“Yeah, we’ve got to find gas and I need some sleep.”
“My aunt had a cabin here. I can show you the way.”
He cuts me a look. “Was this information you were planning on sharing, Sunshine?”
“No.”
The reservoir doesn’t have a lot of housing—it was created for fresh water and run by the Army Corp of Engineers but there are a few cabins scattered here and there on property grandfathered in. Or at least that’s what my mom told me. This had been our destination all along. Get to the cabin. Get to south. One step at a time.
“We’re looking for a dirt road,” I say glancing around.
“You’ll need to be more specific.” The irritation of me not telling him about the cabin is clear from his tone.
“Well if I remember right, there are two other dirt driveways around the same area. It’s pretty hard to find even when you know what you’re looking for.”
We drive back and forth down the road a couple of times. We’re about to make our third pass when I grab his arm. “Stop! I think that’s it. That tree looks familiar.”
He tugs on his ear. “You said that before with the stump.”
I ignore him and point to the almost invisible path. “Follow that.”
Wyatt takes the truck down the road. Being late summer the foliage is thick. We’re almost at the cabin before we see it. Dark wood planks and a tin roof. Three rooms total. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen/living room.
“There’s a small carport to the side.”
He parks and we get out, listening for a moment. It’s quiet. The good kind. I walk to the back of the house and move the fake rock. The key is inside. Just like my mom said.
Wyatt follows me to the tiny front porch. I can see the reflection of the lake below. Looks smooth as glass. He stops me before I open the door. “Why didn’t you tell me about this place?”
I catch his eye and to my surprise they softened just a little—betraying more emotion. Right now it’s curiosity. “I wasn’t sure I trusted you.”
“And you do now?”
I shrug. “Not really. I don’t know? In the last thirty-six hours I’ve had to kill my mother, run over Eaters with a truck and split one of their faces in half. I had to save your ass. I am capable, despite my size and age. I’m exhausted, and I’m too tired to deal with the s
emantics of trust.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means if you give me a reason not to trust you I have no problem handling that.”
He nods like this makes sense (which I have no idea if it does or not. Seriously, I’m exhausted). I open the door with the key and we step inside the dark, musty cabin. The sound of scurrying feet race across the floor—just mice, hopefully. I flip the light switch. Nothing.
“What happened to your aunt?” Wyatt asks, dropping his pack on the floor and crossing the room with his shotgun. He passes through the tiny kitchenette and nudges open the two other doors.
“My mom’s aunt, actually. She lives in Charlotte. She’s pretty old.”
Translation: I don’t know. Probably dead.
“So she hasn’t been here recently?” He finally laid his gun on the small wooden table in the center of the room. I lean against the door.
“No. I doubt anyone has been here for years. That’s why we decided to head this way. Get out of the city—go somewhere safe.”
He seems satisfied—and tired. I offer to take the first watch and he agrees heading straight for the creaky dusty couch. “There’s a bed back there,” I say. “At least there used to be.”
“You can have the bed. This is fine.” He pulls a sweatshirt out of his bag and makes pillow. He’s asleep in minutes.
I sit at the hard wooden chair at the table and fish out a granola bar. I eat it slowly, watching Wyatt sleep. He snores lightly, deeply, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to turn it on and off like he does. Shut down when it’s time—turn it on when I need to. Sure, I’m playing a good game. I killed that Eater today. I found the cabin. I’m useful—but what I really want is for the pain to stop. For the memories to disappear. I want the blank eyed look and game face that Wyatt seems to have mastered.