What Survives of Us (Colorado Chapters Book 1) (23 page)

Again, he didn’t give her a chance to respond, plowing forward.  “But most of all, more than anything, I hate the way you can hide your feelings from me.  Everyone else is an open book, but you’ve got that little two-way shield-thing going on, and it’s driving me crazy.  What makes your feelings so precious, so sacred, that you protect them like that?  What are you hiding?”

And now he did shut up, because he wanted her to answer.  Layla was just staring at him, eyes wide.  She took a deep breath, then another.  Her face tightened, then relaxed, and she dropped the wall. 

Jack took one stumbling step back, then another, dumbfounded.

Love.  Tenderness, exasperation, admiration, protectiveness, vulnerability and dear
God
, a whole-body stroke of lust that electrified the base of his spine and burned along every nerve ending he possessed.  This is what she was hiding, this nuanced but fledgling love.  And she felt it for
him
.

Jack shut his eyes.  He would master himself before he responded, by God, he would.  The silence between them stretched on and on.  He
felt
her slip back behind her wall, and oh, the relief of it, the loneliness of it.  He opened his eyes, and she smiled sadly.

“I guess we don’t have the luxury of pretending there’s not a pink elephant in the middle of the room anymore, huh?”

His brain wanted to scramble, but he controlled it.  Question after question arose, and he discarded all of them but one:  “Why?”

She actually laughed a little.  “Well, it’s not because of the sweet and courtly way you treat me, that’s for sure.”  She paused, staring down at the ground between them without seeing it.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think I’m meant to know yet.  There’s a synchronicity between us that feels significant.  It’s not something I chose.  It just is.”

Now he was scrambling, and he couldn’t control it.  He had asked, she had been honest, and he owed her some kind of response.  “Layla, I don’t…  I can’t…”

He felt a sharp flare of humiliation from her before she held up her hand, her face mask-like, controlled.  “Please.  You don’t need to say it, remember?”

They stared at each other, the moment stretching on in silent stillness, until Jack felt almost afraid to move.  How to go on from here?  How to return to the ordinary, the everyday?  Another consequence of the world they were now inhabiting:  gone were the days of hiding one’s true feelings behind a polite façade.  People were going to have to deal with each other in a whole new way.  At least until they learned the idiotic shield thing.

Hurried footsteps in the hallway outside gave both of them permission to move, to look away.  A brief knock, and the door popped open.  Martin, one of the men who had been on sentry duty that day, stuck his head in.  He glanced between the two of them, eyes narrowed, and cocked his head to the side.

“Ah.  Am I interrupting?”

Five minutes earlier, Jack thought, and they could have been spared the awkwardness they were currently suffering.

Layla answered.  “Not at all.  What’s wrong?”
              “Nothing wrong, exactly.”  Martin was vibrating with excitement.  “There’s a woman here, with her daughter.  She says they’re from the Springs.”

Jack and Layla moved together to follow him, the situation between them abruptly – blessedly – pushed to the back burner.  As far as Jack was concerned, it could simmer there forever.  Martin led the way, striding swiftly and talking just as fast in his excitement.

“She says they hiked out of Manitou Springs and down into Cascade, then found a vehicle.  Highway 24 is blocked clear back into Colorado Springs, she says, and they were nearly caught in an ambush when they tried for Rampart Range Road.  She didn’t want to attempt Old Stage Road – she said it was too close to Fort Carson – they’ve got a refugee camp started there, and she didn’t want to get sucked into that.  Her daughter is sick.”

Jack stopped walking, and caught Martin’s arm in alarm.  “Hold on – sick?  Is it plague?”

Martin gave him an exasperated look.  “Of course not.  I know the protocol.  She’s a survivor, like you, but she doesn’t look good.”

“I know you know.  I’m sorry.  They’re our first refugees, and I guess I’m just jumpy.” 

Martin nodded his acquiescence, and they hurried on.  One of the questions that had arisen repeatedly over the last several days concerned the lack of refugees from Colorado Springs and other parts east.  According to the survivalist types in their group, the cities would rapidly become unsafe, and survivors would head for more remote locations.  Woodland Park was a scant 20 miles from the larger city, but other than a handful of people who had snuck out  before the plague broke the boundaries, they hadn’t seen a soul.

There were, however, a limited number of ways to approach Woodland Park, especially if Highway 24 was impassable.  Rampart Range Road and Old Stage Road both
provided alternate, if circuitous routes into the Woodland Park area, but both were dirt roads that had to be constantly maintained.  Without that maintenance, they wouldn’t remain passable for long, even in a four-wheel-drive vehicle.  Getting someone to check the condition of both roads was on the endless to-do list.  In the meantime, it looked like they might have an explanation for their isolation in spite of their proximity to a major metropolitan area.

Layla spoke.  “You said her daughter’s sick.  Is Rowan with them?”

“Yes.  I tried to ask if she had any other news, but once I introduced her to Rowan, that was it.  She’s pretty intense.  Totally focused on her daughter.  I don’t even know her name.  Oh, and I hope neither one of you are afraid of dogs.”

Martin was desperate for news, particularly of Limon, where his daughter and son had been living with his ex-wife.  He had lost his new wife and their infant son within hours of each other, and it had taken all of Jack’s persuasive abilities to keep Martin from heading out to search for his children.  The thought gave him pause now; had he given Martin a choice?  Really?  They needed every able-bodied person they had left to begin the rebuilding process, but that wouldn’t justify imposing his will on another…

Jack shook his head and pushed that thought, too, to the back burner.  Quite a collection of simmering pots he was accumulating back there.  They arrived in the general purpose room, which had been set up in anticipation of refugees, using the cots, bedding and supplies left over from the last time the church had housed evacuees from one of Colorado’s infamous forest fires.

Rowan knelt by the cot nearest to the kitchen, bent over a little girl tucked under a soft peach blanket.  She had set up an
IV pole with a bag of clear liquid hanging from it, and was frowning in concentration as she inserted an IV needle into the crook of the little girl’s arm.  Beside them stood a woman, blonde hair held back in a disheveled pony tail, arms folded across her chest, face reddened by time spent in the wind and the sun.  She glanced up at their approach, and both Jack and Layla stopped as if they’d hit a wall.

Desperation
.  She was frantic with fear, and it rolled off her in powerful waves.  Her eyes returned to her daughter’s face, and her emotions shifted to
love
, a mother’s love, fierce, transcendent, limitless.  There was nothing this woman would not do for the little girl on that cot.

“Holy shit.” 

Jack glanced at Layla, startled.  It wasn’t like her to swear – she claimed the habit made it too easy to slip up in front of her students.  She met his gaze and grimaced.  “That is some powerful juju she’s putting out.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “’Juju?’  Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes at him; he felt the amusement she didn’t show.  “It’s a technical term.”  She took a deep breath, then held out her hand, not making eye contact with him.  “Better do this together, I’m thinking.”

He didn’t let himself analyze or obsess, just joined his hand with hers.  Instantly, he could manage the woman’s emotions, keep them separate from his own.  “Thank you,” he murmured, and they started walking again, hand in hand.

They were only a few feet away when the big Rottweiler rose from the floor under the cot where he’d been lying.  He didn’t bark or growl, but it was clear they weren’t getting any closer.  At the foot of the cot, a tiny golden sprite of a dog also lifted its head, and the delicate growl that vibrated the air was no less intimidating than the Rottweiler’s quiet watchfulness.

The blonde woman’s head turned in their direction again.  She glanced between Jack and Layla, her eyes measuring.  Then, she nodded.  Both dogs relaxed instantly.  The little golden dog returned her gaze to the little girl’s face while the Rottweiler moved to sit by the woman, pressed against her leg, panting.  Jack and Layla exchanged a glance.  Interesting.

Jack nodded at her.  “Hello.  I’m Jack, this is Layla, and Martin here is the one who brought you in.  We’re glad to be able to help you.”

The woman hardly glanced at them.  “I’m Naomi.  This is Macy.”  To Rowan, “Is she unconscious or just sleeping?  She spoke to me as we were leaving Cascade, but she was so limp when I took her out of the truck.  She hasn’t been eating or drinking – she sneaks her food to the dogs when she thinks I’m not looking.”

Rowan’s face was tight with concentration and concern.  She lifted her hand to smooth it over the little girl’s hair, which glowed incandescently, even in the dim light of the church basement, even through the evident trail dust.  Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen such a beautiful color, like a sunrise.  Rowan lifted Macy’s eyelids, peering at her pupils with a tiny flashlight, then glanced up at Naomi.  “A little of both.  She’s dehydrated and exhausted.  We’ll get some IV fluids in her and let her rest, then I’ll complete my exam.”

She turned her face towards Jack and Layla, but didn’t meet their eyes.  Jack felt a flare of alarm; it wasn’t like Rowan to be evasive unless the prognosis wasn’t good.  “In the meantime, I’ll stay with her if you’d like to get something to eat, maybe use the bathroom and clean up.  Jack and Layla can show you where everything is.”

Naomi was already shaking her head.  “No, I won’t leave her.  I can’t.  I can’t let go.  I can’t ever let her go.”  Her voice rose with every word she spoke, and the animals mirrored her agitation.  The little dog whined softly and the Rottweiler rose to his feet, shifting and pressing against Naomi’s leg, his head turned up to her as if she were his whole world.

Jack groped for the right words to take her anxiety down a notch.  “Your dogs probably need some care as well.  Are they hungry?  We can come up with something for them, I’m sure.”

Naomi looked down, then bent to stroke both animals’ heads.  She didn’t speak a word, but Jack had no doubt whatsoever that communication was taking place.  Again, he and Layla exchanged a look.  He hoped they could shift her focus long enough to answer a few more questions.

Naomi straightened.  “They’re alright for now, in terms of food, but Hades needs water.”

Layla squeezed Jack’s hand once to warn him, then let him go.  It took everything Jack had learned about shields to keep Naomi’s worry from overwhelming him.  Serious juju indeed.

Layla stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on Naomi’s shoulder.  “Let’s go get him some.  I’m sure your daughter will rest better without us talking nearby, and she couldn’t be in better hands.  Rowan here pulled Jack through the plague.  He’s a survivor, like your daughter.”

Naomi focused on him, analyzing him from head to toe with laser sharp eyes.  “You survived?  You’re healthy now?”

Layla snorted as she gently steered Naomi away from her daughter’s bedside and towards the kitchen.  Hades stayed glued to Naomi’s opposite side, though the other dog stayed where she was, attention never wavering from the little girl’s still face.  “He’d be a lot more healthy if he would slow down, rest more, and eat more.  But will he listen?”

A tiny smile touched Naomi’s lips.  “Of course not.  Typical man.”  Then, her terrible sorrow permeated the space around all of them.  “My husband was like that, too.  He died April 6
th
, the day before Macy got sick.  Do you know what the date is today?”

Jack, trailing behind with Martin, answered.  “May 14
th
.  I’m told I fell ill on April 10
th
, but I don’t remember much of anything until about 10 days ago.  Rowan and Layla pulled me through.  We only know of a few other survivors.”

“May 14
th
,” Naomi murmured.  “It seems like so much longer, like years have passed.”

They entered the kitchen, and Naomi situated herself so she could watch her daughter’s cot as she leaned against a stainless steel worktable.  Layla filled a large bowl with water and set it on the floor for Hades, who lapped eagerly.  Then she went to their generator-powered fridge and started rummaging.  “We’ve got some vegetable beef soup – does that sound good?”

“Wonderful.”  Naomi heaved a sigh that seemed to go all the way to her toes.  “I’m so grateful for your help.  Everyone else we’ve met has been so hostile.  Oh – I almost forgot – I ran into some kids in Cascade that need help.  I told them I’d send someone, if I could.  I would have brought them with me, but Macy needed immediate attention and they were, well…”  She fell silent for a moment, the expression on her face conveying how deeply she was disturbed.  “They weren’t right.  Maybe not totally sane.”  She glanced down at Hades, and reached to stroke his blocky head.  “Then again, maybe none of us are sane anymore.”