Jax walked as quickly as he could, pausing to seek out signs of the community trail. The first one had been easy. It wasn't a very long distance away from the homestead and Jax sighed, hoping it wouldn't bring too much foot traffic past. If it did, Layne might be in trouble before he made it home.
There was only one rifle that they'd found at the homestead, and he had insisted that she keep it. He had his knife and his wildly good senses and strength. There wasn't much more he needed than that. He'd had some combat training in Hex and was prepared for any challenges he might face.
He was grateful for the closet full of old clothes that they'd found. The long underwear would keep him warm once the temperatures dropped, as he knew they would before long. He was already chilly and zipped up the coat. He didn't like how bulky it was or how it might impair his movement, but there was no other option. He had to keep going and find the community where his brother had last been seen. He kept kicking himself for not asking Al how far away the settlement was. From the looks of him, half-starved like that, it would have been at least a week's journey or more if Al hadn’t been smart with rations. But Al seemed smart or else they wouldn't have sent him on a mission like that. It must be further than he thought. Maybe a three-week journey. If that was the case, he had already lied to Layne and felt a desperate pulling to be back in their cozy little home beside the fireplace, touching her and laughing, or chopping firewood. Anything but being away from her for so long. It was daunting to imagine his life missing her for even one night.
He was going too slow. If he could run, he should. It would make the journey go faster. It might draw extra attention to himself, but he didn't care. The sense of urgency in his chest was burning harshly and he knew he would have to give in to it or suffer the tedious, exhausting agitation that would accompany his slow pace.
And so he began to jog, slowing down to a walk when his legs felt tired or he heard a noise. He had learned to run soundlessly, but it was still harder to be cautious and aware of your surroundings if you were moving too quickly. It was something he generally avoided unless he was in danger and he got an immediate kick of adrenaline every time he started running. His capable body could go on for miles and he began to relish the taunt, burning his muscles experienced as he slowed.
The first night without Layne was awful. She'd been his rock and support for so long that, although he was exhausted, he was unable to get a restful sleep. His senses would be dull the next day because of this, and so he said a silent prayer that the dangers would be slim.
When he woke up, he had a hard time finding the next tree that Al had marked and groaned in frustration. Was he off the trail already? But just when he was ready to give up and head back to Layne, the tree miraculously appeared in front of him. He'd begun to figure out that the way the L was pointing showed the direction he was supposed to move in. The long end of the letter was pointed to the left, and so he followed it to the next tree, which pointed right.
He paused. Was Al fucking with him? What if Layne was right and this whole thing was a conspiracy? What if the tribes just wanted to separate them so they would be easier to pick off?
But no, they had to assume Layne would stay with him. Maybe she was the one who was in true danger and the homestead was surrounded by predatory Jackals as he was running away from it. The thought chilled his heart and he had an impulse to go back.
But as he turned around, the image of Jonathan popped into his head. The last time they had seen each other, the sad smile on his brother's face. The pang of loneliness that he felt after he left, gripping his multi-use knife tightly and the picture that he had kept in his back pocket, the one he had hidden away from Hex when he found out that they burned all the mementos left over from before the virus.
He pulled the picture out then, the picture that had meant more to him than anything. His big brother Jonathan had always been one of his idols, and on his seventh birthday, Jonathan gave him the thing that he cherished the most - his dirt bike. Nobody knew why or what had compelled him to give his little brother his dirt bike. He wouldn't be able to get another bike for at least another two years, because he would be old enough by then for a new, bigger one. The best that money could buy. His parents had warned him of this as Jax stared at him, disbelieving of the tremendous gift.
But Jonathan had been firm and pushed the bike over to his little brother.
“I'm going to teach them how to ride a bike myself," he said decidedly. “That way, whenever he is on one, he'll remember me. I think that's a good gift, don't you?”
His parents had simply nodded, their young son's depth and wisdom overwhelming them. His parents were proud of Jonathan and they set up the tripod so that they could have a picture of the family together; Jonathan and his father steadying the bike and holding Jax up right on it, and his mother beaming into the camera with a loving gaze toward her two sons. That was the family that he wanted to remember. Not the illness, and not the separation afterward.
He couldn't give up on Jonathan. His brother had always been there for him, right down to the last minute. Except that time when he had been lured in by the temptations of the flesh and the intimacy that it promised him. Unfortunately for Jonathan, the cult that he had been a part of was after him and he had to make a break for it. Jax had refused to go with him, knowing that they had been freaks from the start. He was bitter at his brother for leaving him alone to fend for himself and ended up finding people at Hex to replace his need for a family.
The memories burned at his heart and he tucked the picture away. He would find Jonathan – no matter what the cost. And so he kept walking and walking; as far as his legs could carry him. He would do whatever it took. Including zig-zagging through the trees to discover each ‘L’ that would point him in the right direction.
***
It had been two weeks since Layne last saw Jax and she had to admit that she was feeling a little bit stir crazy from it. At first she had hardly been able to sleep, but gradually she began to stretch out on the enormous bed and fall into a routine that allowed her to keep her mind away from the man who was missing from her life.
She had a survivor's instinct, hardening herself to the possibility that he might not come back for her. Maybe he would find his brother and stay with him, or maybe he would be killed. Or maybe he wouldn't even be able to find his way back to the little homestead. All of these were distinct possibilities. She only hoped that if he did get lost, maybe Al would be able to guide him back to the homestead from the community where he was heading.
But hope it wasn't something she allowed herself to waste much time on, and instead set to work making the cabin as cozy as possible. She had to admit that she had a homemaker's streak, enjoying every chance that she had to put her hands into the space and create a unique and comfortable feeling within it.
She tried not to eat too much, knowing that winter was coming soon. She had found about twelve Mason jars in the cabin and decided that she would preserve some of the fruit and vegetables for as long as she could. The solar power and wind power that was connected to the house made it possible for the refrigerator and freezer to work. She couldn't believe their luck, but without Jax, she didn't feel as safe, even in their sheltered little house. She knew she would defend their home with her life, and she wasn't sure that was something she was willing to do.
Although it was exhausting having to survive on her own without the comforts of four walls around her and knowing that the tribes would be lurking about and looking for prey, it had been safer in ways because she was never off her guard. It may have been difficult and stressful for her mental health, making her paranoid and jumpy, but it had also kept her alive for this long. She would be on her toes in her little house, not sleeping soundly in her bed. There were no traps outside her doorway to alert her to noise or predators. It was something she would have to work on while he was gone.
She decided to go out and gather the peaches from the tiny orchard before they started to rot, scooping them carefully off the ground and taking what was left over on the trees. She would make a jam, she decided. Maybe a jelly or some sort of dessert with them. She could keep some in the freezer and share the dessert with Jax when – no, if – he came home. She would have to be content with whatever happened, even if the last goodbye that they shared had been for good.
There was a stovetop with two burners and a small oven beneath. They had been utilizing it like crazy, happy beyond their wildest dreams that they had found such a comfortable place to live. It wasn't gigantic and it was nothing like what they were used to before the virus, but it was security. Whoever had lived here before had been minimalistic, only wanting the bare essentials. It was as if they had anticipated something like this virus happening all along, and had prepared accordingly. She lowered her eyes, stricken by a sudden pang of sadness that even with all of this preparation and forward thinking, whoever had been here wasn't still there to enjoy the bountiful lifestyle that they had created.
It was always hard when they found pictures, so she was glad that they didn't find anything in the cabin except clothing and little odds and ends that they could use. Candles, cooking utensils, even the rifle that was in the front closet and a huge supply of ammunition. They also found yards and yards of thick rope, which Jax had used to set traps for animals around the garden. They had been eating well, and she had to remember to check the traps every day and reset them. Luckily, Jax had shown her how.
She was just beginning the sweet, sugary process of creating peach preserves when it hit her. A sudden pang of immense nausea. She tried to hold it back, but she couldn't, and ran to the door, retching out over the railing of the small porch. It had been years and years since she had been sick like this, and she wondered what had brought it on. Had some of their food not been washed thoroughly enough or cooked well enough? Was her meat contaminated? Maybe there was still some bacteria in the water and it hadn't been boiled well enough or filtered properly.
She walked back into the house, her mind spinning with potential explanations, when the wafting smell of peaches make her stomach drop. She had to run outside again to vomit. She had forgotten what it felt like to be that sick, and clutched the railing miserably as she wiped the bile off of her full lips. Her eyes were watering and she scrambled to one of the barrels of water they kept outside, not trusting the one she had drank from most recently in case it was the source of the contamination. She took a handful and rinsed her mouth out with it, then took the pot of peaches outside so that she wouldn't have to smell it as she boiled more water to drink.
From there, she collapsed onto the couch, feeling lonely and miserable. It figured that she would get sick when she was alone. She curled up in the blanket, grimacing at the pain and wishing more than anything that Jax was there to comfort her.