Jack slowed as he approached the classroom where Layla was teaching. Was he early? He hadn’t checked the time before heading downstairs, had left his office without really thinking about it. Even though it had been nearly a year since there had been phone service of any kind, he reached into his pocket for his cell, with half-formed thoughts of sending a text. The simple gesture stopped him in his tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling too many emotions to process; so, as he did so often these days, Jack shoved what he didn’t want to deal with down deep, stuffed it, sealed it off. The resulting numbness kept him operational. His steps resumed.
He was early – Layla was still teaching. Jack stopped just outside the open classroom door, listening as she instructed the older kids to trade the essays they had been working on and to begin peer edits, then pulled the younger kids together for a science project involving plant growth. Practical, that, as these children would likely spend their lives growing most of their own food. Still out of sight, Jack sank to the floor and made himself comfortable, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, listening to the comforting, familiar sounds of kids in a classroom, kids learning, kids being kids.
He dozed a little as he waited, letting his mind rest in the luxury of blankness he was so seldom able to achieve these days. In the time before, it was his habit to wake long before his alarm, to blink awake slowly, to allow thought and inspiration to rise from the uncluttered nothingness. He would pray during those early morning hours as well, ask God to direct his thoughts and actions for the day, ask to be made an instrument of His peace. In prayer, he would examine his life, analyze his progress as a human, and humbly thank God for making him worthy of the respect and leadership he had been gifted with. Pretty easy, in those days, to like himself.
Now, he didn’t even know who he was. Self-examination was a black pit he avoided at all costs. And he hadn’t found the time to pray in a long, long time. So much for resting his mind. Jack sighed, opened his eyes, and didn’t manage to completely stifle a startled yelp.
Verity was sitting cross-legged in front of him, her knees almost touching his, grinning with delight at his discomfort. He resisted asking how she’d snuck up on him so silently; Verity was not capable of answering even a mundane question seriously. He made a move to rise, but she held her hands out, forestalling him.
“Wait!” Her delicate hands bloomed like a flower between them, an appealing gesture. “We so seldom get a chance to talk, just the two of us. One could almost think,” she sparkled an innocent smile at him, “That you actively avoid me.”
Jack contemplated and discarded several replies, and finally settled on a non-committal grunt. Generally, the less he said around Verity, the better. He never knew what was going to come out of her mouth, but he could usually count on it making him feel either stupid, ridiculous or uncomfortable. Often, all three.
And yet, he couldn’t deny her gift or refute her claim that she could communicate with the dead. Verity knew things she shouldn’t. Couldn’t. She had been able to offer closure and comfort to some of the members of their small community. She’d also cheerfully traumatized some of them, a fact she seemed wholly oblivious to. Layla was good at buffering her; otherwise, Jack suspected she would have been run out of town long before now. At times, he was tempted to lead that charge.
Verity leaned forward, her face dangerously earnest. “I have a question, and some information for you. Which do you want first?”
Jack’s heart sped up just a touch. Nothing good could come of this. “Verity, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not…uh…participate.”
“Ha!” Verity poked him in the center of his chest with her finger. “I told Zadkiel you’d say that! He said no, that people can’t resist either questions or information, but I was sure. He just about never leaves you these days, by the way – says you need all the mercy and compassion towards yourself he can muster. Anyhow, guess he’ll have to pay up! Ha!”
Only Verity would make a bet with an Archangel. What in the world had the stakes been? And what did it mean that Jack wasn’t in the least surprised?
She persevered. “So. Information or question?”
Good Lord. Jack glanced at Layla’s classroom, wishing they’d finish and provide him with his escape. “Question, I guess.”
“Okay.” Verity cocked her head to the side. “You never ask for information about your loved ones. Your parents, siblings, friends. Everyone else, even Layla, has asked. Why not you?”
Jack narrowed his eyes at her. Was this a trap? Did she already know the answer? Her expression was all open, golden, cherubic innocence, but he knew better than to buy that for an instant. Finally, he cleared his throat. “My folks were elderly, and my dad was in poor health. I don’t think…”
He paused, and decided he didn’t have anything to lose. “I can’t feel them. Here.” He touched the center of his chest. “They’re gone. I’m sure of it.”
Verity beamed her approval. “You’re right – they are! And you actually said it! I’m so proud of you!” Her face darkened briefly. “Guess that makes Zadkiel and I even – he said you’d say that, too, but I figured you’d prevaricate, like usual.”
Jack decided to give it a try, as long as he was already embroiled: “You know, Verity, generally when someone shares with you their certainty that their parents are dead, it’s appropriate to express sorrow, or sympathy. Maybe you could try for just a moment of respectful silence?”
She blinked at him. “Huh. I hadn’t considered that.” Then, she wiggled side-to-side, scooting closer, a look of intense curiosity on her mobile face. “Your parents are with the One, part of the Divine. That fits with Christian beliefs. Why, then, does it make people so sad?”
Could she really not understand this? What in the world had this woman’s life been? “Because even though we believe they live on eternally in Christ, and we’ll be reunited with them one day, we’re sad that our time with them here on Earth is over. We miss them, their personalities, maybe their advice, their company. Their love.” Jack paused, letting that sink in, then asked his own question. “Haven’t you ever lost someone you loved, Verity?”
She recoiled. For the first time, ever, Jack saw something on her face that wasn’t impish or mischievous, and the light around her, the light he could never explain or dismiss, guttered and dimmed. Her hands fluttered to her heart, rubbed, then crossed to squeeze her own shoulders. She closed her eyes, and even though she wasn’t touching him, Jack saw the angels. Layer after layer of ethereal wings wrapped around her, cradling her in glowing tenderness, until she heaved a deep hitching breath and opened eyes that once more shone with glory and humor. She shook her finger at him.
“Snuck past my guard. Shame on you. I don’t visit the Ghostlands, Jack. The only person who used to be there for me moved on, long ago.” Again, the inquisitive cock of her head. “What about your sister? Aren’t you curious about her?”
It was Jack’s turn to recoil. Damn it, he should have seen that coming. He concentrated for a moment, stuffed all the feelings her question had roused down with the others and sealed them off. Then, he returned her gesture, shaking a finger at her. He was proud, so very proud, of the light tone he achieved. “One question, you said. You asked it.”
“Well, well, well. So you’ve learned to shield yourself from your own feelings, as well as the feelings of others.” Verity shook her head at him. “Jack. You know better. How long do you think you can keep that stuffing business up without exploding?”
He smiled tightly. Of course she knew. Layla probably did, too, but he doubted she would ever bring it up. “As long as I have to, I guess.”
“Why?” She looked genuinely concerned.
“To function. To survive.” His own words surprised him. He shifted, and rose stiffly to his feet. This had gone on long enough. “As always, Verity, it has been an experience talking to you –”
“The answer to your question is, ‘Yes.’”
He stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“The information I promised you. Raziel asked me to tell you.”
No, oh no, it couldn’t be. “Which question?” he rasped, though he knew. Of course he knew. There was only one question that burned in his heart and mind these days, one question he couldn’t bear to know the answer to, and couldn’t go on without answering: Whether or not the Rapture had occurred. Whether or not he had been passed over as unworthy.
Verity tilted her head as if listening for a moment, then answered. “You wonder if you were left behind for a reason. Raziel says yes, you were.”
Jack’s knees went watery. He braced a palm against the wall as the hallway started to do a slow revolve around him. Dimly, he heard Verity speaking.
“Oh, all right! Sometimes, you Archangels can be so exacting.” She rose, and her hand landed on his shoulder, as light as a wild bird. “He says to take a deep breath, that it’s not what you think.” She huffed. “All right! It’s not what I made it sound like. You were not denied the Rapture – that’s not what this is about.”
Slowly, the hall stopped spinning. Jack drew in a deep breath, then another. When his head felt like it was attached to his shoulders again, he glared sideways at Verity. “You are a menace.”
In answer, she started singing in a high, crystalline soprano. “Jesus loves you, this I know, for the Bible tells you so –” She paused, listened, then sighed. “Raziel has informed me that your assessment is correct. He is so serious,” she whispered confidentially, then continued on in a normal tone. “You survived, Jack, because you’re being issued an invitation. The Divine has a Gift for you, and it would be best for all involved if you accepted it in this incarnation.”
Jack shook his head. “You do know that no one but Layla understands you when you talk like this, right?”
“Fine. Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Raziel agrees with you. Again.” Her voice dropped to a petulant mutter. “I am not being a smart-ass! Well, of course I can tell it to him straight, but what fun is that?”
“Verity.” Jack had endured all he was going to. “Just tell me: Did the Rapture occur or not? That’s all I need to know.”
“Ugh, you Christians. So yes-no, black-white, good-bad. It’s not that straightforward. Your question is based on your belief that the book of Revelation is a literal description of Earth’s end times – a book of slippery language and vague suggestions if there ever was one – and that we’re in those end times.” Verity reached out and touched Jack’s forearm, and the expression on her face was one Jack seldom saw: Earnest concern. “I know about the charts, the lists, the hours and hours you’ve spent studying, trying to fit everything into prophecy. Raziel told me. I know how hard you’ve been looking for answers.”
Jack’s head fell forward. He felt like a baited bear nearing the end of his strength. “People ask me, all the time: Why? Why did this happen? Why am I still here, when my loved ones are gone? Like I have some kind of insight they don’t. Like I should know. And I should have something to tell them, some comfort to offer, some kind of guidance. But I…” He shook his head, lifted his helpless hands, and let them fall. “I don’t. I have nothing to give them. No answers.”
“Huh.” Verity tapped her chin with her forefinger. “So, when you told everyone that the ways of the Lord were mysterious, and none of you could hope to comprehend the scope of His plan, and you all needed to keep faith and trust, and continue on – that was all just a lot of blah blah?”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “No. Of course not. But…” Oh, she was going to bust him on this, he was sure of it. The trap yawned before him, just waiting for her to snap it shut. After several moments of loaded silence, he cracked an eye open and gazed at her.
She gazed back. “Bust yourself,” she said softly. “You don’t need me to.”
She turned and seemed to float down the hallway instead of walking. Jack watched her go, biting back all the questions she had left in her wake, but she heard them anyway. She pirouetted, dancing backwards as she answered.
“That would be neither a ‘Yes’ nor a ‘No’ on the Rapture thing. And if you don’t accept the Gift the Divine has for you in this lifetime, it will be offered again in the next.” She held up a cautionary finger. “You’ll want to avoid that, if you can – lessons that get repeated tend to be more, hmm, strenuous, let’s say.” She shuddered. “Hubris. Oh, that one was awful…”
She disappeared around the corner, thank God and all the angels of heaven. Jack sucked in a huge breath of air, blew it out, and stepped into the doorway of the classroom. Early or not, he was desperate for the distraction. A few kids looked up at his entry and smiled; he returned their smiles, but gestured for them to re-focus on their tasks. Time spent in this classroom was essential, and he supported it however he could. The kids were thriving on the return to routine and expectations, and it gave their whole community a hopeful lift to rally around the fifteen children that had survived.
Layla was bent over the desk of her youngest student, little Rose, a five-year-old who currently refused to answer to anything but “Rainbow Dash,” a character of My Little Pony fame. It was a coping mechanism – all the kids had them to some degree – and he and Layla had talked about it at length, deciding how to handle the little girl’s need for fantasy, coming up with a strategy and a plan. They spent hours discussing the kids in the evening now, a huge improvement over the strained silence that had characterized their relationship before Layla started teaching again.
Layla looked up, her eyes met Jack’s, and Verity’s words seemed to echo in his head: A Gift from the Divine. He felt a flush start at his hairline and sweep down across his face, his neck, his chest. Layla frowned and stood, weaving towards him through the desks.
“Are you okay? You look feverish.”
She hadn’t regained the weight she had lost from the time before, but thin as she was, she still managed to radiate a lush voluptuousness that could go to his head like wine, if his guard was down. Apparently it was, because he was experiencing a distinct dizziness.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, “Just stood up too fast. I was sitting in the hallway. Don’t let me interrupt – I’ll just sit back here and wait.”
He took a seat in one of the back desks while she helped the kids wrap up the projects they were working on. He had been dropping in at the end of the school day for the last couple of weeks to take the kids to the gym for exercise and play. What had started as an invitation to the teens to shoot a few hoops had turned into a daily phys-ed session with all the kids. Jack had resisted at first – he had twenty five things to do with every minute these days – but it didn’t take long for him to make it priority one. Of all the things he missed most from the time before, it was time spent with kids. For the first time since he’d opened his eyes under Layla’s riotously-colored bed canopy, one of the rare survivors of the plague, there was something in his life that made him remember who he was.
“Okay, kids, let’s end with ‘Take it or Leave it,’ then ya’ll can go school Pastor Jack on the basketball court.” The older kids shot him grins, and the little ones giggled. They loved it when Layla teased Jack, and didn’t seem to notice that he never responded in kind.
Layla moved to the far side of the room, where the kids were keeping running lists on a pair of white boards, one labeled “Take it Forward,” the other titled, “Leave it Behind.” She picked up a dry erase marker and surveyed the room. “Let’s start with ‘Leave it.’ Who has a suggestion?”
“Valentine’s Day!” Karleigh, their oldest student at sixteen, had clung to the Goth look she’d favored in the time before, though black hair dye was harder to come by now. As a result, her natural red formed five inch roots before joining the faded black that hung to her shoulders. “It’s lame and fakey. I say we get rid of it.”
Jack bit the inside of his cheek against a smile, his eyes flickering to the pink, lacey hearts that still hung in scallops across the top of the white board. They had just celebrated the holiday in question; he wondered how Karleigh would feel when he suggested they abolish Halloween.
“The candy sucks, too.” Viola was two years younger than Karleigh, and followed her lead in all things. She blushed when Layla raised a single eyebrow and re-phrased her comment. “I mean, the candy is less than delicious. Or it was, like, when there was candy. Remember those gross sugar hearts with the weird sayings?”
“Thank you, girls. Any other input?” Layla looked around the room. “Anyone want to speak in support of keeping Valentine’s Day?”
Charlotte’s hand went up. At nine, she was their tomboy in a tutu, into sports and anything sparkly, and blissfully unconcerned with the opinions of the older girls. “I like the colors. The red and the pink. And the hearts.” Her freckled nose wrinkled. “The ‘love’ stuff was lame, though. Like Karleigh said. ‘Fakey.’”
“Shall we put it to a vote? All in favor of keeping Valentine’s Day, raise your hands.” Layla waited patiently while Charlotte’s hand went up, then down, then up again to stay. She smiled, and raised her own hand. “Two votes in favor of keeping Valentine’s Day. Those in favor of letting it stay in the past?”
The rest of the kids raised their hands, making the vote 14-2, and in this small corner of the surviving world, Valentine’s Day went the way of the Dodo.
Jack went ahead and let his grin break free. He thought this activity was brilliant. Every day, Layla and the kids talked about what they missed, what they would like to bring back, and what they thought should forever be left in the past. Jack loved everything about the concept – it helped the kids understand their power to shape the future, using their knowledge of the past. The things they came up with never failed to astonish him. They had voted to include the internet, Disney movies and state parks in their futures; artificial sweeteners, reality TV and nuclear war would be left behind. Social media remained in hotly-debated no-man’s land.
Layla called for another “Leave It,” and Viola’s hand went up again. She had just begun to discover social activism when the plague hit, and she had been working her way down a list for this activity. Jack was sure of it. “Puppy mills. Those should never come back!”
Agreement was swift and unanimous. Layla called for one more, and Jack couldn’t resist chiming in. “Infomercials.”
Layla laughed, and the older kids grinned. She wrote “Infomercials” on the “Leave It” list. “No more hyper salesmen pitching steak knives and fitness programs! Do we need to vote? No? All right, then – anyone else?”
James, one of the teens, leaned to whisper in his buddy’s ear, and both of them started snickering. Layla zeroed in. “James? Have something to share?”
James forced his face to seriousness. “No Miss Layla. I was just joking around. I apologize.”
Before Layla could go on, little Rose’s voice piped into the quiet room. “What’s ‘Viagra?’”
James dropped his now-flaming-red face into his hands, the older kids collapsed into choked giggles, and the younger ones shot disapproving stares at Rose. She gazed around the room with wide, curious eyes for a moment; then those eyes filled with tears as she recognized her transgression.
Without a single exception, all of the children were demonstrating intuitive abilities. In many cases, their gifts were far stronger than what the adults were experiencing, which made guiding them even more difficult. Jack, Layla and Rowan had spent hours discussing the situation, trying to come up with a plan for going forward with the new social reality. How did you interact with someone when you knew, with absolute certainty, they were lying about something? What should you act on – what was said, or what was sensed? What to do, when you knew what someone wanted to say but was choosing not to?
The older kids were still awed enough to err on the side of caution, though Jack was sure – and Layla concurred – that it wouldn’t be long before some of them tried their hands at manipulation. The little ones, though, had already forgotten that the world hadn’t always been this way; one thing that certainly hadn’t changed was the honesty of youth. Rose, being the youngest and also exceptionally gifted, suffered terribly when she accidentally crossed the line.
Layla and Jack’s eyes met. She glanced at Rose, lifted her chin subtly at the door, then raised her eyebrows. Jack nodded; he didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know what she wanted. While Layla called the room to order and asked for a “Take It,” he rose from his desk and went to crouch beside Rose. She was now staring at the top of her desk, eyes brilliant with tears she refused to shed, lower lip plumped out and quivering. Her misery was so powerful, it overwhelmed his shields. It was all he could do not to pucker up himself. Instead, he leaned to speak just to her.
“Hey, Rainbow Dash. How about helping me get the gym ready for the rest of the kids? I didn’t do it before I came down.”
She shot him a suspicious look – the same sensitivity that had allowed her to pick up on James’ unspoken joke was now directed at him, and she was detecting, at least faintly, his sorrow for her struggle. To a child, these kids despised pity. Jack reinforced his shields and resisted her probing. She frowned, and redoubled her efforts. To Jack, it felt like a battering ram. He gave her a look of mild reproof, and reached out to tap the end of her little nose.
“Remember what we talked about? We don’t push past someone else’s defenses. Can you feel where my wall is?”
Rose concentrated for a moment, then nodded, and Jack felt her back off. She gazed at him, chagrined, and fresh tears broke through and spilled over. “I’m sorry.”
He stood and held out his hand to her, calling on his own intuition to infuse his voice with just the right amounts of levity and love. “It’s okay. Let’s go, and you can tell me how things are going in the land of Equestria these days.”
Rose gave a gigantic sniff, then stood, tucking her soft little hand into his. He nodded at Layla as they headed for the door. She nodded back, and he felt her “thank you” as a brief warmth in the center of his chest.
They walked down the hall towards the gym in companionable silence; another difference these days. Folks were either more or less comfortable with silence, depending on the circumstances. Often, words weren’t necessary. Other times, words were withheld, so they wouldn’t give lie to the feelings that couldn’t be concealed. Jack wished, sometimes, that he could be on the outside looking in. From a sociological perspective, what was happening to them was fascinating. It would be interesting to study, to theorize, to distance himself and just observe the shifting mores and changing social rituals. Instead, he was right in the thick of it. He looked down at Rose’s small, thoughtful face and smiled. Sometimes, that wasn’t as hard as others.
Rose slid a glance up at him. “So what is ‘Viagra?’”
Jack did not smile, though he knew she could feel his amusement. “It’s a medicine men take. Used to take,” he amended. Rowan was still dealing daily with people suffering from drug-withdrawals, and lack of Viagra was the very least of their problems. “It helped their bodies function under certain circumstances.”
Rose took another few silent steps, then again with the sideways glance. “But why was that funny?” Then, in a tiny, shaky voice, “Why did they laugh?”
And why was it so easy to meet her eyes, squeeze her warm little hand, and answer this embarrassing question? Jack wished he could spend all his time with the kids. Things got so clear when he was with them. “Because it had to do with man-woman, lovey-dovey stuff. James is interested in that right now, so he makes jokes about it.” Rose made a disgusted face, and Jack did smile this time. “When you’re older, and you’re interested in that stuff, it’ll make more sense.”
“Boys are gross,” Rose muttered, just as a five-year-old girl should, changed world or not. They arrived at the gym, and Jack set the little girl to work, spacing jump ropes and scooter boards around the room. They’d start with some good old-fashioned relay races, then break into free play and three-on-three basketball. Layla and the other kids arrived before they finished setting up, and Layla set them to helping.
Jack paused, watching them for a moment. So few children to carry on – only thirteen from their community, plus Dylan and Evie, the children Naomi had found almost a year ago in Cascade. Their futures were so uncertain, but chances were good they would spend their lives here in what was left of this town, doing their part to rebuild this corner of a shattered world. There had been no word from the outside since Naomi’s arrival, but Jack suspected circumstances in Woodland Park were about as good as it got. He didn’t speak of it, but he dreamed: Awful, portentous nightmares he knew were warnings of terrible possibilities forming and moving in the world beyond the blocked pass.
“Hey, Pastor Jack!” James again, hollering across the echoing gym.
Jack hadn’t preached a sermon in over a year, but old habits and all. He hollered back. “Hey what, James?”
“Are we still the state of Colorado?”
Jack blinked and looked at Layla. She shrugged. He turned back to James. “Do you want to be?”
James considered, then nodded. “Yeah. Colorado was a pretty cool place to live.” Before either Jack or Layla could say anything, he looked around, hollering again. “Any opposed?”
Rose’s hand shot up. “I say we become ‘Equestria!’”
Soft groans sounded around the room, but again, the kids acted without adult intervention. Ten-year-old Ella dropped a hand on Rose’s head and gave it a soft rub. Like both Jack and Layla, she could read the emotions of others, and her response was invariably tender and true. “How about if we stay Colorado for people on the outside, but we know that we’re really ‘Equestria.’ Just us here, in this room. Like a special secret.”
Rose’s small face lit with delight, and Jack felt his chest clutch with love and terror. These kids. They had become his heart. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to any of them. He glanced at Layla and saw her blinking hard at the ceiling, not quite able to conceal the tears that brightened her beautiful dark eyes.
Jack clapped his hands together. “Okay, everybody!” He had to clear the roughness from his voice before he could continue. “Here’s how we’re going to do this…”
They raced and played, argued and made-up, competed, pouted and gloated for the better part of an hour. Layla had gone back to the classroom to prepare for the next day’s lessons, and Jack kept the kids moving until Martin showed up in the door to the gym. Most of the kids walked to nearby homes in groups, but a couple of them lived farther out, and Martin ran them home on the snowmobile when the weather called for it. After snow the night before, the day had been bright with sun but clouds were building again in the west; it looked like they were in for another wave. Jack shooed the kids on their way back to the classroom for coats and boots, then trailed them with Martin. He glanced at the older man as they walked. As usual, Martin’s feelings were locked down tight, unreadable.
“How’s Naomi doing with the horses?”
“Fair.” Martin shrugged. “Maybe a little better than that. She’s got a touch, when she forgets she’s afraid.” He walked a few steps in silence, then spoke again, low, so the children wouldn’t hear. “I wish you would talk her out of going.”
Jack huffed a humorless laugh. “What makes you think I can talk her into or out of anything?”
Martin glanced sideways at him, eyes sharp, and the memory of their old disagreement simmered between them. Martin didn’t trust Jack, or his ability to persuade people to do what he wanted. He’d been on the receiving end of Jack’s “gift,” and he would never forget it.
“Layla, then. Somebody has to talk sense into her. She has no business out there.”
Jack frowned. “Why do you think that? She came to us from out there, and it wasn’t an easy journey. I think she’s tougher than you’re giving her credit for.”
It was Martin’s turn for a humorless laugh. “Tough. Naomi. Right.” Martin stopped walking and turned to face Jack. “She’s fragile as glass. The only thing keeping her going is Piper. If we don’t find her, or worse, find out she’s dead, Naomi will shatter. All that’s left of her is mother-instinct.”
Martin’s honesty had opened the door a crack, and Jack sensed the other man’s feelings: frustration, towering admiration, and fear. Lots and lots of fear. He frowned, trying to sort out the why of it…then it all clicked. He looked down, hiding his realization, respecting Martin’s right to figure this one out on his own. “If you don’t take her, she’ll go without you. If I knew of anything that could stop her, I’d do it or say it, believe me. I don’t want either of you to go, but it’s something you both have to do.” He made eye contact now. “Even if you get her to stay here, there’s no guarantee she’ll be safe.”
Martin frowned. “I know that. There is no ‘safe.’ Not anymore.” His eyes focused on a distance Jack couldn’t see, far-away and troubled. “I was in combat in the middle east before the plague. I saw what happens when a society breaks down, what people are capable of doing to each other in the name of survival. She shouldn’t see that.”
“She already has.”
Martin shot him a look filled with disdain. “She hasn’t seen anything. Some hungry kids. Amateurs with baseball bats and guns they probably didn’t know how to use.”
Jack found he couldn’t rebut the other man’s statement. The dreams. There was so much worse out there. He knew it. He started walking again, and Martin fell in beside him. Neither man spoke until they reached the classroom, where the kids were bustling around, preparing to leave. They waited in the hallway, avoiding the chaos.
“I’ll ask Layla to speak to her,” Jack said quietly. “I think if Piper’s alive, she’ll make her way here. It doesn’t make sense for Naomi to go out looking for her, but I doubt she’ll change her mind. You’re right about one thing, she’s not exactly mentally healthy. She’s broken, and hardly cobbled back together.”
Martin’s glance this time was filled with a pain so deep, Jack felt it in his own bones. “Who isn’t?”
The kids flooded by them in an exuberant rush, and for a moment, Jack closed his eyes, letting their joy fill him and drive out the shadows. Martin lifted a hand in farewell as he left with Ella and her little brother Alexander, and gradually, the room emptied. Jack waved the last group of kids off before he stepped inside, mind buzzing with all the things he wanted to go over with Layla – not the least of which was Martin’s request – then stopped short. Layla wasn’t alone.
Owen Weber had worked in the logging industry in the time before. He was a quiet giant of a man, and if he was experiencing any heightened intuition, he didn’t talk about it. He had lost his wife and three children in the plague, and was one of the most tireless workers their community had. Without fuss or fanfare, he was always there, always helping, and he took on some of the hardest jobs – specifically, collection and burial of the dead – without complaint. Right now, he was sitting on the corner of Layla’s desk, leaning towards her, radiating an emotion Jack couldn’t mistake.
And Layla was radiating it right back. Her midnight eyes were sparkling, mouth curved and lush as she smiled at something Owen had said. The warmth of what she was feeling for the other man spilled over and stirred heat into Jack’s blood. He coughed, and they both looked up.
Owen nodded in greeting, but Layla dropped her eyes, locking down behind her wall of ice. A little too late for that, Jack thought grimly, but he locked down behind his own wall and put on the mask of a smile. “Hey there, Owen, good to see you.” Then, to Layla. “Shall I plan on the same time tomorrow?”
She nodded. “That would be great. Is there anything I need to know about your talk with Rose?”
Jack shrugged. “Not really.” Look at them chatting away, as if they were casual. As if they were just friends, with nothing else stirring under the surface. He resisted the urge to glance at Owen, to see if the other man sensed the undercurrents. “She’s just going to have to keep figuring it out, like we all are.” He stood. “Do you need a ride home, or…” He let his voice trail off.
Layla cleared her throat and looked down again. “No, I’ve got some things to finish up here, then Owen said he’ll run me there. I won’t be long.”
“All right. I’ll see you later, then.” He nodded at Owen. “Have a good night.”
Jack walked out, still maintaining rigid control over his emotions and thoughts. Not until he was well away from the classroom did he let his mind freely respond, and the first thing that occurred to him was to wonder why this hadn’t happened sooner.
All over their community, the survivors were pairing up. Alder, Rowan’s brother, was now living with a woman, Sophie, and her surviving daughter just across the street from Layla’s cottage. They were expecting a baby of their own, soon now. Rowan claimed she was too busy for romance, but Jack didn’t miss the interested eyes that followed her at community functions. Even Verity had her admirers, though Jack honestly couldn’t see the appeal, in spite of her physical beauty. How could you ever relax around her? If you kissed her, would the Archangels intervene? The corners of his mouth twitched at the thought, though humor was the last thing he was feeling.
It was natural, to seek a mate. People needed to love and be loved, needed connection, needed hope for the future. Layla was a leader in their community, known and loved by all, and he knew most people assumed they would eventually become a couple. They’d been the subject of some not-so-subtle matchmaking, which they had both ignored or politely deflected. Since that day so long ago when she’d revealed her feelings for him, Jack hadn’t caught so much as a flicker of emotion from her.
Had her feelings died? Had she begun working to change them that very day, when his response to her had been so complicated? She must have been disappointed, must have hoped for something different. He had avoided sorting through the morass of his feelings for her, just as assiduously as he avoided self-examination. Day-to-day, he kept it simple and surface. He admired her as a teacher and community leader. He appreciated her intelligence and her contribution to the greater good. He despised her spiritual beliefs and ignored her ridiculous references to “casting” and spells – what she called “prayers made physical.” Not so different from the time before. Not different at all, as a matter of fact.
But when he dropped his guard, lust for her warmed his skin and tightened his whole body with a gnawing, restless hunger. He had a thousand images of her stored in his brain, all so lovely he ached. He knew her scent, and the shape of her, but never, not ever, would he let the heat he felt meld with the respect and admiration. She was not for him, not in that way, not with her beliefs. God intended a helpmate for him, a woman that shared his faith and would share the journey. He was sure of it. Layla did not fit into the empty place by his side, in his heart. He wouldn’t let her.
Jack pulled on his outdoor clothes, then headed out into the fading light. Martin had gassed up one of the ATV’s for him, and the black leather seat still held some warmth from the sun. The church was only a couple of miles from Layla’s cottage. Normally, such a distance wouldn’t warrant a vehicle, but Jack’s position in the community sometimes required a quick response, as did Layla’s. They shared one of the emergency radios and had gotten into the habit of riding together wherever they went. Looked like all of that would be changing.
They couldn’t share the same house any longer, Jack realized, as he started the ATV and headed down the silent, still street. Even if the situation with Owen didn’t blossom into a relationship, it was no longer appropriate. He stuffed down the pang of loss he felt, and focused on thinking through his options. People didn’t indulge in the luxury of living alone these days; they had sufficient generators, but the gas that powered them was finite. He had stayed with Layla to conserve resources, but he’d have to find a spot elsewhere.
Maybe he’d just stay at the church, have Alder help him come up with a way to heat the space he needed for the night. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It would save time, and after everyone left for the day, it would be nice to be alone. He spent all day, every day, surrounded by people. He was never completely free of the pressure of their emotions, their feelings.
Why, then, had he never felt so alone in his life?