hallway where a corpse dressed in white sits behind a desk. It’s
impossible to tell whether it was male or female. I suppose it doesn’t matter.
We make a right down another hall leading to the cafeteria. This hall is clear
although the patient rooms we pass are crowded with occupied beds. There doesn’t
appear to be anything useful for us to gather. My hand trembles as I point to
the exit, and Airen speeds toward it, pulling me along. We burst into the
sunshine and gloriously fresh air and fling off the masks.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, breathing
hard. “Damn Airen! I’m sorry! I had no idea it would be that bad.” Could I have
really done that alone? I seriously doubt it.

“We made it,” he pants. “I’m
never going back in there and neither are you.”

The things we got were worth
it though.

* * *
*

We begin to devote two hours
in the late afternoon to learning all the survival skills we can manage. The
kids have dubbed this time school, but Airen and I are hardly teachers. We
study along with them. Carson and Airen seem to have a better grasp of the
hunting skills, although all of us can shoot. We all focus on the gardening and
water purification books since those are our number one priorities.

Jayla’s interest lies in the
medical manuals. We study the first aid books, and I insist everyone learns how
to start a saline drip, give an antibiotic shot, and bandage wounds. We never
know who will need help or who will be around to give it.

Airen is terrified of needles.
I mean seriously phobic. He wouldn’t even let Jayla prick his finger when she
and I were playing with a blood sugar monitor. If I ever need a shot or an I.V.,
Jayla is definitely my first choice to administer it. She’s so intelligent and
nothing really seems to bother her.

Our days are pretty full. We
spend much of our time with the chores of daily life with limited power and no
running water. We study and learn new ways to take care of ourselves. Airen and
I both worry about the kids missing out on their childhood. We don’t want them
to grow up too fast and miss out on their adolescent years. They should be
spending them with friends having fun and growing up.

However, some things are
necessary. They have to work alongside us in the garden. We need all the help
we can get. They haul wood, water, and gas, plus help with countless other
chores. Still, we want them to have fun. We throw a football around, catch
fireflies, swim in the lake, and toast marshmallows over a bonfire. Airen can
sing and play the guitar which may be the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. They
love to sing and dance along with him.

We spent one hilarious morning
together watching Carson and Airen try to jump rope. Jayla loves to skip rope,
and she’s a pro. It had been years since I’d attempted it, and I was pleasantly
surprised to find I could still keep up. After laughing at Airen and Carson
until our sides ached, we had pity on them and allowed them to spin the ropes
for us instead. Jayla and I had a wonderful time. I guess you’re never too old
for Double Dutch.

On rainy days we hook up one
of the video game systems or the DVD player, and watch movies or play games thanks
to the generator. We also play cards and board games or just sit around the
living room and talk. Jayla and Carson are talking more about their lives
before the plague. It’s as if they heal faster, and I envy their ability to
laugh instead of cry over the memories. I don’t seem to have the same skill, at
least not yet. We’ve all become closer. It starts to feel like a family.

“Jayla’s birthday is
Saturday,” Carson announces at dinner.

“I know.” I smile at him.
“What kind of cake would you like, Ms. Teenager?”

“Chocolate with chocolate
icing and chocolate chips?”

“Would you like some chocolate
with that?” Carson teases. “Some chocolate syrup or maybe we could crumble up a
Hershey Bar?”

“I wouldn’t turn it down.” She
laughs.

“Sounds good to me,” I tell
her. “Is there anything special you’d like to do?”

“We could hook up the Wii
,
and I can beat you all at bowling.”

“Are all teenagers
delusional?” Carson asks.

I’m trying to keep a straight
face. “Hush, Carson. Jayla, that sounds like fun, and I’ll make chicken stew
for dinner.” It’s her favorite, with homemade noodles.

“I can’t wait.”

When Saturday comes, Jayla’s
thirteenth birthday is a success despite the dismal weather. It has been
raining for nearly a week and everyone is starting to get a little stir crazy.
The kids are moping around, sniping at each other, and I’m in a mood that I
can’t seem to pull myself out of.

Only Airen appears to be
unaffected. Of course, he is normally quiet and broody so it would be hard to
tell the difference. It’s great fishing weather if you don’t mind the rain and
are as oblivious to the cold as he seems to be. He spends most of his days on
the lake.

When night comes, I lie awake
for hours, tossing and turning. Carson made a comment earlier this afternoon
that won’t quit haunting me. It’s amazing I can be so tired, but as soon as I
lie down, my brain decides it’s time to solve all the world’s problems. Which,
if you haven’t been paying attention, are pretty numerous.

Everyone has been asleep for hours
when I throw on my sweat pants and move to the sofa on the porch. The
wraparound porch is another part of this house I fell in love with. Screened in
and furnished like a sitting room, it stretches along the front and left side
of the house, with access to my bedroom and Airen’s next to it.

I have an urge to see the
stars, something I used to do whenever I was depressed, just sit and watch the
night sky. It’s beautiful. The stars are shining, and a few wispy clouds draw
thin lines between them. How can this still exist when our whole world is dead?
Billions of people are gone forever. Yet, the same cold stars, the same sliver
of an uncaring moon stare down at an empty planet as though nothing has
changed.

My chest tightens, and I keep
trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not a crier, and I especially hate
to cry in front of another person, but tonight I feel so overwhelmed and
hopeless I can’t fight it any longer. When I recall Carson’s innocent comment,
“I’ll never get my black belt.” I lose the battle. The tears overflow as I
despair of the endless list of things he’ll never get to do.

I’m sitting with my knees
pulled up to my chest, my arms draped across them, my head bowed and resting on
my forearms, bawling like a baby when a hand gently rubs my back. Oh, how long has
he been standing there? I know it’s Airen. I can smell his orange scented soap,
something I usually tease him about. I struggle desperately to stop crying.
Breathing deep, I strive for control and a small sob escapes.

“Airen, please, I need a few
minutes alone,” I whisper, keeping my head down.

“No, you don’t,” he answers in
a husky voice.

I obviously woke him. I’m torn,
embarrassed that he caught me crying in the middle of the night. Still, part of
me doesn’t want him to leave.

He continues rubbing slowly up
and down my back and asks, “What’s wrong?”

I snort. What could possibly
be wrong?

“I mean, is it something
specific? Did something happen?”

“It’s stupid.” I can’t tell
him I’m crying my heart out because Carson will never get his black belt. It
sounds ridiculous, but it encompasses so much. The life he should have had, all
of the opportunities he’s lost, that all of us have lost.

“Abby, I’m sure it’s not
stupid.”

I just shake my head, keeping
it down. The door squeaks as he goes back inside, and I sigh. I don’t know if
it’s with regret or relief. I’m still struggling to get a hold of myself when
he sits beside me. Without a word, he drapes a blanket across the both of us
and slides his warm arm around me. It’s all I can take. His concern and comfort
push me over the edge, and I can’t stop sobbing. He pulls me against his chest
until I bury my face in his shirt and break down completely. I no longer care
about being embarrassed. I’m past that. All the horror, worry, and grief overpower
me. I’m drowning in it.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. His
chin rests on my head while he strokes my hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I finally get a tenuous grasp
on my emotions and manage to calm down. Tears still run down my face, but at
least I can breathe again. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I never cry.”

“I know. I think that’s your
problem, sweetheart. You let it all build up,” he says kindly. Even in my
pitiful state, hearing him call me by that endearment pulls at something deep
inside of me. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Our kids have no future,” I
whisper.

He sighs. “They have a
different future than we expected. So do we. None of us can predict what’s
going to happen, Abby.”

“Did you know Carson studied
Shotokan Karate for six years?”

“Yes, he mentioned it. I could
learn a few moves from him.” He pushes a strand of hair off my face and tucks
it behind my ear.

“He was preparing to test for
his black belt. His teacher told me he knew everything he needed to know. He
was really good.”

“He is really good,” he
interrupts. “I’m sure he still has the skills.”