Across the Deadzone

Chapter 9: Ophelia

I woke with my head resting on the dog. A line of drool trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away and sat up. My shoulder still ached and I let out a groan.
It was night, or maybe early morning, although I don't know how I knew. The small cavern just seemed even darker than it had been. My stomach growled, and I suddenly recalled the loaf of bread sitting on the table. Wystan had wrapped it in a cloth to keep it fresh. I sat forward, licking my lips in anticipation.
I paused, debating whether I should wake Wystan up. He was probably starving. Rolling my eyes at myself, I shook him awake. He jolted from his sprawled out position on the couch, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Hungry?" I asked, holding the loaf out to him, taking one half out of the cloth. He yawned before offering me a tiny smile.
"How'd you know?" he responded, sitting forward eagerly. "I don't even remember the last time I had bread. The price is crazy right now."
A flash of guilt stabbed through me. I kept my face blank as I broke the bread into pieces and offered one to him. He bit into it almost greedily, groaning happily and reclining into the couch cushion.
Timber, who had been napping on the couch beside Wystan, one paw hanging off, woke up, her nose twitching. She stared at me with pleading eyes. With a sigh, I tossed her a bit. She snapped it up as it soared through the air toward her.
Part of me- most of me- wished it could always be like this: calm, serene. This was about as domestic as life could get. If I didn't need to cross the Deadzone I might stay here. With Wystan.
I rested my arm against the table, slowly chewing what was left of my slice.
"So, the healer," I ventured without looking at him. "She's your ex?" I could feel his eyes on me.
He said nothing for a long moment, before letting out a monstrous, over-exaggerated sigh. "How'd you know?" he asked, sounding somewhat defeated. He leaned forward on the couch. Squinting, he said, "It was Cleo, wasn't it?"
I smirked up at him, letting him know he was right. He rolled his eyes and leaned back again, propping his feet up beside the dog.
"I should've known." He crossed his arms behind his head, staring up at nothing.
"What... what happened between you guys?" I asked, trying to keep my voice soft. He sighed shakily, running a hand through his hair. I don't know why I asked. It didn't concern me and I'd never been one to gossip, but I wanted to keep the conversation going. He looked over at me, eyebrows pinched tightly together.
"If I tell you, you have to at least tell me something that's happened to you in these past nine years," he reasoned.
I sighed, leaning back on my hands and bringing one of my knees up to my chest in an attempt to look more at ease as my bracelet charm clinked against my wrist. Nothing about these past nine years is the kind of thing you want to tell in a bedtime story. Even the move away from him had been difficult, and that was two years before the apocalypse really hit. "Fine," I finally said gruffly.
Wystan grinned at that, seeming almost relieved that I'd agreed. His face slowly began to sober up as he thought about the question I'd asked.
"How'd you guys meet?" I prompted, giving him a place to start. He ran a hand through his dark hair, deep in thought. Just when I was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer after all, he spoke up.
"I think it was the first day I got to Hemmington. I was only half-conscious, dehydrated, scared... the whole deal." He paused for a long moment, gazing up as if he was living out the event in real-time.
"The flares had just happened. Everyone was panicking, trying to find shelter. I had been traveling with this older couple, Sanjay and Peyton... after my parents, ya know." He cleared his throat before going on.
"We'd heard about this place while we were hiding out inside an old gas station. They said it wasn't very big but it was safe. And close. So, early the next morning, before the sun was even up, we all started walking.
They didn't make it. We got attacked by this... this thing five miles from Hemmington. It wasn't a Rubble Creeper, I know that much. It looked kinda like a dog, but ten feet tall and teeth the size of my hand. I ran all the way here while they were being eaten."
He pressed his palms against his eyes. I sat forward in concern.
"You don't need to tell me if it makes you upset," I said, and he just shook his head.
"No, I haven't talked about them since... well, since never. I need to get this off my chest." I nodded softly, crossing my legs underneath me as he continued his story. "I'm pretty sure I passed out right inside the entrance. When I woke up, Colma was the first thing I saw. She had her hand against my cheek. She was trying to get me to drink some water." His lip twitched up at the memory. "I instantly fell in love with her."
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. His words reminded me of my ex-girlfriend.
"So, what happened?" I coaxed. Nobody had ever opened up to me like this before. Of course, I'd never really opened up to anyone, either. And Wystan had always been the kind of person to wear his heart on his sleeve. It's what made me surprised that he'd even survived the initial blast. But maybe that was the reason he had survived: he'd been open to people and they went on to trust him, befriend him, help him, give their lives for him. I could never find the courage to let myself be known, so I was always alone.
"She dumped me," he said simply with a slight shrug. "Said we were 'too different.' We dated for five years, O. It took her five years to realize that we were too different."
I tried to think of something to say to comfort him but came up with none. "So you still have feelings for her?"
He nodded slowly, distractedly playing with his long fingers. I recall the memory of him telling me in fifth grade that he wanted to be in a band. The lead guitarist.
The bread lay forgotten between us.
"I think a part of me always will, I guess." I didn't say anything, just let his words sink in. I knew how he felt. I'd always have feelings for Becka. But, unlike Wystan, the love of my life was gone. Really, truly gone. "Okay, your turn," he said, quickly changing the subject.
I sighed, bringing my hands into my lap, fiddling with the silver bracelet around my wrist. "What do you want to know?"
Wystan shrugged. Opening his mouth to say something, he was cut off by a shrill scream. We both froze, meeting each others' eyes. Before Wystan could protest, I was out the door, my sheathed machete gripped in my hand.