Falling Together (All That Remains #2) (12 page)

“What
is this place?” A fireplace rests on a stone platform in the center of the room,
couches and recliners arranged haphazardly around it. Tables and chairs are
stacked along one wall and booths line the other. There is a small bar in the
corner opposite a makeshift stage where a few guitars rest, collecting dust.
The walls are painted a deep blue and plastered with posters advertising
upcoming concerts and events, now years in the past.

“The
hangout,” Eric replies, plopping onto one of the couches with a sunny smile.
“It’s a dive, I know, but I spent a lot of time here when I was young. It was a
great place to get away. Everyone was real laid back, and the music was good.”
He smiles at me sheepishly. “We don’t have to stay. I just wanted to see it
again.”

“It’s
fine.” In fact, it looks pretty comfortable. “We haven’t seen a soul since we
arrived, not so much as a footprint. I think we could start a fire without
worrying about attracting attention.”

He
nods. “Let’s do it. If you want to make sure the flue is open, I’ll see if
there’s still a woodpile out back.” He piles the split logs beside the
fireplace while I unload the SUV. An hour later we’re lounging around a roaring
fire, eating ham and beans. I’m truly warm for the first time in days.

Eric
tosses me a pillow and chuckles when it bounces off of my head. “You’re falling
asleep sitting up.”

“Asshole,”
I mumble, wrapping myself in the sleeping bag and stretching out on the couch.
“Is it raining?”

“Sounds
like sleet.”

“Wonderful,”
I drawl before closing my eyes again.

I
wake up shivering. The fire is out. Thin white light filters through the
solitary window. It must be early. The room warms quickly after I rebuild the
fire. We’re heading home today, and even if it takes us a week to get down Interstate
70 in the snow, we’ll make it back before Thanksgiving.

Abby’s
smiling face flashes before my eyes. I miss her. Her smart mouth and good
hearted teasing. The soft skin on the back of her thighs that my lips can’t
resist, and the way she shivers when I run my tongue across her neck. Fuck, I’m
rock hard. My mind conjures a picture of her ass in the tight little boyshort
panties she always wears, while my hand creeps down my shorts to stroke firmly.
Eric snores from the couch while I think of her riding me mercilessly on the
love seat in our bedroom. So hot and tight around me. I’m sweating buckets,
sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a sleeping bag and lost in pleasure
while I imagine Abby’s hands on me. I may have come in record time.

Eric
wakes when he smells the coffee. “I’ll have bacon and eggs.”

“You’ll
have my foot in your ass if you don’t get up.”

“Is
this how you treat all your dates on the morning after?”

“Only
the ones who are shit in bed.” He snorts. He’s in a good mood as well. I
suppose we’re both ready to get out of here.

“Ohh…fuck
me!” Eric curses when he opens the door facing the parking lot. I have to
second his emotion.

The
good news is most of the snow has melted. The temperature warmed enough to
allow it to rain overnight turning the roads to a thin slush. Unfortunately, it
must have evolved into freezing rain at some point while we slept so now everything
is covered in ice, some areas nearly two inches thick.

Eric
shakes his head at me. “We can’t drive in this.” No shit.

“I’ll
relight the fire.” I sigh, resigned to spending another day and night in the
tiny bar.

“I’ll
get another propane canister for the stove,” he mutters. His feet slide as he
carefully makes his way to the SUV. “Damn good thing we parked in the carport,
we couldn’t have pried the doors open, otherwise.”

Three
days pass while we wait for the ice to melt. We’re warm and fed and bored out
of our skulls. Drinking and playing cards quickly gets old. When we wake on the
third morning after the ice storm and still see no improvement, I’m beyond
frustrated. “We can’t just stay here all winter! How long does this shit
usually last?”

“I
don’t know. This isn’t typical Indy weather. I’ve been through a few ice storms
before, but of course the city would salt and clear the roads.”

“The
sun has helped a little,” I offer.

“Yeah,
now it’s wet ice.”

“We
could at least
try
to get out of here.” I’ve had it with waiting.
Patience has never been my strong suit.

Eric
sighs and shrugs. “Fine. Let’s get our shit together.” An hour later we’re
inching toward the interstate. Eric hunches over, his knuckles as white as the
snow from his iron grip on the wheel. “This is fucking crazy,” he grumbles.

I
can’t help but be fascinated by our crystallized surroundings. Sunlight
reflects off of every surface and makes the whole city sparkle, turning the
dullest objects into shining works of beauty. Icicles hang in curtains from the
awnings and rooftops like cascading sheets of twinkling diamonds. It may be a
pain in the ass that’s royally impeding our progress, but it’s beautiful. I
wish Joseph and Abby could see it.

We
come to the edge of a steep hill and Eric curses as he tries to avoid it by
turning onto a side street, but it’s too late. “Oh shit! Hold on!” he barks.
There is no point in braking. The SUV is now essentially a sled, and we have
little control. We pick up speed at an alarming rate while Eric struggles to
keep the vehicle straight. The road curves sharply to the right at the bottom
of the hill. We’ll never be able to stop in time.

“Shit!
Shit! Shit!” Eric yells, when we slide sideways and barrel down the hill at
break neck speed. “I think we’re going to roll.” Somehow the SUV stays on all
four tires, but we’re hurtling toward a large tree. With no way to prevent our
inevitable crash, we brace for impact. The tree smashes against the front of
the driver’s side door, shattering the windshield and Eric’s window. The
screech of bending metal is enormous as the door and front quarter panel crunch
and twist.

“Are
you okay?” I gasp. My heart is beating out of my chest, but there isn’t a
scratch on me. This is the story of my life. The people around me get hurt
while I glide through, unscathed.

“I
think so.” Eric glances at me with wide eyes. His face bears a few scratches
from the glass, but otherwise he looks fine. “We’ll have to climb out your
side.” I nod and hop out, pulling my pack and a few supplies out with me. Eric
gasps and grits his teeth when he attempts to scoot across the seat.

“Fuck…my
leg,” he hisses.

“Is
it broken?”

“How
the hell would I know?” he snaps.

Fair
point. “Can you move it?”

He
flexes his foot toward his chest and hisses again. “Yes, but it hurts like
hell.”

Shit.
What should I do? “Stay put,” I order. In a small unoccupied house across the
street, I locate a blanket. Eric stares at me dubiously while I spread it out
on the ground just outside the demolished SUV.

“What
are you doing?”

“You
can’t walk. So you’ll sit on the blanket, and I’ll pull your crippled ass to
the house.”

“Just
don’t break
your
leg in the process. I saw you fall on your ass on your
way back,” he taunts, not unkindly.

“Shut
up.”

“Sometimes
it’s better just to let yourself fall, you know. Although, your little dance
was very amusing.”

“Just
get out of the damn car.” He manages to slide into the passenger seat and I
help him down onto the blanket. It’s surprisingly easy to pull him to the
house, but it takes us a couple of tries to get him up the few stairs to the
porch. Finally, I just pick him up and carry him over the threshold and into
the living room.

“This
does not make me your husband,” he says between gasps, trying to stop his
injured leg from swinging.

“You’re
a little hairy to be a bride,” I snort. “Let’s see the leg.” He tugs up his
long underwear and jeans and removes his shoe. “Shit, Eric, it’s really
swollen, and you’re bleeding a little.” A quick glance around the small living
room alerts me to the unlucky fact that there isn’t a fireplace. “I’m going to
hook up the kerosene heater, and then I’ll find somewhere to get a wrap or a
brace.”

“There’s
a drug store on the next corner.” He winces as he attempts to get comfortable.

Half
an hour later I’ve unloaded all of our supplies from the totaled SUV. I’ll have
to find another vehicle, but that can wait. I need to get Eric taken care of
first. The heater hums, taking the chill from the air while Eric gives me
directions to the drugstore.

It’s
unnerving to be out in an unfamiliar city alone, and I feel defenseless despite
the rifle slung across my back. The front of the store is mostly glass, which
I’m surprised to find intact, and it allows the sun to stream in so my flash
light isn’t necessary. It doesn’t appear that anyone has been here since the
plague. It’s so strange to see a store that hasn’t been looted. Did they
evacuate this area early, perhaps?

My
breath fogs the air while I collect some first aid supplies and a pair of
crutches. There are plenty of drugs behind the pharmacy counter and it isn’t
difficult to locate a bottle of pain killers and antibiotics. I’m no doctor,
but I know an infected cut nearly cost Joseph his life, and I’m taking no
chances.

A
wave of homesickness suddenly sweeps over me at the thought of Joseph, and how
Abby cared for him with such compassion when he was a stranger to us. What the
hell am I doing here, three hundred miles away from them?

Eric
is asleep when I return from the drugstore. The room has warmed considerably,
and I’m glad we thought to bring extra kerosene and propane. “Wake up, man.
Let’s fix your leg.”

He
regards me groggily. “What the hell are you doing?” he demands when I produce a
pair of scissors and slice up the leg of his jeans to expose the clotted wound
and an extremely swollen ankle.

“Would
you rather strip?”

“Proceed,”
he replies dryly. His hisses and moans make me cringe while I clean the wound
with peroxide and coat it in antibacterial ointment. I’m not good at this sort
of thing.

“Sorry,
but I’ve heard gangrene smells really foul, and I have a weak stomach.” After
covering the cut with a gauze pad, and wrapping his foot and ankle in an Ace
bandage, I give him two painkillers. “Here, these should improve your mood and
give you a buzz.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll
make dinner. You should take an antibiotic pill when you eat.”

“Mmm,”
he hums noncommittally.

It
takes days for the swelling in Eric’s ankle to subside enough to convince us it
isn’t broken. It’s certainly the worst sprain I’ve ever encountered. A
patchwork of black, blue and green bruises travel from his toes almost to his
knee. At least he’s able to maneuver around the little house on crutches.

I’ve
made multiple excursions to the drugstore and some surrounding residences for
activities to fill our time, and combat the boredom of waiting for ice to melt
and flesh to heal. We spend hours reading books and magazines, and playing
cards. I commandeer a dartboard and darts from a neighboring house, along with
a chess set.

“Do
you know how to play chess?” I ask.

“Yes,
do you?”

“Nope,
but I can learn.”

“We’ll
see.” He smirks.

A
week after our accident, the ice is finally gone. Eric’s leg is healing, but he’s
still using crutches. I’m the one that insisted we drive in the ice, and since
I feel responsible for his injury, I’m waiting on him to be ready to try again.

“Tomorrow
is Thanksgiving,” he states.

“I
know. Fresh out of turkey, sorry.”

“If
you drive, I think we could start back today.”

“Are
you sure?” I fail to hide the relief and hope in my voice.

“I’m
pretty tired of your face. I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll
get us a car,” I volunteer, jumping up to grab my coat before he changes his
mind.

“Get
one with a CD player.”

“Not
for your shit music, buddy.”

When
I return, Eric has managed to pack our belongings and pile them at the door. He
has discarded the crutches in favor of limping. I’m tempted to kick him in his
other leg when he spends ten minutes berating my choice of vehicle.

“Seriously?
In a city crammed full of cars and trucks you bring back a Camry? You couldn’t
find another SUV?”

“We
know Interstate 70 is a nightmare, so I think we may have more luck squeezing
through the traffic jams if we aren’t driving a damn tank. Now hobble your ass
to the car before I lock you in the trunk.”

The
westbound lanes of US70 are just as congested and damaged as the east. It’s
extremely frustrating. Two days after we leave Indianapolis, we have only
managed to make it about fifty miles. “You know it won’t be this bad once we
get to 41,” Eric reminds me. “Let’s stop for the night. If you take the next
exit, there’s a small town named Greencastle. We can stay there.”