What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

My first thought was that she was dead. She just lay there, unmoving. But when I checked her pulse, it fluttered under my fingers and my god I couldn't help but be relieved.

The prick I'd hit with the bat lay where he fell, right beside her so that their arms were touching. Even in death I didn't like it, so once I put away the baseball bat, collected mine and Charlotte's packs, and somehow got them both to sit on my back (along with my rifle and the other guy's rifle), I went to Charlotte and hefted her into my arms. Dog got squashed between us, and with a whine he squirmed his way to the top of my jacket, head peeking out and looking at Charlotte.

Even unconscious she proved to be a thorn in my side.

I had to get us all somewhere safe, or relatively so, so Charlotte could recover and I could come up with a plan to get Emmi back.

We couldn't stay at the farmhouse because naturally that would be a beacon should Jai – the fuckface – have any friends nearby. Being our last known location, it'd be the first place they'd look. Plus, I didn't want to be holed up there, like sitting ducks, in case anyone decided to have a look around.

So, the first half hour proved to be a massive bitch; I had to somehow navigate my way through the narrow spaces between all the trees with Charlotte in my arms. Then, once I broke through the trees and made it back to the outskirts of the farmhouse, where the land was flat and cleared, my arms were killing me. My shoulders ached, my biceps strained, and my forearms felt like they were about to snap in half. By any means Charlotte didn't weigh that much, but I couldn't keep carrying her – not anymore.

Getting to the farmhouse proved to be difficult as my arms were burning, and every step was torturous, agonising, and every minute that passed felt like an eternity; to top it off, my injured shoulder screamed, demanding I stop overexerting myself.

When I finally reached the front porch and got past the obstacle of three steps, I made my way into the living room and plopped Charlotte down onto one of the sofas, and never had my body felt such an intense wave of relief.

I rolled my shoulders, then checked my injured one. The bandage was clean, which meant I hadn't pulled the stitches. Thank fuck. And my knee, which gave me trouble no matter what I did, ached, and felt more stiff than usual.

For now I figured no one would be coming back right at this instance, but I still moved as quickly as possible; I was out the front door and on the grass within seconds, moving in the direction of the shed I'd seen in the distance.

'In the distance' proved to be about half a mile walk – well, just about because I found what I was looking for without having to make it to my original destination. The owners of the house had more than one vehicle, and though it was covered in rust and had no fuel in it, it didn't matter.

I rushed back to where I'd left Charlotte, and this time I didn't feel the strain as I took her to the Range Rover which was parked and had remained parked outside since the end of the world. I got her into the boot after a lot of manoeuvring, and again checked her pulse. It was there, a small flutter in her throat, but it gave me enough confidence to shut her in with Dog, who was relieved to be out of my jacket and reunited with his owner. "Good boy" was all I said before I shut the door on him, too.

I chucked all our belongings, including our packs and the two rifles, into the front passenger seat before moving to the driver's side and yanking open the door. I took off the handbrake, put the car into drive, and tried to get the thing moving as I leaned in from outside.

It was slow going, and it was difficult to direct the car while standing on the outside and not sitting right behind the steering wheel. But it gained momentum, and having flat ground proved to be helpful – not too much, because I strained to get the fucking thing moving.

Looking back, I probably shouldn't have done this – it was probably more trouble than it was worth. But it provided us shelter, and it helped me carter Charlotte from one location to another without much pain. Plus, she was lying on a solid surface and wasn't getting jostled like she had when she'd been in my arms. Dog enjoyed the freedom to explore his new home.

Moving the Range Rover was much harder than I'd anticipated. But I eventually got the vehicle away from the farmhouse, and over the course of a few hours I'd managed to get us a good few miles away – I didn't know how many, but my guesstimate was about fifteen, twenty miles.

I was moving roughly in the opposite direction of Emmi, but Charlotte had to recover and I had to come up with a plan before we went to get her back.

And every time I thought of her, my chest tightened and I struggled to get air into my lungs. My stomach coiled with both apprehension and fear; goose bumps rose up on my skin, and I felt like I was drenched in dread.

The sun was peeking above the horizon as I guided the Range Rover through the trees, which were spaced further apart here than where they were near the farmhouse. Mind you, I was now at least twenty or so miles away, but the landscape was marginally different.

The Range Rover would only move so far through the underbrush, so when the sun finally broke through the trees and I deemed I'd gone far enough in to avoid being seen by anyone walking by, I gave up.

And by 'gave up' I collapsed against the front tyre, my body relishing from not having to do any more hard work. I ached from head to toe, and my injured shoulder screamed, as if I'd been shot again. My knee was just as bad, no longer an ache – and it was so stiff I couldn't bend it.

I think I stayed on the ground for maybe five minutes before I staggered to my feet, using the side mirror to lever me upright because my knee was never going to hold my weight. I needed sleep, and I definitely wasn't going to get it slumped against the car. If I stayed there any longer than I had, I would've done just that.

Everything proved to be difficult after that. I felt like I was moving underwater as I grabbed my pack, Charlotte's pack, and the rifles from the backseat before I pulled it forward and down, to make the back more spacious. Then I tossed our belongings next to Charlotte before I climbed in, shut the door behind me, and locked us in.

Charlotte was exactly as I'd left her – except for Dog, who was curled up beside her. She lay on her side, one arm extended, her entire body limp. Her breathing was deep, slow, and steady, but I still touched her neck for her pulse, wary of the giant bruises blooming across her skin.

Whether it was because I was exhausted and my adrenaline was fucked, but it felt as though her pulse was slightly stronger than before. I knew next to nothing about what to do with people who'd literally been throttled to within an inch of their life, so it comforted me a little to know that her breathing sounded normal.

I moved her into what I thought was a more comfortable position, and removing my jacket, I bunched it up and put it under her head for a pillow. Then exhaustion hit me like a freight train, and I lay down beside her, aware that there wasn't really enough room for the two of us. Three, if I counted Dog.

I lay for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Charli's breathing, listening to my own. For the sake of both of us, I hoped I was too exhausted to dream. 

In the end it didn't really matter because as soon as I closed my eyes, even in such an uncomfortable position with one leg bent and the other as straight as the small space would allow, I fell asleep straight away.