Chapter 11

She hesitated, thinking of the American flag pin. "Wereyou with President Whitaker in the bunker?"

For a long second he didn't reply, but a tic worked in his jaw. At last he said, "Yes. Whitaker died only two weeks in. One of us had carried the virus into the bunker, but we didn't know it until it was too late. It killed everyoneexcept me."

"Oh my God," she whispered, only too able to imagine the horror he must have endured. She could see he wasn't going to talk about it anymore. Not right now. But after a moment he looked her way.

"What do you miss aboutbefore?" he finally asked, his voice softer, but still gruff.

She took her time in answering. There were hundreds of things she missedhot showers, warm beds, pizza delivery, even her email. But there was one thing she missed more than anything.

"People. The feeling of knowing that our world was full of people. I swear, some days I could almost feel the collective creative energy as they worked, played, laughed, and cried, as they lived, you know? I don't think it occurred to me until recently just what Hydra-1 has taken from us. It killed blindly, without thought, without discrimination. It took our dreamers, musicians, artists, engineers, lawyers, doctors, farmers The virus stole our future as well as our past." She had to wait for a moment before she continued. "Who is left among us now to create a life for those born after us? We have nothing leftnothing. This can't be the end, can it? We can find a way to rebuild, can't we? I meanwe have toright?" The bleakness of the world seemed to close in on her then, crushing the last bit of her hope. She shut her eyes, choking down an agonizing sob as it knifed the inside of her throat.

Lincoln's arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, absorbing the trembling of her body as she cried. It felt good to let it go with someone around, to expel the negative surge of energy that was trying to drown her and to know that someone was there for her. Lincoln held her through it all and rocked her in his arms. In that moment, she started to realize how lucky she was that he'd found her. Underneath all that cynicism was someone who cared. He was like her own personal sun, one that burned through the gloom of this dark world.

Sniffling, she pulled back to look up into his fierce face and saw a deep need there. Not one of lust, but one of the heart. A need to no longer be alone.

"It isn't true," he said softly, his rich voice rumbling.

"What isn't?" she asked.

"That we don't have anything left. As long as there are two of us, two who can remember the world before, we won't let it die. When I saw you that first time, you reminded me that this isn't the end. I was trained to fight until my last breath, and I forgot that, until I saw you. But nownow I'm fighting not just for my countryI'm fighting for the world." When he said this, she couldn't help but feel he'd almost said he was fighting for her too, and she shivered and leaned close to him again, burying her face against his chest.

"We are fighting for the world," she said and smiled when he chuckled. "You're not the only hero out there."

"No, I'm certainly not. You're the one who believes, the one with hope. I'm believing in you."

They stayed like that for a moment longer, sharing the warmth and comfort that only such an embrace could give before she turned her thoughts toward finding her family.

"When do we leave for Missouri?"

"The day after tomorrow," Lincoln replied. "We need supplies. More maps, food, water, and gas."

"What do I need to do?" She hoped he wouldn't leave her here. What if he never came back? What if he got hurt? What if? She didn't want to think about it anymore. "Food's on short supply inside the city, but I know of at least one place where we can fill up the gas for the SUV."

"Good, we can start there." Lincoln nodded in approval. "We'll go together, but if I tell you to stay in the car at any point, you do it. Got it? I'm in charge now, kid." His stern expression firmed his mouth into a hard line. For some reason, after having kissed that mouth, she wasn't quite as afraid of him when he looked so grave. She raised a hand in salute.

"Sir, yes sir."

"Smartass," he growled, but she could see him smirk.

"That's Captain Smartass to you."

His lips twitched. "Then I'm afraid I outrank you, Captain, seeing as I'm actually a major."

At this Caroline laughed. "Okay you got me there, Major Bossy." God, she hadn't felt this good in months. It was the first time she'd felt safewell, saferand she had hope for the future.

"So what are we going to do until nightfall?" she asked.

"Clean my guns. You know how to shoot?"

Caroline shook her head. "Not really. I played paintball once with some friends from work for a team-building exercise."

Lincoln rolled his eyes.

"Hey! It could be worse. At least I didn't say I played laser tag or something."

"God help me if you had." His grumble was good-natured as she followed him toward the basement stairs.

"Come upstairs and I'll show you how to clean the guns. I'll walk you through the basics of gun safety, but we won't fire anything. I'm worried those men we heard last night are still nearby. If they hear us firing shots, they might come sniffing around."

Lincoln headed upstairs, and she followed behind. She didn't like guns, but right now guns meant safety. If he could teach her, she'd feel a hell of a lot better going to sleep at night.

Two hours later, she sat back exhausted in her chair at the kitchen table. Six different guns, including handguns and even an assault rifle, lay spread out on a beach towel covering the wood surface of the table. Lincoln had walked her through all of them until she understood how to clean and load each one, getting the feel of their weight and how she should stand to fire them. It was unsettling to hold them in her hands, to feel the life-ending power under her fingers. She could see why some men loved guns. But her? Knowing with one tiny squeeze she could kill a man was not a happy thought.

"You hungry? It's around dinnertime, isn't it?" she asked as she pushed the last gun away on the table and heaved a sigh.

Lincoln chuckled. "Is that your way of saying you like my cooking?"

She couldn't deny she felt spoiled by the fact that he was able to make a decent meal out of what he had on hand. She was terrible at cooking at the best of times and was next to hopeless without stocked grocery stores.

"It's better than my diet of Hostess cupcakes and saltine crackers." She had discovered early on that those two products had a long shelf life.

"Jesustell me you weren't really eating those. Even the rats don't eat that stuff." He was laughing now, and she couldn't help laughing too.

"They never expire. Don't judge me."

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he smiled as he got his laughter under control. "How about mac and cheese?"

"I might kiss you again if you make that." She was teasing, but she saw the heat in his gaze in response, and her own body began to hum. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he wanted to devour her, she seemed to vibrate like she was a wineglass half-full and he was stroking his fingertip around the rim, making her sing.

"Promise me that kiss?" he asked. His low, rumbling voice was whiskey rough. Her throat burned as she imagined that kiss.

"You make the mac and cheese? Then yes."

His smug, cocky look was one of a man slowly winning an argument she didn't even know they were having.

"Go stretch your ankle some more. I'll handle dinner."

He turned on a few lamps and drew the curtains tight around the kitchen as darkness descended on the landscape. She walked over to the stairs and stood so that the balls of her feet were on the bottom step, doing the poses he'd shown her earlier that morning. Then she lowered her body so her heels sank below the lip of that stair. It stretched her calves and the tight knot around her ankle. She repeated this stretch a dozen times.

As she stretched, she listened to the comforting sounds coming from the kitchen, the water running, the clang of pots, and the music. Lincoln always seemed to play music when he cooked. Tonight it was classical, soft and melodic. He had a lot of music on his phone. And for that she was truly grateful, because music for a brief few moments each day drowned out the silence and killed the weight she carried on her shoulders.

She didn't want to interrupt Lincoln, so she explored more of the house after she finished her stretches. There was a small office that had a desk littered with papers, a laptop, and a printer. More happy family photos decorated the walls.

Caroline reached out and touched the edge of one picture frame, sending up a silent prayer to whoever these people had been. She glanced about the room and saw the black upright piano in the corner by the window. She lifted the lid off the keys and pressed down on the middle C. The note rang in the air, slightly off-key. She'd had piano lessons along with her sister as a child, and she could still remember a song or two, but it felt wrong to play now. Like it would disrupt its resting place in this family's tomb.