After the Ending (30 page)

Letting the moment go, I straightened from my ridiculous
pose, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. “Why do you have to be so vague?”
I asked. “I mean, where did you even
get
the fireworks? Or do you know
how to make them?”

This time
he
smiled. “No,” he said with a chuckle.
“I can’t
make
fireworks. Harper and I found a stockpile when we were
searching for fuel awhile back.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in my voice surprised me.

Jake must have heard it too, because he gave me a sidelong
glance. “You thought I made them?”

I blushed.
“No. Yes. I don’t know what I thought.”
It shouldn’t matter.
I shook the distracting thoughts from my head.

Jake set the now spotless wrench aside, and as he wiped
the grease from his hands, his questioning eyes met mine.

Feeling awkward, I backed away. The playfulness had
suddenly evaporated, and I felt like I was in the way of his work. But I wasn’t
quite ready to leave. I spotted an old, ratty, leather recliner in the next
stall. It had a folded blue tarp draped over its lower half, covered in dust.
Reluctant to wander back out into the dying light, I walked over to the chair
and peeked under the tarp. It was clean. Knowing I’d found as good of a place
as any, I pulled off the tarp and draped it over a nearby lift.

“Do you mind?” I asked, pointing to the chair.

Jake glanced over at me and shook his head. I was glad he
didn’t ask me why I was hesitant to leave—I didn’t know the answer.

I curled up on the chair and opened my sketch pad, trying
to ignore the unease in my stomach as Jake repeatedly glanced over at me. I
quickly began sketching. Although I’d never attempted them before, the shapes
came easily. Before long, I had captured the slightly beat-up van on my page.
Jake was there too…I hadn’t been able to resist capturing his rugged beauty.

Date: January 1, 6:45 PM

From: Zoe Cartwright

To: Danielle O’Connor

Subject: Hallelujah!

Dani,

What can I say other than THANK FREAKING GOD you’re alive. I
almost cried when I saw your email. Oh wait, I did cry. I guess that’s not very
surprising. I’ve been crying a lot lately, but that’s beside the point. You
scared the shit out of me, but now that you’re safe and with Jason, I’ll let
you off the hook with an “I understand where you were coming from” and an “as
long as you don’t do it again”.
Capiche
?

I’ve missed you so much, D.  Things have been beyond
crazy…they’ve been unbelievable. But it sounds like you’ve had a lot going on
too. Animals and telepathy? I know I should be surprised, but I’m not really.
These…Abilities (I think that’s what you’re officially calling them) really are
everywhere, not just with you and me.

Now, about you killing people? I say, good for you. I’ve
seen some shit too, and I understand why you had to do it. It’s kill or be
killed
—
I know that
now. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m also glad that you don’t have to deal with
Cece anymore…but I agree, it’s definitely unsettling to think about her running
around controlling people’s minds.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Harper, but not the
way you’re thinking. We’re just friends…flirty friends, but nothing more. Oh
and I should probably mention that Jake saved my life…again. And he did
something for me last night that showed me a completely different side of him,
or I guess I should say, showed me more of who he is. He put on a little
fireworks show for me, which was unexpected since I didn’t think he could stand
me. It was beautiful. I wish you could’ve seen it. It might be the last time I
ever see something like it. I gave him a hug after. Is that lame? It felt lame,
but I didn’t know what else to do.

You should probably know that Jake’s like us…changed by the
virus. I’m not sure how to describe it…I guess he regenerates superfast (i.e.,
bullet wounds disappear within hours, he might not be able to die, that sort of
thing). Also, Sanchez is sort of telepathic like you…except for the animals
part. I’m really trying to embrace my emotion/memory reading skills instead of
push them away. That would’ve prevented me from getting in the last near death
experience I barely survived. FYI, Sanchez has Clara (did I tell you about her
before you went MIA?) imprisoned somewhere for trying to kill me. It’s safer
than banishing her…at least this way we all know where she is. She’s a PSYCHO,
literally.

Anyway, I’ve been practicing my Ability with Sanchez. I’ve
seen a bunch of her memories, things I doubt she wanted me to see, but it’s not
like I had a choice. This thing is sort of a gift AND a curse. I feel like I
should come with a disclaimer or something.

I should also tell you that Jake said some bad shit happened
in Colorado, and he thinks it was the Colony that was responsible. Long, sad
story short…his sister killed herself just so she wouldn’t have to go with
them. So we may need to reconsider our rendezvous point. Talk to Jason, and see
what he thinks.

I’ll write you more soon. I miss you, and I’m glad you’re
back on the grid. ;o) Oh, and I know you’re probably really excited that Jason
kissed you…just be careful.

Hasta la vista,

Zoe

I was looking down at
the living room of the home I’d grown up in. Muffled sounds came from upstairs.
I strained to hear the desperate words being uttered, but my consciousness was
jumbled and I couldn’t decipher them. I couldn’t think. I cringed as the
shouting and cursing continued.

My dad and Jason
suddenly materialized in the living room, completely unaware of my presence.
Like a reclusive spider hidden in the recesses of a wall, I watched what
unfolded with trepidation.

My brother was
bigger than my dad. Jason’s clenched fists and jaw were intimidating, but my
dad seemed just as imposing. He was more solemn and threatening than I’d ever
noticed before, and he looked older than I remembered. His features were
blanketed with an all-too-familiar sorrow; his eyes were filled with
loneliness, and their outer corners were wrinkled from a lifetime of
worry. 

Jason’s gestures
were forceful as he exchanged harsh words with my dad. His eyes were ablaze
with so much anger that I almost missed the sadness crinkling his brow. Like a
pair of ear plugs had been removed, I could suddenly hear Jason’s venomous
words.

“I can’t stay here
anymore!” he yelled. Both men’s chests heaved under their shirts. “She’s dead,
Dad! I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t want this life.” I immediately knew
who he was talking about…Mom.

My dad pushed his
index finger roughly against my brother’s chest, and Jason’s rage consumed him.
Without saying another word, Jason turned and stormed off.

Running his fingers
through short hair silvered with age, my dad turned in my direction. Somehow,
in my disembodied state, his eyes were able to focus on me, and they widened with
shock.

The room from my
childhood home abruptly melted away, only to be replaced by another familiar
setting: our family car.

No longer
incorporeal, I was six years old and sitting in the backseat of our brown and
beige
Wagoneer
. I watched sunlit scenery pass by the
window and played with the hem of my dress. Looking down at my lap, I giggled
at the sight of my favorite yellow sundress and kicked my small, sandal-clad
feet happily. As darkness overwhelmed the sunlight, a sense of dread filled
me—something horrible was about to happen.

I smelled a citrusy
scent and immediately knew it was my mother in the driver’s seat. My eyes
prickled with tears. I longed to see her face.

“Mommy?” I asked
timidly, wishing she would look at me—wishing I could finally see her face.

She remained silent
and ignored me, driving like it was any other day.

I couldn’t remember
what she looked like. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror where I hoped to
catch a glimpse of her feminine features, but the image was blurred, like it
was forbidden for me to see.

The foreboding
presence of something malevolent hovered around us. The air was thick with a
suffocating fear, and I saw my mom’s body stiffen as she felt it too. I heard
the sound of her hands tightening around the leather covering the steering
wheel. Even though I was too small to see around the seat back, I knew my mom’s
knuckles were white and that her hands were shaking, just as mine were as they
gripped the skirt of my yellow dress.

“Mommy,” I said
again.

“
Shhhh
,” she cooed softly as she looked over her shoulder at
me. Where her face should have been, there was nothing but smooth, featureless
flesh. “Shhh, it’s okay, Zoe,” she said again, despite having no lips or mouth
to speak from. 

Petrified by the
empty face in front of me, I tried to close my eyes, but my lids wouldn’t shut.
I tried to call out for Daddy or Jason, but only faint sobs escaped my lips.
The faceless woman reached for me. I tried to pull away from her slow,
mechanical movement, but my seat belt was suddenly too tight to move or even
breathe. Gasping for air between muffled shrieks of terror, I attempted to yank
my wrist away from her cold, bone-white fingers.

“No!” I cried out
immediately before my body lurched forward. My neck snapped back, almost broken
in half. I could see the front of the station wagon, crunched like an accordion
against a dingy brick wall. Adrenaline made my heart race. I was trapped,
covered in blood…I was dying. I couldn’t breathe.

The faceless woman
sat motionless, pinned against the steering wheel. Her arm was draped over the
dashboard, and the fingers that had been on my skin moments before twitched.

My body lurched as
I gasped for air. My hands fell to my lap, suddenly paralyzed, and I took my
final, searing breath. 

Jolting awake in bed, I looked around the room. Moonlight
shining through the mini blinds cast striped shadows on the wardrobe and the
far wall. I was in Fork Knox, in my room in the barracks. I was safe…and I was
alone.

The cotton sheets clung to my sweaty skin. Peeling them
from my body, I felt like I was shedding the gloom of my nightmare. My face was
clammy, my hair was matted against my cheeks and neck, and my body was shaking.
The dream that had haunted me throughout my childhood had returned. Fearing
what might come when I closed my eyes again and not knowing what else to do, I
climbed out of bed.

I grabbed my sketchpad from the nightstand and made my
way toward the door. I opened it, only to trip over Cooper who was stretched
out in the doorway. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. “Dammit,
Coop!” I quietly admonished, but it wasn’t his fault that it was dark; we were
conserving the fuel we needed to power the generators.

Seeing a faint light flicker down the hallway, I realized
someone was in the common room. I headed that way, Cooper moseying languidly
behind me. When I saw Jake sitting on the couch, reading by firelight, I
paused, but Cooper trotted over to him. Hearing the dog’s nails clicking on the
floor, Jake looked up, and his eyes met mine.

“Hey,” I said weakly.

He stood abruptly, looking pensive. “Is everything okay?”
His voice was hoarse from a lack of use, and I held back a smile as he cleared
his throat.

I nodded. Once again, he had a look on his face that I’d
seen numerous times—one of thoughtful concern—but this time I understood it
better. “Why do you always think something’s wrong when you see me? Am I really
that bad?”

His eyes narrowed, and I acknowledged the silliness of my
question with a modest smile and a shrug. “Okay, well this time you can’t save
me; don’t worry.”

One of Jake’s eyebrows arched inquiringly.

“I had a bad dream and couldn’t get back to sleep. But
it’s nothing some drawing won’t fix.” I held up my sketchpad. “What about you,
can’t sleep?”

“Something like that.”

“You can keep reading. I won’t bother you.”

He nodded, walking over to the fire. He threw on another
log
as I situated myself on the couch, wrapped myself in a
blanket, and opened my sketchbook to draw. I tried to ignore the awkward silence
between us for the second time in a day.

Jake remained by the fire, leaning against the wall. “Was
your dream about Clara?”

I shook my head. “No. It was a nightmare I’ve been having
for a while.”

“You want to talk about it?” His concern was genuine, but
I couldn’t imagine explaining it to him. I didn’t want to sound even more
pathetic and broken than I already did.

Again, I shook my head. “You can sit down,” I offered,
not wanting him to feel like he had to leave.

Jake looked back at me with a rare grin on his face. “I
can?”

Wow, that’s two grins in one day.
“You know what I
mean. I didn’t come in here to ruin your chill time.”

“My ‘chill time’?” he repeated playfully.

Laughing, I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. I’m glad I can
entertain you.” I thumbed through some of my drawings in search of a blank
page.

“Those are really good,” he said as he sat down a few
inches from me, making the couch feel cozier. “Can I see?”

“Umm…” I hesitated.

“Never mind.” He turned away from me.

“No, it’s fine,” I said hastily. I was so amazed that he
was partaking in a conversation with me; I didn’t want to mess it up. “
Here.
” I handed him my sketchpad with both reluctance and
anticipation. I wondered what he would think…and I tried to remember all that
I’d drawn.