“Here.” She holds the tool out to me. “This used to be my husband’s.”
“No, we can’t accept—”
She cuts me off. “I found it a few months back when I was cleaning up. I thought we’d lost it but here it is. Take it. You might be able to use it on the road and I’ve got a whole toolbox in the garage.”
I’m not sure if I should take it. She’s given us enough as it is. Butthen she sighs and grabs my hand, closing the multi-tool in it.
“Just take it.” I glance at it. It’s engraved with the initials “T.C.W.” “If you boys are ever in the neighborhood again, stop by. Only this time bring some food with you.” She winks as she opens her arms.
“Thank you, Henri.” I go in for the hug.
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” She squeezes me goodbye and whispers in my ear. “Remember what I said. People can surprise you.”
I nod. Then Andrew gets his Henri hug and we walk through the iron gate. Henri locks it behind us. We say goodbye again and she watches us go. When we turn the corner we wave to her one final time and she gives us a wave back.
Andrew tells me about her family and how she had a daughter named Amy who could still be alive in Florida. I think of Henri all alone up here and I want to go back for her. I’d walk her all the way down to Florida alone if I had to, but I don’t think she’d come with us.
I come to a stop and point to a highway on-ramp sign. “We could go that way. I checked on the map this morning and it said it meets up with 95.”
Andrew looks as though he’s thinking about it for a moment but then shakes his head. “No, I think we should keep heading this way.” He points straight, the direction we’re going. Toward Alexandria.
I nod and we keep walking. But I still know there’s something Andrew isn’t telling me. And Henri’s words resound in my head.People can surprise you.It could have been a warning, but only if she knew why Andrew was pointing us toward Alexandria. He wouldn’t just tell a stranger something he wouldn’t tell me.
He said he wanted to find other survivors. But Henri said there’s no one left. It’s only us out here so there’s no logical reason for us to be passing through Capitol Hill and into Alexandria.
Then last night I remembered more about the sheet of paper that was in his paperback copy ofThe Voyage Out. I can’t remember the name of the people, but I remember the street. Lieper Street.
It could be a family member. Or an old boyfriend. That would explain why he would leave and not expect me to follow; because then I’d be a third wheel. But he would tell me if that was it. Wouldn’t he?
Whoever lives in Alexandria, he doesn’t want me to know about them. He might be keeping quiet about it because he really wants to find whoever lives on Lieper Street and he’s worried that speaking the hope aloud might ruin it all.
I’m curious what his endgame is. How does he expect to go looking through Alexandria without me asking him where he’s going? How far do I let us go before I tell him I know something?
We turn down Massachusetts Avenue. There’s a peeling orange sign warning about a construction zone in a mile and another that shows a lane closure graphic.
The city’s silent, leaves and garbage blowing around in the gutters on the streets. The metal clang of a banner fastener blowing against a streetlight echoes around us. Most of the banners are faded and tattered from the weather.
I glance at one; through the tatters I can make out the printed picture of a panda bear. Something crunches under my foot. I look down; it’s bones. Some small mammal, not human.
I scan the street. “Do you notice anything?” I ask Andrew.
He looks around. “What do you mean? It looks the same as everywhere else does.”
I grab his arm, stopping him. “No, really look. What’s missing?”
He shrugs. “I see all the makings of an apocalypse. Abandoned cars, garbage, cracked asphalt with weeds overtaking the street. Mother Nature taking back what’s rightfully hers.”
“There’re no bodies.”
He doesn’t speak as he looks around. Then says, dragging out the word, “Yeah.”
“We’ve seen so many of them over the past few weeks I didn’t even realize they weren’t here until I stepped on those.” I point a few paces behind us at the animal bones. They’re sun-bleached white and completely dry. Unlike the people bones we’ve seen in differing states of decay.
“Maybe there’s someone running around trying to clean up the bodies?” Andrew offers.
“But they decided to leave the garbage?” There are food wrappers and newspapers lining the gutters, faded and dried from the sun and weather.
Andrew shrugs. “Are you really complaining about the cleaning habits of the apocalyptically inclined?”
