Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1) Page 5

  She scowls. “Dammit, I hate it when you’re right.” That finally draws a soft laugh from me, which makes her smile. “There’s my buddy.”

  I draw in a ragged breath. “I’m so…fucking exhausted, Case. How am I going to do this?”

  “Xanax?”

  “I hate those damn things. They give me nightmares, you know that.”

  “Fine, but you’re still taking one before we leave today, so I know you’ll at least get a nap when I drop you off. If I check on you at midnight and find you wide awake, I’m going to be pissed and tell the kids we need an intervention.”

  I take another sip of coffee to buy me some time. “Fine.”

  She sets her cup aside and takes mine from me, putting it on my desk.

  Then she hugs me, a tight hug, the kind that it takes me a moment to relax into and return, the way it always does.

  But she waits me out—the way she always waits me out.

  Because she knows I need it.

  I do need it.

  Other than hugging my kids, and the occasional platonic hug I get from others, this is the only real physical contact I get anymore. And…

  That’s something else killing me slowly from the inside out.

  The loneliness.

  Ellen and I were snugglers, touchy-feely. Case used to razz us about that in college. But our kids grew up loved. I don’t know how many nights we all piled onto the couch to watch movies, snuggled together, all of us. Even coaxing Case in with us plenty of times, although she usually sat down next to Ellen, with the kids between us, and me at the other end.

  A family.

  As Logan, and then Ryder left for school, our cuddle pile grew smaller.

  Then we lost Ellen, and those first days after I returned, it was all of us minus Ellen on the couch, crying, laughing over memories, or just sitting there watching home movies. Then the boys left for school again.

  Then it was me and Aussie, and sometimes Case. Then Aussie left for school once she graduated from high school.

  Case has never asked or offered to “cuddle” with me. I feel a little bit of a wall between us, one that was always there but never noticeable before, because we had the buffer of Ellen and the kids.

  I never ask her, either.

  Except right now, I can feel the knot I’ve tied in the end of my rope loosening in my fingers. “Can you come over to watch TV with me tonight?” I force out before I can regret it and second-guess myself out of asking.

  Her breath catches, and from her hesitation I know she’s going to say no.

  “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to. Or if you have plans,” I add, so we can both save face.

  She sighs. “Let me talk to someone first.”

  Then I realize what she means. She really does have plans. That churns up a strange mix of jealousy and disappointment I don’t know how to process, so I shove it down into the depths from which it emerged and try to ignore it.

  I try to sit back, but she won’t let me, so I don’t fight her. “It’s okay if you have plans. I understand.”

  “George,” she says in that firm but gentle tone, “that wasn’t a no. Please, stop.”

  I hate feeling this weak and vulnerable, even in front of her.

  I should be stronger, dammit.

  But when I close my eyes and try to sleep, I hear the screaming.

  The wind screaming through the hole in the fuselage.

  The way people around us screamed.

  The way I screamed, and how it sounded even more hollow and distorted after I snagged the emergency oxygen mask with one hand and held it to my face, because I didn’t want to let go of Ellen’s hand, even though she’d already squeezed mine one last time, reflexively, and I knew she was gone.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  She cups the nape of my neck and plays with my hair, the way Ellen used to. For just one blessed and all-too-brief moment in time, I can close my eyes and not hear the screaming.

  I can remember Ellen. Ellen used to play with my hair just like this.

  Case always seems to know when to do it to anchor me to the here and now. It was something she never did before we lost Ellen.

  That’s more guilt I know I’ll always carry with me—I took her best friend away and never brought her back after swearing so many years ago I’d never come between them.

  Thank the gods there might or might not be that Case doesn’t seem to hold that against me.

  Because if she did she wouldn’t be here with me, and there’s no way I would still be here today.

  In this office, in this job.

  Or on this earth.

  Chapter Six

  Then

  I’m still wondering if I’m not dreaming this.

  This impossible and damned bittersweet miracle.

  As we sit in the small tender taking us to the fishing vessel that’s rescued us, I do my best to cradle and cushion Susa’s emaciated body with my own. I have a feeling I’m going to make it now, but I’m not so sure about her. She might be too far gone. She feels incredibly frail, the baby bird analogy spot-on, in this case. She’s way worse than the rest of us, hardly able to keep down what little water we could share.

  For the sake of her men I hope she survives at least until they can make it to her.

  I’ll try not to let her out of my sight until she’s reunited with them. I’ll try to take care of her as much as I can.

  It’s the least I can do.

  I couldn’t protect or save my girl, but maybe I can protect and save theirs, those two lucky men I’ve never met and who I greatly envy right now.

  She’s so damn weak she can barely hold her head up. I’m not much better, but at least I can walk. I shift myself in the seat to make sure her head stays tucked in the crook of my arm, my other arm around her to keep her on the seat with me so she doesn’t fall off.

  “You sure I’m not dead?” she asks me. “Because, to me, hell is being back on a boat.”

  I lightly tap her forehead with my finger. “If you’re dead, so are the rest of us, so at least we won’t be alone. We’ll have each other.”

  She sighs. “I used to love crabs.”

  I can’t help chuckling. “There’s a SpongeBob joke in there somewhere.”

  “Or a dirty one.”

  I chuckle again. She’s got spirit.

  If only that was enough to keep her alive then I’d have no worries about her chances.

  When we reach the ship, fortunately the captain speaks a little English. The ship is huge, at least one hundred and fifty feet long, a massive commercial fishing vessel. I demand Susa be taken up first, but there’s a sketchy looking set of stairs snaking along the ship’s hull that I know she can’t manage. If I wasn’t half dead myself, I’d be able to carry her up them.

  They bring a rescue basket down to the tender. I help position her on it, they strap her into it, and rig a rope to it that crewmen on the deck hold as a backup, in case something happens.

  I follow close behind, talking to her, telling her to hang on as they get her on board. I don’t relax until she’s safely on the deck and secure.

  I feel a little guilty but I ignore our other castaways as the crew carries Susa down the deck and inside, through corridors, to a tiny medical area. There are a couple of beds, but they scrounge up extra bunks that will make it a tight fit.

  Their crew’s medic is apparently way out of his element with our condition. As I talk to the captain and finally make it clear to him who we are, his eyes widen.

  “The plane crash? Americans?”

  I nod. “Plane crash. Americans, y’all.”

  Susa barks a laugh from somewhere behind me.

  There’s a flurry of conversation in a language I don’t understand, between him and several crew members. The captain starts to exit the room, then turns back to me. “I will call the authorities. The military. I will tell them we found you.”

  I wave him toward the door. “Have them send a chopper for her.�
�� I point at Susa. “She’s the worst of all of us. She’s in bad shape.”

  “I’m not dead yet!” Susa pipes up in her best Monty Python imitation, and the laugh barks free from me, this time.

  “Shut up, you’re not foolin’ anyone,” I quip back, also in an accent. “You’ll be stone cold in a moment.”

  “Stone crab,” she says, and we both wearily laugh, as do our fellow castaways.

  “God, I fucking hate crabs now,” Connie says.

  “Amen,” the others echo.

  The next several hours are both tedious and zip past. They find us some clothes and help us clean up as best they can. Apparently the weather is worsening. The decision’s made to drop two medics and medical supplies down to us while we steam in to the nearest port large enough to hold this ship. They’re afraid to transfer us with the weather deteriorating.

  Meanwhile, they have Susa suck water from a clean towel to slowly get hydration back into her until they can start an IV on her. We’re all cautioned to sip water, not greedily gulp it, out of fear of it harming us.

  They take pictures of each of us to send to the government, and our names.

  We’re back on the grid. I take a little grim satisfaction knowing that there’s probably a current and newly minted governor of Tennessee who’s going to be really pissed off at me when I come in swinging and demand he gets the hell out of my office.

  I’m not dead yet.

  And I’m pretty sure, unless Ed Willis managed to survive, that I am, in fact, the governor of Tennessee.

  Not exactly how I wanted my promotion.

  * * * *

  Susa is definitely in dire shape. The medics have trouble getting an IV started on her, and now she’s puking again. But at least she’s puking stuff up, meaning the hydration she’s getting is helping her.

  I hope.

  They also give her some medication that makes her sleepy, and after a few more smart-assed remarks she finally dozes off. I’ve got an IV, too—we all do—but I know I’m way better off than she is.

  Still, I refuse to sleep despite my exhaustion.

  I can’t let her out of my sight. Not yet.

  I won’t.

  Not until the feisty lieutenant governor of Florida is either safely in the arms of her men, or she’s back on her own two feet and in full fighting form. I will never forget the early days in the raft, how she immediately stepped up to take charge.

  The woman’s a damned hero for how she saved her friend, too.

  We finally make it to port and dock. They take her out first, and I’m ready to follow. They want me to wait for a stretcher, but I haul myself up off the bunk and to my feet, another medic carrying my IV bag for me and holding my arm to steady me as I stagger down the corridor after them. I’m desperate to keep my eyes on the stretcher and on her. I want to ride in the ambulance with her, be in the hospital with her.

  I can’t explain it.

  Well, I can.

  I couldn’t save my girl.

  I will protect theirs. Maybe a little of my overall karmic debt will be balanced if I do that.

  I make it to the doorway outside just in time to hear a man, an American, frantically screaming from down on the dock, swearing, demanding to be let aboard the ship.

  As I step outside, I can see him arguing—loudly—with a crewman at the bottom of the gangway below.

  The next thing he screams makes my breath hitch and nearly drives me to tears.

  “Pet!”

  Susa says something to the captain, who calls out to someone on the dock. We all hear the man pounding up the gangway.

  If this isn’t one of her men, I’m Robert fricking Redford.

  The medic is holding my arm to support me, and I lean against the wall and watch as the man runs toward where the other medics are carrying Susa’s stretcher. She holds up her arm and the man catches up to them, crying, sobbing as he leans in to cradle her face in his hands, kissing her. He’s wearing a wedding ring on his left hand.

  This must be Carter.

  I blink back parched tears as I watch them and struggle not to hear the scream of the wind through the fuselage in my brain. I can still feel Ellen’s hand on mine.

  I wonder if they retrieved her body from the wreckage.

  I wonder if they even found the wreckage.

  Even if the answer to those two questions is no, at least I know her fate. I’d rather have her back with me, but I take comfort in knowing I spent her last minutes with her, holding her hand.

  Telling her I loved her, and her telling me she loved me.

  I stand there, watching as they start moving again, the crewmen carrying Susa’s stretcher and Carter now holding her hand as they walk.

  My work here is done.

  Hopefully I’ll get to talk to her, and meet him, before we all head back to the States.

  I finally let the medic helping me get me moving again.

  Once we’re at the hospital and I get checked over and put in a bed in their ICU, a government official approaches me.

  “Mr. Forrester?”

  I nod.

  He introduces himself and has a folder full of paperwork for me. But I’m so exhausted and just done that I really don’t process much of what he’s saying, until he holds a cell phone out to me.

  “You can call anyone, sir.”

  Ellen’s dead, so I can’t call her. My phone was in my carryon, and there are only two numbers I know by heart.

  One of those was Ellen’s.

  I don’t even know my kids’ numbers.

  “How do I dial the US?” I ask.

  He punches in a country code for me, and then I carefully dial. I don’t know what time it is in the US. I think it’s twelve hours, maybe? Middle of the night there, probably.

  He steps away, retreating to the door of the little cubicle where my bed is located in the ICU. I close my eyes as the call finally connects and starts ringing.

  I wonder if she’ll even answer it, a strange number, middle of the night.

  Just as I think it’s going to voice mail she answers, her voice sounding haggard and thick with sleep. “Casey-Marie Blaine.”

  My heart skips. “Hey, Case.” I lick my lips. “It’s me.”

  Silence meets me. “Who is this?” Now she sounds more awake and very, very wary.

  “Me. George.” I don’t know what else to say, so I add, “Surprise.”

  Another long pause, and she’s fully awake and sounds downright angry when she next speaks. “Look, I don’t know who the fuck this is, but—”

  “The stuffed bear. I gave him to you the first Christmas I was dating Ellen. You named him George, Jr. And I told you I was going to buy you a T-shirt for him while we were over here. I…I’m sorry. I got you one, but it’s in my luggage, and that’s probably still in the bottom of the ocean. Unless they got the plane up.”

  I hear her sob. “George?” she whispers. “What’s on the wall in my office?”

  “Last year for your birthday, I got you an autographed picture of John Barrowman, the actor. He’s wearing the TARDIS dress, and—”

  She starts wordlessly screaming, and I can’t tell if it’s joy, or what. I mean, I hope she’s happy. That goes on for a few seconds and then she starts crying. “Oh my god! You’re alive!”

  “Yeah. A big fishing vessel pulled our asses off a literal rock in the middle of the damn ocean. Me and four others. We’re at a hospital in Borneo, or somewhere like that. I think. I…I honestly don’t know where the fuck I am right now.”

  “Oh my god! I-I can’t believe it! You’re really alive!”

  “Yeah, well, it was kind of close there, for a little while.”

  I’ve never heard her sound so emotional before. “I…George, I—Ellen. She—”

  “I know,” I say, choking back my own tears. I still can’t open my eyes, I’m too busy trying to picture Casey’s face. “We were sitting right behind the wing. She died instantly when it happened, her and several others.” My breath hi
tches. “It was quick, Case. She was there, and then she was gone. She literally never felt it.”

  Casey softly sobs. “We’re having your, I mean her memorial tomorrow. I mean, today, I guess. It’s—”

  “No, please.” I can’t deal with this right now. “Don’t. Cancel it. Wait until I get home. Are you with the kids?”

  “I’m at home. Oh, my god, the kids! They’re all at your house, with your brothers.”

  “Can you take me there?” I realize how that sounds. “I mean, this is someone else’s cell phone. Can you go over there right now? I’m… I’m afraid to hang up, and I don’t have my phone. I don’t have their numbers, so I can’t even call them.”

  My tears finally break free and roll down my cheeks. “I can’t even call my damn kids, Case. Please take me to them.”

  Her voice gentles. “Yeah, honey, of course. It’s okay, hold on. Let me get my keys.” I hear her up and moving, running, a door slam, then her car door. “Don’t hang up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Be careful.”

  Now she laughs, even as she’s still sniffling. “I’m gonna kill you when you get back…Governor Forrester. There’s gonna be one pissed off dude we need to kick out of office.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Dick Cailey.”

  I snort. “Fuck that asshole.” He is a pretentious asshole.

  She’s still sniffling as she tearfully laughs. “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Did they find Ed and Tina’s bodies?”

  “Yeah. And John and Ceely’s.

  Shit. “I tried to get them to head aft with me when I got out. I kept the lieutenant governor of Florida alive, and their tourism secretary.”

  “What about the governor? Fucking slow-ass gate. George, I swear we’re getting you a new goddamned damn gate opener.”

  “He wasn’t there. Connie, the tourism secretary, her husband—”

  “I’m at the house. Hold on.” I hear her car door slam. She must have used her key to let herself inside, because I hear my front door slam, and the beep as she disarms the alarm. Now she screams for Chase and the kids, running up the stairs, pounding on bedroom doors, likely scaring the crap out of them.