Page 70 of Embers

He really doesn’t know. He has absolutely no idea. And it astonishes and enrages me to such an extent that the words just come out. “Because I’m in love with you, you big, clueless asshole. I’m still in love with you.”

That’s far more than I ever intended to say, and I see the shock of it washing over Cal’s expression.

There’s nothing else for me to do or say right now, so I turn on my heel and walk away from him.

He doesn’t follow or try to talk to me again.

13

The next morning,we start off early. If all goes well, we should arrive at the town by midday.

I don’t feel as weird or anxious about the conversation with Cal last night as I thought I would. I don’t even feel bad that he knows that I still love him. It’s a fact of life. Of my existence. In the same way as his loving me.

So overall I feel a bit better today than I did yesterday. Nothing is settled, but it feels like we made a first step.

It’s better than nothing.

I’m even able to nod when I see him across the camp in the morning. Give him a small smile. He doesn’t come over to talk to me, but his face softens in an obvious way. It makes my heart clench.

The first few hours pass with the same uneventful tedium as the day before, but for some reason, I’m on edge. It’s probably emotional stuff connected to Cal, but it feels like my nerve endings are firing, the way they do when there’s a crisis brewing.

Maybe my body got confused and is convinced that relational upheaval is an emergency.

Whatever the reason, I’m even more on guard than normal as Gail and I lead the caravan on a craggy West Virginia mountain trail. This is a rougher terrain than our local Kentucky region. Bleaker. More intimidating with rocky ledges and deep, shadowed hollows. Our progress is a lot slower than yesterday.

This is the kind of landscape where monsters might be hiding.

Gail and I pull farther ahead as the trail makes a deep switchback and then narrows between two high cliffs of rock. We both come to an abrupt, jerky stop when we round the curve and discover the trail is blocked by a huge fallen tree.

The first thing I notice is the tree hasn’t pulled out of the ground by its roots. It’s been cut.

Which means this is a trap.

I fire my pistol toward the sky to warn the rest of the group behind us, and Gail and I make fast U-turns to return to guard the others and the supplies. But a shot comes out of nowhere and blows out Gail’s front tire. She manages to jump clear just before her motorcycle veers out of control.

It sideswipes mine before it skids on the ground, knocking me off-balance. Since I see it coming, I dismount before my motorcycle collapses too, but I land badly on my weaker ankle—the one I injured that day I almost froze to death. It turns beneath me, and I almost fall.

The sudden pain is so searing I don’t process it for a few seconds. I race after Gail. She’s running back to our caravan and firing toward the shooters, who have a high position on a protected ledge above us.

On my fifth step, two things happen at once. The agonizing pain from my ankle finally slams into me like a tidal wave, and I see Gail get shot.

A bullet hits her in the chest or shoulder—there’s far too much going on for me to judge the exact location of the wound—and she goes down in front of me.

Then there’s nothing but pain. Panic. And something else dark and despairing. Akin to absolute loneliness.

My bad ankle buckles and I go down too, barely managing to dive behind a few fallen rocks that might provide me the slightest bit of protection.

They’re still shooting at me. The bullets ricochet off the rocks I’m hiding behind. It feels like a miracle they aren’t hitting me.

But I’m trapped. I’m never getting out of this small hiding place alive. I can’t even lift up enough to return fire safely. Gail might be dead, and I’ll never get back to the rest of my friends. Back to Cal.

I’ve lost them. Forever. I know it with crushing certainty.

This is it for me.

There’s a lot more shooting now. The others in my group must have formed a defensive front against the shooters.

I don’t even know who the attackers are. They could be anyone. Strangers who want what we have and who are willing to kill us all to get it.

---