- - End of All Things, The (37 page)

Through the autumn, Justin had collected firewood from every farm within a day’s ride and had stacked it on the porch. He’d then cut down some trees from the small stand that lined the banks of the creek, using an axe when he couldn’t get the chainsaw to start. It scared her to death when she watched from the kitchen window. Justin wouldn’t allow her anywhere nearby. Carly always shouted to him after the tree fell to make sure he was all right.

Shadowfax dragged the logs up to the house where Justin used a handsaw to cut them down into more manageable pieces before splitting them into lengths of firewood. His hands blistered, then bled, and finally built up thick calluses, but he insisted it had to be done in order to have enough wood to keep them warm during the coming winter.

Carly was surprised at how much wood they went through in just a day’s time, so she understood why he’d been so worried they wouldn’t have enough. Justin kept the kitchen stove stoked and the fires burning in whichever room she was occupying at the time. The house, with its thick, brick walls, was cozy warm, except for the floors. No more running around barefoot.

“Come back to bed,” she coaxed, and he followed her back into their warm, soft bed. It was the most comfortable one Carly had ever slept in, but that might be due to Justin, as well. Justin sleeping at her side felt
right
, like he’d always belonged there and had finally taken his place.

In the morning, they were eating breakfast when Sam lurched to his feet and growled. He ran into the parlor and stood on one of the chairs, his legs braced on the back, to stare out the window, a menacing rumble coming from his chest.

Justin sprang into action. In every room, he had at least two guns stashed in drawers, in closets, in corners. Even the bathroom had guns stashed under the sink. He slung a rifle over his shoulder and snatched two handguns from a drawer. He put his back to the wall beside the front door, the handguns pointed at the ceiling. “Carly, honey, go upstairs,” he said, his tone calm and even. He had slipped into what she thought of as soldier mode; focused, cool, and deadly.

“No way,” she said “I’m not leaving you.”

“Carly . . .”

“No way. We’re a team.”

“The baby.” Those two words punched into her. Carly hesitated for a moment and then nodded. 

“Sam, go with Carly.”

“No, Justin, you keep him—”

Justin gave an exasperated laugh. “Don’t waste time! Go!”

Carly gave him a quick, hard kiss and dashed up the stairs with Sam right behind her. She took a position by their bed, knowing she could quickly hide beneath it if need be. Sam sat crouched by the door, waiting, his ears erect and pointed forward like horns, his nose already scrunched in a silent snarl.

Justin was right; she had to think of their baby first. She had to get the baby as far away from the potential danger as possible. It was something they had discussed, though Carly didn’t even want to think about the possibility. But Justin was a planner by nature and insisted they work out what they would do in case someone tried to attack the house. He’d forced Carly to promise she would run to save herself and the baby. For herself alone, she would have never made such a promise. She felt her place was at Justin’s side, come what may, but now, more importantly, there was the baby to consider.

For that reason, there was a ladder lying on the roof of the addition below their bedroom window. Carly could slide it down and climb to the ground in seconds. In the barn, Justin had stashed a bag of supplies and warm clothing. 

Carly repeated the plan to herself, as something to concentrate on besides her fear. She was supposed to follow the creek until she came to a small cabin, and if she couldn’t go in that direction or had to leave that location, she was to follow the road north one mile to a small farmhouse and hide in the cellar of the barn. She was only supposed to wait twenty-four hours before heading south on her own, something Carly privately thought was a terrible idea, but if both Justin and their supplies were gone, staying would be equally perilous.

Carly did the only thing she could; she clasped her shaking hands together and prayed.

Justin took a cautious peek out the living room curtains and waited for the lone figure to approach the door.

He was glad the house had retained its original doors; they were thick, heavy wood to which he had added a deadbolt. It made Justin feel marginally better about leaving Carly in the house while he went out searching for the things they needed and ensuring there were no signs of threats to their safety.

The smoke from their chimneys was a flag. Justin knew it announced their presence for miles around, though there was no way to prevent it. It would draw honest traders and thieves alike, good people and bad. All Justin could do was hope they would be ready to face any dangers that came their way.

The stranger knocked on the door. A second waited at the end of the driveway with a shopping cart mounted on what looked like a sled—full of their possessions in black trash bags.

Justin twisted the knob and darted back as the door swung open, both of his guns pointed at the face of a surprised man with white hair and a gently wrinkled face. The stranger tossed up his hands, and the blanket over his shoulders drifted to the porch floor.

“What do you want?” Justin demanded.

“Just to trade, son, if you were willing.” The stranger’s tone was calm and soothing as he backed away slowly. His heel caught in his blanket; he stumbled, and had to grab one of the porch posts to keep from falling. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way now.”

“What did you want to trade?”

The man trembled a little, though from cold or fear, Justin didn’t know. He had to respect, however, that the man met his eyes squarely.

“I was hoping you might have some winter clothing you would trade. For my wife.” He waved one of his upraised hands toward the figure at the end of the drive. Her face was turned toward them and Justin could see she was just as old as the man, perhaps even older. They were the oldest people Justin had seen since the Crisis.

Justin considered the matter. The stores had little in the way of warm clothes; it had been early summer when the Crisis struck. There was some extra clothing that had belonged to the woman who had lived here before their arrival. It was far too large for Carly, and she wouldn’t want it anyway, as bothered as she was by using the possessions of the dead. 

Still, Justin was suspicious. “Awful lucky both you and your wife survived the Infection.”

The man blushed a little. “She wasn’t my wife before the plague. But I didn’t think it was proper for a minister to travel with a woman who wasn’t his wife. It would make people question my moral character.”

Justin blinked. “You’re a minister, you say?

Justin took the stairs two at a time and ran down the short hallway to his and Carly’s bedroom. He threw open the door, and saw Sam leap to the side to avoid getting smacked by it, but she was nowhere in sight. He called out her name.

She lifted the hem of the dust ruffle and poked her head out from under the bed. That’s when he realized he must have alarmed her by running up the stairs like that. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s great!” Justin said. He reached under the bed, took hold of her arms, and tugged her out. “Marry me.” 

Carly gaped at him. “What?”

He laughed. “That came out wrong. I meant to say,
Will you marry me?
”

“What, like
now
?” 

For a long, terrible moment, he thought she was going to refuse, and his insecurities began to creep back in. But then he realized he hadn’t explained the situation in his excitement and to her, it must have come out of nowhere. She’d been worried about a gunfight, and he’d run up there and blurted out his request.

He tucked a lock of her caramel-colored hair behind her ear and looked down into the warm brown eyes of the woman he wanted to make his wife. His doubts and fears stemmed from a lifetime of abandonment, and they still whispered to him that she could do better and might change her mind once she had other options. He remembered what Carly had once said about wishing her head could convince her heart. He knew Carly wasn’t that kind of woman, but a lifetime of scars wouldn’t disappear overnight.

This was his chance to have something he’d always thought was impossible—a family. A wife and baby of his own. Carter had urged him to seize happiness instead of holding it off from fear of what the future might bring, and that’s exactly what Justin intended to do. He kissed Carly, light and sweet. “There’s a preacher downstairs.”

Carly’s expression turned from confusion to delight. “Why didn’t you say so? Of course I’ll marry you!”

Justin wanted to thank her, to promise he’d be a good husband for as long as she’d have him, but his throat was too tight for words.

“Dearly beloved, we join today Carly and Justin in the bonds of holy matrimony . . .”

Justin wished he’d brought Carly a dress. Any kind of dress. She shouldn’t have to get married wearing a pair of sweats, though they were her newest, nicest clothing.

Justin had a ring for her, at least. The minister’s wife had pulled her own from her finger and insisted they keep it for their own. “I’m not attached to it. I got it from a store after we got married because I thought we should have one. I can get another. And your bride needs a ring.” Justin was so grateful that he had given her one of his precious jars of peaches for it.

When it came time for Carly to make her vows to him, she slipped her father’s ring, the one that had The Unit’s insignia, onto his finger. He was so touched she’d given it to him that tears stung his eyes. He knew how much it meant to her, and he would have cherished it for that reason alone, but it was also a symbol of their union.

As though through divine intervention, both rings fit perfectly.

Justin promised to comfort, honor and keep Carly through sickness and health—those words had special resonance—and to be faithful as long as he lived. He meant it with all of his heart. Tears sparkled in Carly’s eyes as she promised the same. She didn’t wait for the reverend to pronounce them husband and wife before she jumped into Justin’s arms and kissed him with such enthusiasm she nearly knocked him over.

Reverend Davis had blank marriage certificates in his shopping cart, and he filled one out for them; Mrs. Davis signed as one of the witnesses. The other line would remain blank, making the event dubiously legal—if such a thing as law existed anymore—but it was the closest they would ever come. In the back pages of his Bible, the reverend wrote their names and, after a bit of discussion and guesswork, the date of their marriage.

Carly insisted the Reverend and his wife stay for dinner. She made a tuna noodle casserole, which turned out well despite the powdered ingredients. The Reverend said it was the best meal they’d had in months, the first
warm
meal they’d had in weeks. 

Justin pitied them, as neither was suited for this new world. They had been staying in abandoned houses, lighting small fires when they could, and slowly trying to make their way south. The Reverend was content that God would take care of them until their mission—whatever God willed it to be—was done, and then he would call them Home.