He opens his arms as he sees me coming in for another hug. Helaughs and I smile through my tears, resting my head against his wet chest. He may feel awkward but I don’t care at this point. He’s alive and he’s here. I pull him close; I don’t want to not feel him against me ever again. He doesn’t even pull away. He’s here. He’s really here.
It’s me who pulls away first, but I still have my arms around him when I ask, “But how did you get here?”
“Did you see the construction site next to the road?” Vaguely? I remember an orange barrel or some yellow tape but that’s it. I nod anyway. “There was an excavator. I hid there while the lion waited for me. He paced around me with another lioness for a good four hours. Then the storm came, and I guess even big cats don’t like getting wet.” He shrugs and I allow my hands to fall away from him.
“So they left you?”
“Reluctantly. They ran over to the tree line and watched me from there. Then they finally turned around—I guess they headed home or were going for reinforcements. So I ran. After a mile or so I hoped I was in the clear. Though now that I’m saying it, it’s possible I led a pack of lions here, but at least you have bullets. Could I get some of them now?” He shakes the rifle back and forth at me.
I put the pack down and dig through it, taking out some rifle shells and handing them over to him. As he loads his weapon, something else crosses my mind.
“But how did you know to comehere?” Why wouldn’t he head for the airport? We’re on Lieper Street. Looking at the mailbox to Jamie’s right, I can see we’re standing in front of 4314. Four houses down from the house I’m looking for.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a torn road atlas.
“I found a souvenir shop with a stack of DC, Virginia, and Maryland maps. I remembered something about Lieper Street—I couldn’t remember the full number but I’ve been walking up and down this block for about thirty minutes. I figured if I kept walking I’d find you eventually.”
My body has finally gone numb. “How did you know?”
“You had the address written down on a piece of paper. I found it in the book you brought to the cabin.” He shrugs and for some reason looks likehe’sthe one who should feel guilty. “I didn’t think anything of it at first, but when you made us travel around DC I remembered the address.”
“So you knew I was coming here?”
“Yeah.” Again he sounds like he was the one who was caught in a lie.
“But you didn’t say anything? You could have been killed by escaped zoo animals because I wanted to come here and you didn’t even ask why?”
He shrugs. “I figured if it was that important you would tell me when you were ready.”
Again, I feel I like I might throw up. He washes away in a blur of tears and I cover my face as I fall to my knees, sobbing. He drops and pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back as I cry. It’s not an awkward patting; his touch is warm and comforting. He keeps telling me it’s all right and asks what’s wrong, but I can’t form it into words yet.
I also like his hands rubbing against my back.
He stops asking me what’s wrong and telling me it’s all right and just lets me cry. My sobs taper off and he lets me go. I sit against thepicket fence of number 4314 Lieper Street.
He’s looking at me.
“Do you want to tell me what we’re doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t say it rudely or demand an answer. He wants to make sure I’m ready first. And I am. I finally am. He’s come all this way and he’s waited the whole time, knowing I was lying to him. He deserves to know.
“Okay,” I say. Only how do you start a story that ends with you becoming a murderer?
Jamison
“OKAY,” ANDREW SAYS. THEN HE PAUSES ASif he doesn’t know where the story starts.
“I wasn’t alone the entire time I was out here. After my sister died, I mean. I left home in January but got stuck in Connecticut until the end of February. I was hoping to get as far south as I could before it got really hot.”
I nod. I know this part of the story already.
“I had just gotten past New York City when I ran into a couple. They were from Vermont. George and Joanne Foster. They were maybe in their fifties. We met at a supermarket in a small town in New Jersey I was passing through.
“I don’t know if people didn’t get around to looting it or what, but there was still a good amount of food on the shelves. We agreed we would each take whatever we needed and go on our way. I saw they had a gun, and I wasn’t armed, so I let them do their thing and I took my stuff and that was that.”
I know this can’t be the end of the story, though. My stomach is inknots, worried about what event would create the one thing Andrew would keep from me.
“They left before I did. A few miles down the road I ran into them again. They had set up a fire and stopped to camp for the night. I was wearing layers and gloves but it was still so cold. I waved to them and I heard Joanne and George speaking, very low. Then they called after me.
“They invited me to share their fire, so I joined them. We ate our own food and we got to talking. They were heading south to... well, here. They were coming to meet their son, Marc, and his wife, Diane, and their two kids, Katie and Emily....”
