The old man's eyes sharpen with relief. "Yup."
"I was a Deputy there." The words come out quieter than I intend them to. "I know Ryker. He's a really good man. He kept people honest through the first of this shit show."
For the first time since the old man pulled alongside us, his face shifts. The pride he has in his son cracks the mask he puts on for the world. I feel a palpable relief, a calmness that was there in the beginning. It sets me at ease. If he loves his son, he’ll understand my need to protect Beth.
"Then you'll make sure he gets that?"
"Yes sir. I'll put it in his hands myself, or carry it until I can."
He looks out at the horizon, and his jaw tightens. I get the feeling he's trying to hold it together in front of us. That he's held his emotions in check for a very long time, and this might be the thing that breaks him. "I can't leave. My wife —" he stops and then clears his throat. "She's sick. Really bad sick. I can't be the one to go, but he needs to know what's in there." He doesn't explain further, and I don't ask. If there's one thing I learned being a cop, it was that sometimes you don't need to have all the information at once.
“Do you need help?” Beth interrupts us. “I was a nurse.”
A sad smile crosses his face. “There’s no helping her now, ma’am.”
All of us know what that means, and a quiet resignation takes over the vehicle.
"I'll find him," I tell him, and I mean it the way I did before the world went to shit. Back then my word was my bond. If I told you I'd do something, I damn well would.
He touches the brim of his hat, first to me and then to Beth, and then he turns his horse without another word and heads back the way he came, the sound of hooves fading until the road behind us is quiet again. I look down at the envelope once more before tucking it carefully into the center console. Beth is watching me when I look back up.
"You ready?" I ask.
She holds my gaze for just a beat. "Yeah. Let's forget stretching our legs. If we keep going, we can be there in the next week."
That's exactly what I was thinking. I put the Jeep back in drive, and we head south.
CHAPTER 9
BETH
"How about a fire tonight? I'd love some warm food. I’ve never been a fan of cold stuff. I'll eat it obviously, but with you here, it doesn't feel nearly as dangerous to have a luxury like warm food.”
I'm pushing my luck, and I know I am. Building a fire in the wilderness allows anyone to know exactly where you are and the dark shadows let them watch. They can wait for you to let down your guard.
"Not tonight," he says. "But I’m willing to negotiate for tomorrow when we stop for the night, we'll look for a place where we can have one. How's that?"
I try to push down my disappointment. It's not his fault. "Okay."
"You seem mad."
The tears that spring to my eyes are stupid. I'm not even sure why it's affecting me this way. We had warm food a few days ago, but for some reason this rejection hits deep. "I'm not mad, I was just really looking forward to a hot meal now that we have extra supplies." It's hard to speak around the softball in my throat.
"I get it. We're living a hard life."
He goes quiet after that, and I stare out the windshield at the tree line, blinking hard and feeling ridiculous for getting emotional over something as small as a hot meal. But it isn't really about the food, and some part of me knows that. It’s about how easy life used to be. I took so much for granted before the fall of the world. I’d had my life planned out. Within the next five years (which would be around right now), I’d meet a man, we’d fall in love, and settle down. None of that has happened, but I’m thankful to have Knox with me right now.
The soft sound of him shifting in his seat pulls me back from my thoughts, and before I can make sense of what's happening, he's reached over and curled his hand around the back of my neck, drawing me toward him. I don't resist. His mouth finds mine in the near dark. It's warm and unhurried, tasting like a peppermint candy he had earlier. He acts like we have all the time in the world even though we both know we don't. When he pulls back, his forehead drops against mine, and neither of us says anything for a long moment.
"Tomorrow night," he murmurs, his thumb brushing the side of my neck, "I'm going to find you the best campfire spot I can. And we're going to eat something hot. I'll even look for water so we can wash off. How's a bath sound?" Promises that probably won’t work out shouldn't be enough. But coming from him, somehow it is.
Like Heaven. I don't remember the last time I was able to wash off in something that wasn't just a bucket, or a washrag. "That sounds amazing. Thank you, Knox."
"No need to thank me. We're in this together."
And even those words bring tears to my eyes, because for so long I was in this all on my own. To know there's someone else to share the burden with? It makes the hardest times of our lives just a little bit easier.
I'm quiet for most of the rest of the day, lost completely in my thoughts. I don't even know why I'm taking this so badly. The stress of what we've been dealing with for years is catching up with me.
