The Last Woman (All That Remains #1) Read online

  “He’s so much happier since you two came along. I was so worried and preoccupied trying to keep us alive, fed, and safe, I didn’t realize how lonely he was.”

  “What about you?” He glances at me.

  You would think after seeing him every day I’d be accustomed to his beauty. If anything, it has become more difficult to ignore. His dark eyes sparkle as the shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees strike him, giving his face a quality I can’t quite articulate. My heart speeds up in response.

  He has become more muscular, probably from hauling water, gas, and wood as we prepare for winter. When he removes his shirt and tucks it into his waistband, sweat glistens on his chest. It’s distracting.

  “What about me?” I reply.

  “Are you happier?”

  I hate it when he’s so direct. “I’m good. You?”

  “I’m hungry.” He smiles, also dodging the question.

  “I’ll make lunch if you’ll fill the generators.”

  “Deal.”

  Three gasoline generators sit in a row behind our house, a tangle of extension cords jutting from their sides and threaded through the dryer vent. The generators are loud, and having power cords weaving through the house, tripping us up is a pain, but it’s our only option. Battery powered lanterns replace our lamps, freeing the limited outlets for the most necessary appliances, like a refrigerator and stove. We travel to surrounding gas stations to siphon from their tanks. I’m concerned about what we’ll do if we run out. Fortunately, with an abundance of gas stations and vehicles full of fuel at our disposal, it will be a long time before that becomes an issue.

  The truth is I worry constantly. The lack of electricity and running water are only the tip of the iceberg. There are no doctors, no new medicine being manufactured, and no way to get help in an emergency. If one of us would break a leg, how would we set it? What if one of the kids gets appendicitis? An appendectomy was nothing before—there’s that word again—but now it’s a death sentence. I try not to dwell on these fears, but they’re always on my mind. We’re alone. Horribly, desperately alone. I don’t know how I ever sleep.

  Then, there is the food situation. Currently, it’s not a problem. The stores are full of canned and packaged food with no shortage of canned fruits, vegetables, and meats. Unfortunately, that is only a temporary solution since all of it is dated to expire within two years. We have a two year window to become completely self-sufficient. This is where the librarian in me wakes up and stands at attention.

  It’s all about education. We have to learn how to grow and preserve our own food and treat our own illnesses and injuries. It’s Little House on the Damn Prairie around here, no internet, no answers at our fingertips. Only books. I’ve spent almost as much time amassing books as I have collecting food.

  After pillaging the library for books on gardening and water purification, I thought of the hospital. It’s the last place in the world I want to go. It’s the only place I know for sure there will be bodies. When I approach Airen about it, he’s less than enthusiastic.

  “You can get all of that stuff at the pharmacy,” he argues.

  “I found basic first aid supplies and medicine at the pharmacy. We may need some instruments from the hospital, and we definitely need the medical guides.”

  “Do you plan on performing surgery?” he asks with a smirk.

  “You never know what we might need. One of the kids might need stitches or...something,” I finish lamely. He looks at me with an expression of amused skepticism. Hmm, maybe it’s time to straighten something out. “I’m not asking your permission, you know. I’m going.”

  “So damn stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said you are stubborn. If you insist on this ridiculous trip then I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t...”

  “I’m not asking your permission. We’ll go in the morning,” he snaps.

  Airen doesn’t speak to me for the remainder of the evening, but he’s prepared for our excursion into the hospital the next morning. He’s more than prepared with two high-powered flashlights and a set of walkie-talkies.

  “They have a two mile radius. The kids can stay in a nearby house and remain in touch with us,” he explains. “We have one stop to make along the way.”

  Once in town, he stops to search through a police station and returns with two gas masks. That never occurred to me, although I did skip breakfast out of fear I’d be sorry later.

  With the kids safely ensconced in a nearby trailer, we prepare to enter.

  “Put your mask on, Abby. We stay together. Understand?”

  I nod. He’s so bossy, but I know he’s frightened. We don the masks and enter the lobby. It’s dark and empty with a horrid putrid smell, somehow sweet and rotten simultaneously. I hate to think of how strong it would be without the mask.

  “You okay?” Airen’s muffled voice is barely audible. I nod and point to a sign, SURGERY, and we head in that direction. The Bluegrass Medical Center isn’t exactly a hospital, although that’s how everyone in this small town once referred to it.

  It’s a small, one level building with an emergency care wing on one side and patient rooms on the other. Two operating rooms are in the rear along with a recovery room, ICU, and a radiology department. To the right of the entrance is a small cafeteria, a staff break room, and a multipurpose room used for educational purposes.

  I shift the empty backpack higher onto my shoulders as we push through the double doors separating the lobby from the hallway. Oh fuck. Oh, we shouldn’t have come. This is too much. I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut. Airen takes my hand while I try not to breathe too deep. The stench is much worse. Of course, it is. The emergency room to our left is packed with corpses.

  The remains of men, women, and children are scattered about the floor and lying on the benches and chairs. Gurneys line the hallway end to end, filled with plague victims, decomposing in the cool dark building. A shudder runs through Airen, and I instinctively move closer to him. After what seems like an eternity, but was surely only seconds, he points his light at the door at the opposite end of the hall. It’s an operating room.

  We make our way down the hall, careful not to step on anything. The OR is mercifully empty. In a small storeroom at the rear, I load up on surgical instruments. I have no idea what we need so I grab a little of everything.

  Taking Airen’s hand, I lead him out of the OR toward a row of offices and through a door etched Chief of Surgery. On a bottom shelf, we find thick medical reference books with diagrams and multicolored plates, most of which I couldn’t understand if I had a hundred years to study. Luckily there are more useful manuals showing how to start an IV drip, calculate the dosage of antibiotics, and stitch and bandage a wound. We add them to our backpacks which are growing heavy.

  We turn left out of the office into the back hallway where a corpse dressed in white sits behind a desk. It’s impossible to tell whether it was male or female. I suppose it doesn’t matter. We make a right down another hall leading to the cafeteria. This hall is clear although the patient rooms we pass are crowded with occupied beds. There doesn’t appear to be anything useful for us to gather. My hand trembles as I point to the exit, and Airen speeds toward it, pulling me along. We burst into the sunshine and gloriously fresh air and fling off the masks.

  “I’m sorry,” I sob, breathing hard. “Damn Airen! I’m sorry! I had no idea it would be that bad.” Could I have really done that alone? I seriously doubt it.

  “We made it,” he pants. “I’m never going back in there and neither are you.”

  The things we got were worth it though.

  * * * *

  We begin to devote two hours in the late afternoon to learning all the survival skills we can manage. The kids have dubbed this time school, but Airen and I are hardly teachers. We study along with them. Carson and Airen seem to have a better grasp of the hunting skills, although all of us can sho
ot. We all focus on the gardening and water purification books since those are our number one priorities.

  Jayla’s interest lies in the medical manuals. We study the first aid books, and I insist everyone learns how to start a saline drip, give an antibiotic shot, and bandage wounds. We never know who will need help or who will be around to give it.

  Airen is terrified of needles. I mean seriously phobic. He wouldn’t even let Jayla prick his finger when she and I were playing with a blood sugar monitor. If I ever need a shot or an I.V., Jayla is definitely my first choice to administer it. She’s so intelligent and nothing really seems to bother her.

  Our days are pretty full. We spend much of our time with the chores of daily life with limited power and no running water. We study and learn new ways to take care of ourselves. Airen and I both worry about the kids missing out on their childhood. We don’t want them to grow up too fast and miss out on their adolescent years. They should be spending them with friends having fun and growing up.

  However, some things are necessary. They have to work alongside us in the garden. We need all the help we can get. They haul wood, water, and gas, plus help with countless other chores. Still, we want them to have fun. We throw a football around, catch fireflies, swim in the lake, and toast marshmallows over a bonfire. Airen can sing and play the guitar which may be the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. They love to sing and dance along with him.

  We spent one hilarious morning together watching Carson and Airen try to jump rope. Jayla loves to skip rope, and she’s a pro. It had been years since I’d attempted it, and I was pleasantly surprised to find I could still keep up. After laughing at Airen and Carson until our sides ached, we had pity on them and allowed them to spin the ropes for us instead. Jayla and I had a wonderful time. I guess you’re never too old for Double Dutch.

  On rainy days we hook up one of the video game systems or the DVD player, and watch movies or play games thanks to the generator. We also play cards and board games or just sit around the living room and talk. Jayla and Carson are talking more about their lives before the plague. It’s as if they heal faster, and I envy their ability to laugh instead of cry over the memories. I don’t seem to have the same skill, at least not yet. We’ve all become closer. It starts to feel like a family.

  “Jayla’s birthday is Saturday,” Carson announces at dinner.

  “I know.” I smile at him. “What kind of cake would you like, Ms. Teenager?”

  “Chocolate with chocolate icing and chocolate chips?”

  “Would you like some chocolate with that?” Carson teases. “Some chocolate syrup or maybe we could crumble up a Hershey Bar?”

  “I wouldn’t turn it down.” She laughs.

  “Sounds good to me,” I tell her. “Is there anything special you’d like to do?”

  “We could hook up the Wii, and I can beat you all at bowling.”

  “Are all teenagers delusional?” Carson asks.

  I’m trying to keep a straight face. “Hush, Carson. Jayla, that sounds like fun, and I’ll make chicken stew for dinner.” It’s her favorite, with homemade noodles.

  “I can’t wait.”

  When Saturday comes, Jayla’s thirteenth birthday is a success despite the dismal weather. It has been raining for nearly a week and everyone is starting to get a little stir crazy. The kids are moping around, sniping at each other, and I’m in a mood that I can’t seem to pull myself out of.

  Only Airen appears to be unaffected. Of course, he is normally quiet and broody so it would be hard to tell the difference. It’s great fishing weather if you don’t mind the rain and are as oblivious to the cold as he seems to be. He spends most of his days on the lake.

  When night comes, I lie awake for hours, tossing and turning. Carson made a comment earlier this afternoon that won’t quit haunting me. It’s amazing I can be so tired, but as soon as I lie down, my brain decides it’s time to solve all the world’s problems. Which, if you haven’t been paying attention, are pretty numerous.

  Everyone has been asleep for hours when I throw on my sweat pants and move to the sofa on the porch. The wraparound porch is another part of this house I fell in love with. Screened in and furnished like a sitting room, it stretches along the front and left side of the house, with access to my bedroom and Airen’s next to it.

  I have an urge to see the stars, something I used to do whenever I was depressed, just sit and watch the night sky. It’s beautiful. The stars are shining, and a few wispy clouds draw thin lines between them. How can this still exist when our whole world is dead? Billions of people are gone forever. Yet, the same cold stars, the same sliver of an uncaring moon stare down at an empty planet as though nothing has changed.

  My chest tightens, and I keep trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not a crier, and I especially hate to cry in front of another person, but tonight I feel so overwhelmed and hopeless I can’t fight it any longer. When I recall Carson’s innocent comment, “I’ll never get my black belt.” I lose the battle. The tears overflow as I despair of the endless list of things he’ll never get to do.

  I’m sitting with my knees pulled up to my chest, my arms draped across them, my head bowed and resting on my forearms, bawling like a baby when a hand gently rubs my back. Oh, how long has he been standing there? I know it’s Airen. I can smell his orange scented soap, something I usually tease him about. I struggle desperately to stop crying. Breathing deep, I strive for control and a small sob escapes.

  “Airen, please, I need a few minutes alone,” I whisper, keeping my head down.

  “No, you don’t,” he answers in a husky voice.

  I obviously woke him. I’m torn, embarrassed that he caught me crying in the middle of the night. Still, part of me doesn’t want him to leave.

  He continues rubbing slowly up and down my back and asks, “What’s wrong?”

  I snort. What could possibly be wrong?

  “I mean, is it something specific? Did something happen?”

  “It’s stupid.” I can’t tell him I’m crying my heart out because Carson will never get his black belt. It sounds ridiculous, but it encompasses so much. The life he should have had, all of the opportunities he’s lost, that all of us have lost.

  “Abby, I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

  I just shake my head, keeping it down. The door squeaks as he goes back inside, and I sigh. I don’t know if it’s with regret or relief. I’m still struggling to get a hold of myself when he sits beside me. Without a word, he drapes a blanket across the both of us and slides his warm arm around me. It’s all I can take. His concern and comfort push me over the edge, and I can’t stop sobbing. He pulls me against his chest until I bury my face in his shirt and break down completely. I no longer care about being embarrassed. I’m past that. All the horror, worry, and grief overpower me. I’m drowning in it.

  “It’s okay,” he murmurs. His chin rests on my head while he strokes my hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  I finally get a tenuous grasp on my emotions and manage to calm down. Tears still run down my face, but at least I can breathe again. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  “I never cry.”

  “I know. I think that’s your problem, sweetheart. You let it all build up,” he says kindly. Even in my pitiful state, hearing him call me by that endearment pulls at something deep inside of me. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Our kids have no future,” I whisper.

  He sighs. “They have a different future than we expected. So do we. None of us can predict what’s going to happen, Abby.”

  “Did you know Carson studied Shotokan Karate for six years?”

  “Yes, he mentioned it. I could learn a few moves from him.” He pushes a strand of hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear.

  “He was preparing to test for his black belt. His teacher told me he knew everything he needed to know. He was really good.”

  “He is really g
ood,” he interrupts. “I’m sure he still has the skills.”

  “But he’ll never get his black belt, and he was so close. I know in the grand scheme of things it isn’t important, but it was to him...and to me. I just wish I could have one more normal day. I want to watch my kid in his karate class and talk to the other parents. I want it back. I know it’s ridiculous. I should be grateful we’re alive, fed, and not alone.” My tears are coming faster again.

  “Shh, it’s not ridiculous.” He pulls me closer. “It’s okay to grieve for the things you’ve lost and for the life you had before. It’s normal. I feel the same way.”

  “You had a glamorous life, Airen. You lost so much more than I did. Yet, I’m the one crying and embarrassing myself,” I mumble, shaking my head.

  He sighs again and leans back to look at me. “My life wasn’t glamorous or any more important than yours or the kids. Look at me, Abby.”

  My cheeks flare, and I shake my head again. I can’t look at him after crying all over him.

  “Look at me,” he orders in a stern voice. Tears shine in his eyes and trickle down his face. Oh, Airen. My heart breaks all over again. “You aren’t alone. We’re all grieving. We’re all hurting. Please, don’t be embarrassed.”

  I gulp and nod. “You should go to sleep. I’m okay, and I’ve already kept you up too late.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m not tired, and you’re not okay.” He emphasizes his words by wiping away the tears still running down my face. “But you will be. Come with me.” His hand closes over mine, and I’m led inside to the living room. “I’m going to put a movie on for us. Any requests?”

  “Whatever you want.” While he goes outdoors to start the generator, I blow my nose and wipe my face even though I’m still crying. Damn! Get a grip, girl! I feel so heavy, like I’m sleepwalking, just going through the motions. I can’t think. All I can do is cry. I’ve had enough humiliation for one night. I’m going to bed.

  Airen will hear none of that talk. He carries a blanket and pillow to the sofa and orders me to lie down. I could almost laugh at his attitude if I could quit crying long enough. After he starts the movie, he surprises me by sitting on the end of the sofa and placing my head in his lap.