Boondocks

Chapter 36: Connection

FERN

On the first of our last days, I treated wounds and waited for the sun to set. Then, on the first night, Tex came to me. Again, on the second night, and the third, he returned as if he'd never left, and light became inconsequential. I wanted the dark. I spent all day waiting for it, tracking the sun's position, counting down the seconds until he'd finally be mine.

But he was never mine. I was his, over and over again, while he remained fully clothed, batting away my attempts. Each time I'd try to take control, he'd distract me with his hands, his mouth, until I relaxed into a submissive pile of this-is-what-heaven-feels-like. It was nice—more than nice—but I wanted to touch him. I wanted to memorize his angles the way he had my curves. I wanted to find out if it went both ways. Could I conjure the same reactions from him? Would he feel this euphoric divinity?

Thoughts like that made the waiting longer, and I did my best to stay occupied. When I ran out of wounds to mend, I started teaching the children how to tie knots, safely use a knife, and identify what little plants we had left.

But then I'd catch a glimpse of him and spend an hour wondering. When? Tonight? And my skin would tingle, and I'd need to take a walk to cool my cheeks.

But the fourth night came, and the fifth, and he didn't bend. Like a vampire, swooping in to drain me dry then disappearing as I slumbered. He was more focused than ever on war. I didn't know where we were, how long we had, and there was no time set aside for me to ask him questions. Hushed conversations kept heavy guard over answers, and I couldn't help but feel like I was being purposely shut out. Separated like some guilty pleasure tucked beneath the mattress, only pulled out after everyone else had gone to sleep.

But on the sixth day, Tex woke me with a kiss much tamer than the ones I received at night. "We dropped anchor."

My eyes flew open, and I shot upright. It couldn't be time. Not yet.

Tex twisted toward the nightstand then returned with a granola bar. A dull yellow light bloomed from a lantern I'd never seen before, and it felt like a sign. That this beautiful darkness was ending, and the only darkness to come would be empty. I waited, praying he'd tell me it wasn't true. That they were doing a raid, or he'd changed his mind. But he didn't say a word, and my heart was already broken. "Are we—"

"Not yet." Tex gave my fingers a soft squeeze, then flipped my hand, and pressed the food into my palm. He hesitated, staring at it as he continued, "But we're close. Tomorrow night."

Tonight would be our last. Tomorrow night we'd run into fire, burn to ash, be carried off on a freezing wind, and the world would continue to fall without us. "I don't want to." I dropped the granola bar and climbed onto my knees, straddled his lap, gripped the collar of his jacket. "Tex, I don't want to. We don't have to do it. We can just—"

He kissed me, swallowing my plea into himself, where it could be buried beneath his carefully made plans. His mouth moved to my jaw as he pulled me into a crushing hug that felt far too much like goodbye. "There was a time when I would have agreed." He shook his head. "But things are different now. I'm different." He nuzzled my neck, parted lips dragging across my skin. His voice roughened. "You see, I met this girl who might have been a witch, and she taught me her spells and told me her wisdom." He pulled back, locked me in with eyes that reflected my anguish. "I can't turn back now, not after what she told me."

"What did she say?" I rasped. I'd take it back. I'd take it all back. Didn't he understand? I taught him survival. He taught me life. I wanted to live, and we wouldn't survive.

"It's our job as good people to help."

My lungs collapsed as years' worth of sobs fought to burst free at once. Those words. Daddy's words. They haunted me, even now, even here, because they were true, and it wasn't fair. "Did I ever tell you where I heard that?" The question came out harsh. "From Daddy. He taught me that, and then he died. And John died. And Mama died. And all those people hiding in the barn, they still died. And all of it was pointless, Tex. This feels pointless." I pressed my nose to his chest, breathing in the leather, cigar, and Earth as if it were the last time I'd smell it. "We could have a long life. We could find a way to evade them. We could bring everyone with us, and the kids could grow up normal, and—"