Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

No matter where your feet take you, wrap yourself in the gift Annie and Aaron gave you. Wear their unconditional love like armor. Let it keep you warm and protect you. No one can take it away.

And when the time is right, listen to the song and remember I love you.

Joel

The letter crumbled in my curling fists. Then I read it another five times, trying to decipher when he wrote it.

Find my tear ducts? Fuck if I could. I loosened a dagger from the sheath on my arm. The tip glinted. The paracord handle stained red. Was it Joel’s blood? What had I done?

My throat burned as I tested the keen edge with my finger. I couldn’t carry the weight of his final breaths, the memory of his eyes. I didn’t want to know what happened to him, certain it would destroy me.

I flicked the dagger into the bench that wrapped the bow. The bow pointed east, like the needle on a compass. I didn’t want to know about the Shard. Our cruel gluttonous race didn’t deserve saving. I’d mind his mantra, but Iceland was out.

Listen to the Song? Joel’s notions of love and following the heart had always been too abstract for me. In matters of intimacy, I relied on sensory data. Like the tremolo of a racing pulse. The quavering hum below the belly. The serenade of laughter. Joel called it the song. But why include it in the letter?

I contemplated a life alone. Would my need for touch, for sex, force me to seek comfort in another man’s arms?

My guts rebelled, sent me dry heaving over the side of the boat. The ladybugs were restless as I hung there, spitting from a dry mouth. They crawled in my hair and slipped under my clothes. Most of them were still flittering toward the eastern shore.

I didn’t want to leave the boat. I didn’t want to face what prowled on land. Not without Joel.

The first aid kit soothed some of my sores. I cleaned and patched with detachment. My torn wrists. My battered eyes and lips. But when I reached the mangled flesh between my thighs, I couldn’t fight the violent tremors.

To avoid another bout of dry heaves, I choked down water, tuna and a handful of crackers. So much for my vegetarianism. Piece by piece, what made me me was being stripped away. What would be left?

I repacked, returning the letter safely to the waterproof pouch. The motor purred as I guided the boat to the eastern shore. There, I disembarked it for the last time, humping the pack, the pistol, the carbine and the AA-12.

I slipped into the concealment of the woods where the ladybugs dispersed at the tree line. They were leaving me? I didn’t know where I was going. When I stumbled upon a quiet creek, I let it lead me through the thick brush. On edge with misanthropy, I moved quickly. Joel’s moaning reechoed until I wanted to stab my ears to make it go away. So I chanted. Stay alive. Seek truth. Do not look back.

I treaded all day through the forest along the creek, keeping my senses alert to buzzing or blood in the air. I didn’t pause once, knowing if I did, the abyss would find me. My back and shoulders ached from hours of hanging on a pulley. The weight of my burden magnified the throbbing. My arm sheathes rubbed against the bandages on my wrists. But it was nothing compared to the pain of Joel’s absence.

Where would I go? The provisions in my pack wouldn’t last forever. I followed my feet and ache in my chest as if both were pushing me as fast as possible away from the place of painful memories.

When the treetop spray of daylight retreated behind the big oaks, I looked for a spot to make camp. A short time later, the dense woods opened into a glade. I let my head roll back. Full and glorious, the moon kept me company. It didn’t care that I was a woman or judge my godlessness. Didn’t try to plug the gaps in my memories or question my sanity. The moon was simply there, sharing its light.

The ripe odor of sweat overpowered the clay and mud that clung to my boots. My tank top dripped under the rucksack. I removed it and my fatigues and hissed at the sight of my bony hips, which bore open sores from the rubbing pack. Then, under the protection of a large American elm, I unfurled my bed roll and listened.

Nothing. Not the singing crickets. Not the warble of a bat. Not even the wind brushing the leaves. I knew very little about biology and life science. Maybe the ecosystem was somehow impacted by the virus? Or by the introduction of a mutated species?