The medic said something else, but I didn’t catch it. The ringing had gotten too loud, punctuated by the timpani of my heart thudding, thudding, thudding. I walked a circle around the tent until I spotted a track that matched Lauren’s hiking boots. The trail led me to a deuce-and-a-half parked on the outer perimeter. Lauren’s tracks stopped at the rear bumper. I stepped up into the cargo area and shined my flashlight around.
She lay on one of the benches, slumped over as if she had been sitting down, then lost consciousness. I rushed to her side and shook her.
“Lauren, wake up.” No response.
There is a stillness that comes over a person in death, an utter lack of movement, no slight stirring of respiratory action, no involuntary twitches, no thrum of pulse against the skin of the neck. Nothing.
The tears started flowing, then. What small spark of hope I had left died when I laid my fingers over Lauren’s carotid artery. I left them against her cold skin for a long moment, praying I would feel a beat, a flutter, anything.
My prayers went unanswered.
*****
The troops who took her away later told me they found us because they heard someone screaming. I don’t remember that part. I remember pulling her into my arms, and the dreadful realization that rigor mortis had begun to set in, and wondering what I was going to tell my father, and how the ringing in my ears became so loud I thought it would shatter the world.
The rest is a blur.
I came to my senses in the medical tent. When I sat up on my cot, I felt a hand touch my shoulder and looked up to see my father sitting across from me.
“Dad …”
“How are you feeling, son?”
I shook my head. There was nothing to say. Dad took my hand and pressed a piece of paper into it.
“She left a note, Caleb.”
I stared at it, a little white square with my stepmother’s last words on it. When I looked back up at my father, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his cheeks hollow, sunken, and covered in beard stubble. “Read it,” he said.
It took a few seconds to force my hands to respond. They shook as I unfolded the paper and held it up to the light.
Joe and Caleb,
This is not your fault. I did not do this because of you.
I’ve had enough. I look ahead of me, and I see nothing but darkness. There is no light at the end, no hope.
I can’t do this anymore.
The two of you brought me laughter, and love, and the best years of my life. You were the brightest stars in my sky. I will always love you.
We will see each other again, in a better place.
Take care of each other.
Lauren.
A sudden anger seized me. I crumpled the note and threw it to the ground. “How could she be so fucking selfish.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
“She should have said something. She should have come to us for help.”
“Caleb, don’t do this.”
“I can’t believe she would just leave us like this!”
Dad moved over to sit beside me. “There’s nothing we can do now, son. Getting angry and bitter won’t change a thing. And it won’t bring her back.”
My father put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest just as he had done a thousand times throughout my life. I sagged against him, his strength supporting me while I wept, and I remembered a smiling, auburn-haired young woman with hazel eyes and a shining smile and a laugh like the sound of bells ringing.
*****
Later, long after nightfall, after we had buried Lauren and said a few words over her and hammered a wooden cross into the ground, I sat atop a hill overlooking the convoy and stared at the fires straining against the endless dark. Part of an old poem I liked came to mind, one of Robinson Jeffers’ works:
Here the granite flanks are scarred with ancient fire.
The ghosts of the tribe crouch in the nights beside the ghost of a fire.
They try to remember the sunlight.
Light has gone out of their skies.
FORTY
Six days.
Six days since the convoy left the RV encampment. Six days since we had joined them hoping to find safety in numbers. And so far, all we had done was risk our lives so Morgan’s men would not have to, given up nearly all of our supplies, and lost the woman who mattered most to us in the world.
My father and I were in agreement. It was time to go.
After Lauren’s funeral, Morgan waited an hour, then announced the convoy would be heading out in the morning. He had managed to arrange for a supply drop, but we would have to cross into Colorado to get it. Personally, I thought he was full of shit. There was no reason an aircraft with the range of a Chinook couldn’t make it south to Oklahoma. He just wanted an excuse to get things moving. Tensions had been high in the wake of Private Stanhouse’s execution, and my guess was Morgan wanted to keep the peace by keeping his troops too busy to think.
Dad and I gathered everyone together early in the morning around a low-banked campfire. There was a clear sky overhead, the air was warm and getting hotter, and a strong breeze carried dust over the hills from the north. We stood in a tight cluster while my father spoke, staring at each other in the pale dawn light.
He said if any of them wanted to come with us, they were welcome. But if they wanted to stay with the convoy, that was all right as well. No hard feelings.
“Where you go, I go,” Sophia said, moving to stand next to me.
I pulled her close and looked to her father. “You’re under no obligation, Mike. Sophia is an adult now. She can make her own decisions. I’ll take good care of her.”
The big Marine chuckled and shook his head at me. “You two have no idea how dumb you are. Don’t get me wrong, I love you both, and I know you mean well. But you’re stupid as hell if you think I’m gonna let either one of you out of my sight.”
I smiled and acknowledged with a single nod. Dad took a moment to grip Sophia’s hand, then turned to the others. “Lance, what do you say, man?”
His eyes strayed to the other side of the camp where the rest of the civilians were slowly starting their day. “I think I’m gonna stay, Joe. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’m glad I could help you when you needed it. But I met a nice woman, and I know she isn’t going to leave this convoy. It might sound selfish, but right now, it’s the only thing I have to live for.”
Dad reached out and shook his hand. “Been nice knowing you, Lance. Best of luck.”
“Same to you.”
Blake took a step forward and said, “I’m with you, Joe. We’ve come this far together, might as well see it through.”
Dad thanked him, then looked at Tyrel and Lola. “What’s it gonna be, Ty?”
Our old friend shuffled his feet and glanced at Lola from the corner of his eye. “Well, my leg is still messed up. I wouldn’t want to slow you down. And I have Lola to think about.” He reached out and slipped his hand into hers.
Dad stepped closer and gripped his shoulders. “I understand, brother. Believe me, I do.”
They embraced briefly, patting each other on the back, then Dad turned to Lola. “Take care of this jackass,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “He requires constant supervision.”
Lola smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
To the rest of the group, he said, “We leave in half an hour. Let’s get to work.”