Keeping them safe is impossible if he’s dead, though. That’s where his lack of foresight fails him. What he doesn’t expect is Addison’s plea for mercy, or her refusal to leave overturned by her desire to save his life.
“I’ll go with you!” she yells. “Leave him unharmed, and let Emma stay here, and I’ll go. I can give you many more children. We can still follow the mission as we intended when we left the compound.”
The words hit Wyatt like a physical blow. She is willing to rejoin what’s left of this cult and become what amounts to a sex slave for this man, birthing him babies in the middle of an apocalypse and risking her life in the process, all to keep Wyatt from swallowing a bullet and her daughter from following in her footsteps.
The realization settles cold and heavy in his gut.
Even after his confession, she would trust her child with him. That’s when he knows exactly what he needs to do.
There’s no hesitation when Wyatt squares his shoulders, levels his voice, and pulls out the one card that he’s kept so close to his vest all this time. “I can fly you to Sedona. You can be there tonight. I have a plane. I’ll take you. But they stay here.”
His plane has one more trip left, if he’s lucky. He may not be able to get back via air, but he’ll crawl back to Addison on his hands and knees if he has to. It’s surprising how easy it is to give up the one thing that has felt like a lifeline all these years. That plane offered him solace during the rough points of his marriage, escape to Alaska after the divorce, and safety after the end of the world. She was all he had left, and he held on with a vice grip…until now.
It’s not just metal and fuel. It’s proof he survived. Proof that he could still leave whenever he wanted. One last chance at beating the odds.
He would sacrifice the plane a hundred times over to keep Addison and Emma safe.
“Wyatt,” she whispers in a scolding hush.
“It’s alright,” he says under his breath. You’re worth it, is what he keeps silent in his heart.
“Or I shoot you and take the plane.”
Wyatt grinds out his next words to Vincent with measured irritation. “Can. You. Fly. It?”
Sheepish silence. This one isn’t the brightest, that’s for damn sure. At least his stupidity works to Wyatt’s advantage. Wyatt doesn’t bother hiding his disdain. He also doesn’t bother explaining that the plane only holds two passengers. That truth belongs to a later moment, one he hopes Addison and Emma will be far away from when it comes.
“It’s pretty simple,” Wyatt continues. “I give you something you want…and you do the same for me.”
“Your plane for my wife?”
“Yes. The kid, too. Kind of a package deal.”
“There will be others there,” one of his friends whispers to him. “She isn’t the last one left. Once we reach the city, it’ll be easy to rebuild a community.”
There’s a funny taste in the back of Wyatt’s mouth when he realizes they mean she’s not the last woman alive to procreate with. That’s their whole mission after all. Addison is nothing but a breeder to them, and if he didn’t have several guns pointed in his direction, he’d be happy to shove the barrels directly up all three assholes.
“I accept your proposal. Show me this plane,” Vincent agrees, ignoring his family entirely.
Wyatt barely registers the shifting guns or the hurried movement, along with the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears. He grabs Addison’s arm before they can pull him away.
“Stay here,” he whispers fiercely, forehead nearly touching hers. “I’ll come back to you.”
And then he’s roughly led out of the house, swiveling his head back to find her face one last time, taking in every panicked feature as if he might never have another chance. Those big eyeswater with preloaded grief, her knuckles whitening where they grip Emma’s shirt as if to stop herself from chasing after him.
He burns the image into memory like every other moment they’ve shared together, hoping he’ll have a chance to add more to the pile someday.
How he plans to follow through on this promise is anyone’s guess. But he has every intention of trying. First, he’ll have to fly the enemy to a fictional promised land.
* * *
It’s a four-mile walk to reach the plane with a gun pointed at the back of his head. When he gets there, it is exactly how he left it. Hidden in a field surrounded by trees. They have to shove their way through branches and brush, but then there she is again, weathered and worn but still standing strong. Waiting for him like an old friend.
“Are you sure it can fly? It looks rather damaged,” Vincent questions.
“About that. Ran into some trouble up north. The left wing is struggling. But she’ll hold…assuming we don’t overload the cabin.”
“Overload?”
