Page 38 of A Wilderness Within

Lincoln’s hand started to shake as a violent surge of emotions flowed through him. Hope, joy, excitement, fear. He hit the talk button.

“I am confirmed immune, and I’m with another immune survivor.”

Erica’s voice came back on quickly. “Thank God! You’re the first person I’ve been able to reach. Please come to Atlanta. We need you.”

Lincoln had the sudden sense he was being watched and saw Caroline was sitting up in bed now, her eyes wide. The moonlight made her pale face glow. They locked gazes, and she slowly nodded.

“Dr. Kennedy, I’m happy to report we will be on our way. We just have to make a trip to Joplin first to check on some family. If we find any other survivors, we’ll bring them along.” Caroline would want to punch him for leaving Glenn and Joanie in Nebraska when they could be of use to the CDC now.

“Thank you, Major Atwood. We will stay on this channel. Contact us if you can, and keep me updated on your progress.” The radio was silent for a moment, and Lincoln wondered if they were done communicating.

“Be careful out there. You could save many lives if you can make it to Atlanta safely.”

“Understood,” Lincoln replied, then set the radio down.

“Oh, Lincoln…,” Caroline whispered, and then she sniffed. Tears streaked down her cheeks. He rushed to her, kneeling by the bed and cupping her face.

“Hey…honey, this is good news.”

“I know,” she said, still sniffling. “I’m happy. I forgot what hope felt like, you know? Real hope. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

He kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

“Come back to bed?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and won a smile from her. He slid back into bed beside her, spooning her body, holding on to her like a life preserver.

They lay together, sharing body heat and silence. But for the first time in months, he felt like the silence didn’t suffocate him. Because within that silence, he had finally heard the radio crackle. He had heardhope.

11

Pale, without name or number,

In fruitless fields of corn,

They bow themselves and slumber

All night till light is born;

And like a soul belated,

In hell and heaven unmated,

By cloud and mist abated

Comes out of darkness morn.

—“The Garden of Proserpine”

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Caroline woke in bed alone, her panic rising again, but the sounds of the shower relieved her fears that Lincoln was gone. After last night’s mind-blowing passion, the possible repercussions, and the radio contact from the CDC, her entire world had changed.

She tried to process both the fear and excitement about how she and Lincoln might be more than partners in survival—that they might be parents too. And the thought of a cure? That was news sheneverthought she’d hear. After the world had lost power and communication, she’d assumed the CDC had gone dark like everywhere else. Yet here was the dawn, the actual dawn, with sun streaming through the windows bright and warm in a way it hadn’t in weeks. It was so easy in the winter to forget what the sun really felt like, and ever since Christmas, it seemed like the sun had abandoned them.

The water turned off, and she could hear humming from inside the bathroom. She lay down on the bed, watching the shadows and light through the gap between the door and the carpet as Lincoln moved about on the other side.

She closed her eyes briefly, pretending for one glorious moment that life was normal again. Cars were speeding down the highway, the TV would spark to life when she used the remote, and that she’d just had amazing sex with a man after dating him for months. She almost laughed at the silly daydream. For the first time in her life, she’d be bringing a man home to meet her parents, and it was literally because the world was ending. Her sister was going to laugh at the irony.

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