Chapter 2

2

For the next hour, I sit on the porch step and watch the sky through the surrounding trees get darker and darker.

I feel like crying, but I don’t.

I used to cry all the time. When my husband, Josh, lashed out at me. When I would make plans for finally getting away from him but then be too scared to do it. When the asteroid hit and the world fell apart. When so many of my former students died in the first few years after Impact. When I was trying desperately to learn how to stand on my own and defend myself.

When my life became scrambling frantically to survive.

Mack has held me so often while I cried. I can still feel the strength of his big arms and the solidity of his broad chest. The beat of his heart against my ear .

Comfort like that from Mack is a thing of the past, and I know it’s for the best. I might still want it for me, but it’s no longer fair to let him give it to me. I don’t expect him to dry my tears anymore.

But I never dreamed it would be him who made me cry.

I hug my arms to my stomach and lean over toward my knees, breathing deeply and blowing out the angst with each exhalation until the surge of emotion is contained.

I’ve got a job to do here, and I can’t let myself fall apart.

Minutes pass slowly as I try to figure out a plan. A strategy. A method of bringing Mack back to himself.

This isn’t him. Not the real him. The man he’s always been.

If I believed for even a moment that he was happy like this, that he’d shrugged off the burden of caring for the needs of multiple communities and was finally trying to enjoy life on his own, then I’d leave him be. I’m sure I would. I sacrificed my own feelings two years ago when I broke up with him because I was so completely certain it was the right thing.

The right thing for him . Not for me.

But this isn’t the same situation. He’s not happy right now. He’s not relaxing or trying to live a contented life or taking a vacation or anything of the kind.

He’s hiding. He’s hurting. He has retreated into himself and is guarding his true self—the warmest, bravest, most generous man I’ve ever known—like a dragon’s treasure. It’s locked away somewhere inside him. He’s carried too much for too long, and it finally broke him.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my breathing gets fast and choppy again. I sway back and forth until I bury my face against my knees.

And I hate myself—and everyone else who relied on him so long—for letting this happen to him. For not intervening before it got this far.

The sound of the door opening behind me snaps me out of the internal sob. I jump to my feet and whirl around to see Mack in the doorway.

His expression is no softer than it was earlier. He looks at me with shadowed brown eyes.

“Do you really expect me to hike back through The Wild and cross the border in the dark?” I ask him mildly.

He glances over my shoulder at the dark woods behind me. “Thought you said Cal and Rachel were waiting for you.”

“They are. But it’s a pretty long trek back to where they are.”

“How long they gonna wait?”

“Until midday tomorrow.”

He stares another minute, breathing heavily. Then he finally steps out of the doorway with a slight gesture of his head.

I respond immediately to the silent invitation, relieved that Mack hasn’t gotten as hard as I feared and also that I won’t have to spend the night on this porch.

“You’re leaving first thing in the morning,” Mack mutters as he closes and locks the door and then lowers the reinforcement bar.

I nod since there’s no purpose in arguing. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

He doesn’t respond or soften his expression. He stands stiffly, taking up far too much space in the small, rustic living area. He’s always been so big that it makes me feel small.

Trying to break the tension, I glance around. There’s a woodstove, an old couch, a big leather easy chair, and a bookshelf against the wall. In the other direction is a kitchen with small appliances that appear to actually be functional. There are light sconces on the wall, illuminating the rooms dimly.

Chloe told me that this cabin has a solar generator for power, and it clearly still works.

“This is nice. Chloe’s grandpa did a great job setting it all up.”

“Yeah. Got power and water. I had to do some fix-ups when I first got here, but all the systems are good.” He clears his throat and turns toward the short hallway. “You can stay in Chloe’s room tonight.”

I follow him as he walks, nearly running into his back when he stops abruptly. I bring my hand up automatically to stabilize myself against his shoulder blades .

He moves out of my reach immediately and gestures into an open doorway. “Bathroom here.”

I duck my head in and flip on the light. There’s a toilet, a sink, and a small, no-frills shower. “The toilet and shower still work?”

“Yeah. Just pump the water in first. Got to heat up the water if you want the shower hot. Move out and I’ll show you.”

I try not to let it hurt my feelings that he’s so reluctant to even brush up against me. What happened to him is not about me. It’s about everything. I’m simply the person who’s here right now. Without a visible reaction, I step out of the bathroom so Mack can get in.

He pumps a lever next to a box on the wall several times, clearly filling a tank up with water. Then he flips a switch and a red light comes on. “This will heat the water up for the shower. It won’t last more than a few minutes, so make sure you do the essentials first thing.”

“Okay. I will. Thanks.” When he reaches up toward the switch and gives me a questioning look, I know what he’s asking. “You can leave that on. I’ll take a shower right away.”

He nods, and I step back into the hall to let him out, following as he pushes through the partly closed doorway on the right. “This is Chloe’s room. Looks decent.”

It is. It’s got a twin-size bed with a pretty pink quilt, a dresser, and another bookshelf. I step over and idly open the top drawer of the dresser. It’s filled with clothes .

“Her clothes will be too small for me,” I say. Chloe is a pretty, curvy blonde and at least five inches shorter than me. “Do you have anything I can borrow to change into after I shower? I’d like to rinse out these clothes.”

Mack turns without speaking and walks out of the room. Since he didn’t say no, I assume he’s gone to get me something of his to put on.

With a sigh, I slump onto the bed, dropping my backpack on the floor and toeing off my hiking boots.

He returns in just a minute and hands me a T-shirt and pair of gym shorts with a drawstring so I can tighten them around my waist. I recognize them immediately. I used to put them on all the time after we had sex.

My hand shakes slightly as I take the clothes from him, but I don’t think he’ll notice.

“There’s a washer you can use for your clothes. I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says. “Don’t take too long in the shower or you’ll freeze your ass off when the hot water runs out.”

I don’t bother replying because he’s already out the door and down the hall.

With a sigh, I make myself summon the energy to stand up again.

I heed Mack’s advice, rinsing off quickly before shutting off the water so I can soap up and lather my hair with the shampoo from the bottle on the built-in shelf. Then I turn the water back on and rinse off again. Since there’s still hot water coming out, I take a minute to shave my underarms. I haven’t had a chance to do that in a long time.

The razor is almost certainly what Mack’s been using on his head, but I don’t worry too much about that. I’ve had Mack’s sweat all over every inch of my body. I’ve had his tongue in my mouth and my pussy, his cock in my mouth and my pussy, his semen all over my face and my belly and my thighs and my ass.

Sharing a razor is the least of my concerns.

I finish up right as the water starts getting colder, so I turn it off and dry myself with the towel hanging neatly on the bar.

It’s probably the towel Mack has been using too. I put it to my nose, but I can’t smell him on it.

I can smell him on the clothes, although they’re obviously clean. The faint, familiar scent triggers a clench of entitlement down deep at my core, but I try to ignore it. The T-shirt is his smallest one. It fits him like a glove but is baggy on me. The shorts come almost to my knees, but with the drawstring, it’s no problem to make them work.

I comb out my hair with a hairbrush that obviously used to be Chloe’s. It’s got a few strands of pale blond hair still caught in the bristles, and for some reason it makes me sad. My eyes burn.

She lived here with her grandfather for years, but he’s dead now. She’s happy. She found a man she obviously loves and is very pregnant with their first baby. They have a thriving, fairly secure community, and raising a family is what she wants.

I’m just in a weird emotional mood, so I shake it off.

I braid my hair since it’s sopping wet and then collect my dirty clothes from the bathroom floor and my pack for the washer.

I can’t remember the last time I washed my clothes with anything except my own hands.

Mack is in the kitchen as he said he’d be. He’s wearing sweats and an old T-shirt, having clearly taken a shower during the time I was sitting on the porch. His feet are bare, and he’s stirring something in a pot on the stove eye.

“That smells good,” I tell him as I load my clothes in the small machine that’s obviously the washer. I add detergent, close the lid, and study the controls until I can figure out how to turn it on.

“Rabbit stew. Went hunting this morning.”

I watch as he dumps a couple of cans into the pot. Pearl onions and mixed vegetables.

“There was still a bunch of food stocked up here,” he explains. “The canned and dehydrated stuff is still good.”

“Nice. Chloe said her grandpa was a major prepper and had years of food and supplies stocked up. I’m sure everyone thought he was completely out of his mind before Impact.”

“Yep.” He’s focused on his pot, not even glancing at me. “Expect the worst all the time and eventually you’re gonna be right. ”

The words are true. Of course they are. But they don’t sound like him at all.

And it hurts.

My throat closes up. “Mack.” The one word comes out soft and raspy. Almost a plea.

He ignores it completely.

When he’s done with the stew, he scoops it into two bowls, thrusts one in front of me at the small table, and then takes his to the other seat.

We eat in silence for a minute. The stew is really good. He must have salt and pepper here.

The silence gets to me, and with a surge of frustration, I decide I’m not going to give in to it.

So I start to talk. And I keep talking even though Mack doesn’t reply with more than an occasional grunt.

I tell him all the news I can think of about our friends back home.

Halbrook is now the biggest town in the area with a thriving school, two churches, and a clinic. Esther, who we met by chance on a trip we were making a few years ago, is now the principal of the school and also newly pregnant with her and Zed’s second child.

Layne and Travis are still living in their little cabin in the mountains, but they’re planning to move to Halbrook within the next year because their oldest, Abigail, is now five and will need to attend school soon. They’ve also got a three-year-old boy named Michael, a one-year-old boy named Benjamin, and are pregnant with their fourth, so they can’t live so isolated anymore.

Grant and Olivia just had their second child. Gabe and Emily both have eyes as blue as their father’s. The bunker community has established themselves as an organized town, and a couple of months ago they elected Grant as the mayor.

New Haven Farm has doubled in size from when we first met Faith and Jackson five years ago. Their little girl is starting to say her first words. She was sickly for the first few months of her life, but she’s doing better now. Kate and Miguel are pregnant again. Sweet, little Langley decided to join up with Maria’s crew for a year, and Ham has had three different girlfriends in the time Mack has been gone.

Cal and Rachel still live up on their mountain when they’re not traveling.

I spill out all this as we eat our meal, keeping on despite the supreme lack of response from Mack.

He’s known all these people for years. All of them would count Mack as one of their favorite people and closest friends. And he acts like he’s barely listening to the news on how they’re doing.

Refusing to give in to exasperation, I keep my tone friendly and conversational. We’ve both finished eating before I’m done talking.

When I finally run out of things to say, Mack is motionless across the table from me, staring blankly .

“Mack, please,” I finally ask in almost a whisper. “Why are you acting this way?”

He gets up from his seat, picking up my bowl and spoon in addition to his own. “Plan to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t say anything else the whole evening.

I go to bed as soon as my clothes are dry, and I’m tired enough to actually sleep.

Part of me wants to be stubborn and stay, whether Mack wants me here or not. But with the way he’s acting, that may do more harm than good. And it’s clear he’s not planning to escort me back to safer territory, so I need to reach Cal and Rachel before midday tomorrow if I hope to survive and get home.

And I do want to get back home. What’s happened to Mack is a loss in my life—a huge, gaping loss—but it doesn’t mean I can simply throw everything away.

My life matters too.

So I don’t see much choice but to leave in the morning as soon as the sky starts to lighten. I get dressed in my own clothes and pack up my bag again. I heft the straps over my shoulders and walk through the small cabin to where Mack is waiting on the porch.

This morning he’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt. It’s old. It’s got a small tear on one sleeve and a stain on the back near the hem. He’s been wearing it for as long as I can remember, along with his army fatigues.

I stand in front of him, meeting his gaze for a minute. Then murmur, “Are you sure about this, Mack?”

“I’m sure,” he says gruffly. “You tell ’em not to send anyone else. I’m fine, and I’m planning to stay.”

My throat tightens so quickly I almost choke, but I manage to clear it with a cough. There’s nothing left for me to say.

I pull my gun out of my holster so that I have it at the ready as I hike. I head down the front walk. Then the driveway.

I glance back once before the cabin is out of sight, but Mack isn’t even on the porch anymore.

I hike for two hours without incident and without seeing another living soul.

It’s a lot safer that way, but the utter isolation still feels creepy. Lonely.

How the hell does Mack stand it? He’s always been so social.

But things are different now. And I’ve failed.

I failed him and me and Cal and Rachel and everyone waiting for Mack at home. If I’d spotted even a flicker of softening in him, I probably would have stuck it out. Forced my presence on him when he clearly doesn’t want it.

But there was nothing. Nothing.

It’s like it’s not even Mack anymore.

It’s on that thought that my eyes start to burn, and after a few minutes all the tears I’ve been suppressing for the past twenty-four hours start streaming down my face. I cry in mostly silence, still walking at a brisk pace because I can’t afford to lose any time.

Cal and Rachel will be waiting for me for a few more hours.

They’re going to be crushed when I show up without Mack.

I sniff and wipe at my eyes and continue, making sure to keep an eye out for possible danger.

I really think I’m being careful, but I’m also crying. So what happens could definitely be my own fault.

I’m not really made for this life. I don’t like violence of any kind, and it took me years after Impact to develop any sort of functional self-defense and fighting skills. I’ve learned a lot and hardened myself as best I can, so I’m not completely helpless anymore.

But I’m not Rachel. Or Maria. Or one of the supercompetent women in my circle.

And when I turn a tight curve in the trail I’m following and am suddenly confronted by three dubious-looking men, I don’t react quickly enough.

I should have raised my gun immediately, but I don’t. I’m surprised. My eyes are filled with tears. And my head is momentarily blank.

It’s only a matter of seconds before I wrap my mind around the situation and start aiming my gun, but it’s too late by then.

The men are faceless to me. Two are big, and one is small. They all have untrimmed beards and shaggy hair. They don’t look like the ruffians who populate the border. Instead, they look like they’ve barely dragged themselves out of the Stone Age.

They don’t even have weapons, but one of them grabs my arm before I can get my gun leveled. He squeezes so hard I gasp and buckle, and my pistol falls to the ground.

They’re talking to each other now, but all I can hear is a piercing ringing inside my head. It’s deafening me. Blurring my vision. The pain from my arm and the absolute panic.

I’m struggling in the grip of the man who grabbed me, but he’s got to be almost a foot taller than me and twice as broad.

It’s been a long time—years—since I’ve lived with the fear that every man I encounter might try to rape me. For the first few years after Impact, in the chaos of so many catastrophes, one right after another, that was reality. There was genuinely as much of a chance of an unknown man assaulting you as not. But our region has been stabilized for four years now, and with the stability came more personal security .

I know there are dangerous people around—even in my home in the heart of Kentucky—but it’s not like it used to be.

It’s not like this.

Here in the dark of The Wild, we might as well be back in the first year after Impact. These men clearly have no boundaries or social pressure to behave.

I’m a woman in their reach, so they’re going to take me.

Fighting the overpowering roar of terror in my head, I desperately grapple for Maria’s training and for all the repeated lessons Mack gave me. I block out the wave of fear enough to focus on the position of my body.

The first guy has got both my arms in his grip now. He’s wrenched them behind my back, and he’s using his hold on me to shove me forward face-first into a large tree.

I jerk my head back just in time to keep my nose from being crushed, but the rough bark scratches my chin.

My arms are completely useless. The man is holding them in a ruthless grip. But my feet are still free.

I swing one of them back against the man’s knee.

He grunts and falters just slightly. Enough for me to yank one of my arms out of his grip. I whirl around and bring up my knee as hard as I can, slamming it against his groin.

He makes a choking sound and doubles over, his grip relaxing on my other arm.

If it was only him, I might have been able to do it. Get away even though my attacker is bigger than me. I’m diving for my gun, blocking out the pain from my wrenched shoulder and bruised forearm.

But there are two other men here, and I’m not any sort of Amazon.

There’s no way I can get away from all three of them.

The other two grab me, one on each side, and push me to the ground. I get a face full of leaves, pine straw, and soft dirt, but that’s not the worst of it.

There’s no way in the world I’m going to survive this. They’re going to take turns and then probably kill me. And if they don’t, they’ll drag me with them to whatever cave they crawled out of and will keep using me until there’s nothing left.

I know it for sure.

No question.

I tried so hard to learn how to be strong, but I’ll never be strong enough.

That’s my last thought before I hear the gunshots.

Gunshots. Out of nowhere.

And not from my pistol. These shots are louder. Bigger. And they’re moving closer. I still can’t see anything but the ground I’ve been pushed into, but I can hear the gunshots.

One. Two. Three. Four. A pause. Then one more.

Something heavy falls on top of me then. Right across my back .

Then it’s lifted off and dropped to the right of me. I hear the thump when it falls.

And I’m paralyzed. Prostrate on the ground.

Until I hear a gruff voice saying, “Anna.”

I know that voice. I’ll always know it. No matter how far he tries to run.

“Mack,” I choke out, suddenly capable of moving again.

I start to push myself up, but I don’t have to. Big hands reach down to grab my waist and haul me to my feet. Then they turn me around.

My legs won’t hold me. My knees buckle immediately. Mack has to grab me again and pull me forward toward his chest.

I’m choking again. Maybe coughing or maybe crying against his shirt. Whatever they are, they wrack my whole body in the attempt to clear my throat with each spasm.

“Shit,” he rasps, wrapping both arms around me. “Goddamn fucking shit. What did they do to you?”

“I’m—” I’m strangling on the words, but I keep trying until I can get it out. “I’m… okay.”

He makes a weird guttural sound and tightens his arms. I need them even tighter. I push against his chest as I wheeze and sob like I’m trying to crawl all the way inside him.

I’m not sure how long it takes for me to pull myself together, but he hugs me tightly until I do.

When it finally feels like I won’t slump to the ground without his support, I straighten up. He loosens his arms although he keeps his hands on my waist just in case.

“Thank you,” I manage to say. “Thank you. How were you even here?”

“Got worried,” he admits with a weird, quick twist of his features. “So I followed you. Wasn’t sure it’d be safe for you alone.”

It obviously wasn’t. “Thank you.”

“What did they do to you?” he asks again, this time scanning me from top to bottom in a quick, searching glance.

“They… they mostly grabbed me. Hurt my arm and then I wrenched my shoulder bad trying to get away. They just pushed me to the ground, but you shot them before they did anything else.”

“So they didn’t?—”

“No.” I shake my head as I’m hit with a wave of relief so powerful it nearly buckles my knees again. I grab for his shirt to hold on. “You got here in time.”

He makes another one of those throaty sounds. Hugs me again, which allows me to cry for another minute against his chest.

Then next time I pull away, Mack asks, “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” I try, but one of my knees got slammed into a tree root when they pushed me down, and it hurts more than I realized. I have to limp. “Damn it. I’m never going to make it back to Cal and Rachel in time like this. ”

Mack is silent for a minute. Then, “You said they’d wait for you at one of the farms for a week?”

“Yes.”

He’s staring at the ground, stiff and unreadable. Then he finally mutters, “Come back to the cabin. You can stay for a few days until you’re able to hike again. Then I’ll take you all the way back.”

I almost strangle on a surge of hope. “Back home?”

“No. Back to Cal and Rachel.” He gives me a steady look. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. To any of you. But I don’t want to go home. So I’ll make sure you’re okay, but then I’m coming back here again. You need to stop hoping for me.”

I don’t argue as he puts an arm around me for support as we start walking back to the cabin. Then finally I murmur, “I understand what you’re telling me, but you’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way I’m going to give up hope.”