Even then, she had defended her husband. Dal tried to come between her and his dad—tried to kick his dad in the shin, even though he was only ten years old and his dad was twice his size and ten times scarier.
Leave him alone, Dallas, you hear me?
“You want me to take care of them for you?” Lena’s voice cut through Dal’s stupor. She checked the remaining bullets in her magazine. “I have three shots left.”
Dal drew in a ragged breath. “No. I’ll do it.” Why had he just said that? He could hardly bear to look at his parents, let alone fire a gun at them. He needed to get away. He needed not to look at his parents.
But he couldn’t help it. They kept growling, kept throwing themselves at the fence in dogged determination. The infection spread all across their bodies from the inside out.
Lena reached across the distance and squeezed Dal’s hand. He squeezed back. Never before had he been so grateful for her presence. She understood him.
His dad’s mouth was covered with blood. No doubt from biting his mother.
It was the first time Dal had ever seen him with a bloody mouth. Dal had always been the one with a bloody lip, or his mom.
Dal flashed back to that moment in Rossi when he’d made eye contact with his father as he drove by. He thought that had been the lowest point of his life, even worse than all that had come before. In some ways, to be completely disregarded was worse than being a personal punching bag. The fence that separated him from his father was more defense than he’d ever had as a kid.
He tried to think back to the non-shitty days with his parents. There had been some of those. Like the time he’d gotten an A on a math test and his mom took him to the store to buy him a Snicker’s. Or the time his dad bought him his very first package of condoms “just in case.” Dal had been only thirteen.
There were a few days like that. Dal kept those memories in a box in his mind, taking them out to sort through them on occasion. Looking at them hurt more than the bad memories. They were a tease, a taste of something he could never truly have.
Dal dropped back behind the barn, out of sight of his parents. His legs were wobbly with fatigue. He sank to the ground, letting his head thunk back against the wood. He closed his eyes, letting the persistent growls of his parents wash over him.
Lena sat down next to him. Without saying a word, she laced her fingers with his.
“I’m like him, you know,” Dal said without opening his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m like my dad.” She had to know that already. She’d seen him loose control. She’d seen the beast that lurked under the surface, but saying it aloud felt like a confession.
Lena didn’t respond, only applied more pressure to the hand she held.
“Do you know the last thing your dad said to me?” He forced himself to open his eyes and look at her.
Lena shook her head, gaze steady on him. “No.”
“He told me to take care of his little girl.” Dal drew in a shaky breath and forced himself to release her hand. “You shouldn’t be with someone like me, Lena.”
She didn’t immediately respond. Dal closed his eyes again, struggling to accept a reality where Lena wasn’t his.
She stirred beside him. A soft sound filled the space between them. Dal opened his eyes to find her sawing with a pocket knife at the multi-colored bracelets that adorned her wrist. They were woven from embroidery thread. Lena spent many night weaving bracelets on the living room floor in front the television with the family.
The many colored threads fell away. Lena held her bare wrist out for him to see.
Dal’s chest seized. Marching up and down Lena’s slender wrist were parallel white scars. They were thin and white and unmistakeable.
Sorrow filled him. He cradled her arm and pressed a kiss to the scars.
“You’re not the only one with darkness inside you, Dal.”
He pressed her wrist against his forehead, wishing he could absorb all her pain. “Why?” he asked.
“I was so lost when Mom died. Everything just ... hurt.”
He gathered her close and held her. She rested her cheek against him.
“You should have told me.”
“You couldn’t help me. No one could. I had to figure things out on my own. That’s why I started listening to the Russian language tapes. They helped me find Mom. I know that sounds weird, but sometimes when I had my headphones on, I swear I could feel Mom sitting beside me.” Her chest rattled with a shaky inhale. “Going to the anti-nuke rallies and protests ... that was just a nice distraction, you know? It gave me something to focus on that was bigger than myself. I mean, what was the loss of one person in comparison to an entire country being nuked?” Her laugh was bitter. “Who would have thought they’d come up with a virus that turned us all into zombies?”
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“I haven’t cut myself in almost two years. Things got better when I found the tapes. Life had a purpose when I joined the rallies and the marches.”
Dal held her tight, never wanting to let her go. How had he missed this? How had any of them missed it? They’d all been sad, sure, but there was no excuse for missing Lena’s pain.
“We all have parts of ourselves we’re not proud of, Dal. You’re not special that way.”
“But you saw me. I beat that zombie girl to a pulp in the Goodwill even after she was dead.”
“Better than beating her like that when she was alive.”
“But I would have. You saw me, Lena. I was out of control in Bastopol and Rossi.” It had been the same when he punched that goat as a kid. “I’m
