The road less traveled

 

I take a look around the town one last time.  The hospital now looks like the buildings I left behind in the city -- burnt and defeated.  Everything is in disarray. 

 

"Do you think we should set fire to the rest of it?" I ask Jim who brings the last of the leftover rations out to the car. 

 

He shrugs.  "What's the point?"

 

I suppose he's right.  Nature will eventually do what she always does and heal the wounds with moss and other green delicacies.  In a few years from now new patrons won't be any wiser to the torture and tragedy that occurred.  They may actually appreciate what's left of the infrastructure.

 

We both slide into the car at the same time.  Since I slept well last night, I've offered to take the wheel for the first leg of the journey so Jim can rest.  In the back, Hope sleeps silently in her makeshift car seat made mostly of a basket and some soft blankets. 

 

Every now and then she coos.

 

We drive through town, past the bridge, and down the road where I first entered a lifetime ago.  When I get to the gate where I first met Jim, I stop.  His jar of pennies still sits on the ledge near his outpost.  Ignoring his whines, I hop out of the car to retrieve it.  Jim tells me to leave them.  He doesn't want to bring any reminders of this place with him.

 

I stick my hand in the can anyways and grab a coin to place on the dashboard for good luck.  When I look down I realize it's a penny. 

 

"What are the odds that this is mine from when I first came?" I ask.  Jim doesn't really care.  I think he's too tired.  He ignores me, turns over, and tries to fall back asleep.

 

I place the penny on the dashboard - head's up for good luck, and continue to drive away from town.  The road out of town heads south and we'll need to follow it for bit before we can make our way west.  I slow down as we pass Annie's grave.  I give her a big smile to let her know that everything's going to be fine, and she waves back with a bigger smile from behind her tombstone as if to say 'I'm ok too'. 

"I love you, Annie." I say quietly so as not to wake Jim or the baby.

 

The sun shines brightly in the sky above us telling me 'it's going to be ok' and a short while later I make the right hand turn that steers us towards a new chapter of unknowns.  One of possibilities rather than despair. 

As we drive along I notice the green in the leaves of the trees becoming more vibrant, and I use that as an indication that we are heading the right way. 

 

When Jim wakes from his nap, we decide to pull over so I can feed Hope.  For now, she's getting a milky syrup that Donna recommended.  Eventually we'll pass a store or gas station that will have formula.

 

Saying goodbye to Donna was awkward.  She had a hard time making eye contact, but nonetheless she gave me a quick hug before she left.  It was hard to watch her walk away with the others.  One by one, their backs slipping into the thickness of the woods never to be seen or heard from again.  My heart did ache slightly for her, but having chosen a different trajectory mutual existence was impossible.

 

We just didn't see the world the same way anymore.

 

Hope shakes me from the melancholy of the past to tell me she's done feeding.  There is probably no one more unqualified than me to take care of this little girl, but since I'm all she has I'll have to do.  Jim tells me that I'm doing fine -- and he's probably right.  And, as I place the baby back in her makeshift car seat I hear for the first time a quantifiable indication that we are on the right path.

 

"Did you hear that?" I say the moment it happens.  My heart skips a beat.  Jim and I both look up to scan the sky and a second or two later a small bird scuttles through the air.

 

"Oh my god!" I say in an octave that isn't becoming. 

 

"You were right." Jim says as he watches the bird disappear into the trees.

 

Life exists where it hadn't before.  Part of me wants to go back and tell the others -- but the need to trudge forward is more intoxicating and I make a promise to myself that I will return one day and let them know that there is something better out there for them.

 

But not today.

 

Today we will race towards whatever bountiful pleasures still remain in the world because they are ours for the taking. 

 

And as the sun lures us further and further along the road of possibilities, I take comfort in knowing that as long as I continue to nurture the hope in my heart -- the world of my dreams will unfold.

 

"Everything's going to be fine," I say to Hope who sits wide eyed in the backseat as life bleeds into our surroundings.  Trees become more colourful.  The sun seems more vibrant.

 

The last of any doubt is quickly erased a moment later when the radio begins to play.

 

"They're waiting for us!" I say to Jim through a river of tears.  He reaches over and turns up the volume.

As we draw nearer to the very real probability that civilization is just beyond the horizon, I say a small prayer for those who were unable to join us on this leg of the journey.  And then I tell them thank you -- for somehow, in my heart of hearts, I know they are guiding me along.