“That’s not going to happen.”
“You can say that.” Her tone was suddenly venomous. “There’s nothing for you to lose.”
Quinn’s brow furrowed, and he looked down. “My father told me once that the greatest evil in the world was indifference, that until we sloughed off our apathy and replaced it with empathy, none of us were safe.” He looked up at her, lowering his voice further. “We’re not damned and we’re not dead and I still have a lot to lose.”
Alice sniffled. “You’re a fool.”
“Definitely. But I know one thing that’s stronger than your wall.”
“What’s that?”
“Hope.”
He stood and paced back to the door. The sun was sliding from beneath the land, its edge blood red. He watched it rise and tapped the rifle’s grip with a finger. Tomorrow was here.
~
They set off an hour later with empty stomachs. Their food was gone along with their water and first aid. Alice’s scalp was cut and bloody, but it had stopped bleeding and she was able to walk on her own without dizziness tossing her to the ground.
They followed an overgrown path away from the sagging barn that wound past an empty foundation that might’ve once supported a house. Now all that it held was an inch of black water and leaves from the prior fall. The day became humid as they walked, the air clinging to them like an extra set of clothing. The trail led through a stand of birch dressed with willow brush before emptying out on a county road. The lanes were barren in both directions, nothing but heat mirages wafting up in the distance like the land itself was boiling.
“How long until we get to Iowa?” Ty asked as they walked. His hand rested on Denver’s collar, the dog leading him solely now without the help of either Quinn or Alice. The transition had been seamless. The boy and the dog were a team.
“Pretty soon,” Quinn said.
“How soon?”
“Like really soon.”
“Today?”
“Not today.”
“That’s not really soon, Quinn. That’s really long.”
“How about tomorrow?”
Ty seemed to consider it. “Denver wants to get there today.”
Quinn and Alice laughed. “He does, does he?”
“Yep. Do you think I could ride him?”
“What? No, you can’t ride Denver,” Quinn said, unable to keep from laughing.
“I don’t think he’d mind. He’s big enough.”
“He probably wouldn’t mind, but I’m not sure he’d hold you,” Alice said, kicking a rock off the side of the road.
“Mom, he can’t hold me; he doesn’t have any arms.”
This made Quinn and Alice lose it again. He glanced at her, catching her eye for a split second and she smiled. It felt good to laugh after the night before. The sun warming their backs, the fresh air, the open road. It all culminated to a near giddiness inside him. They were alive, despite everything that had happened.
The road looped through a spattering of trees that grew on the edges of uncultivated fields. They came to a set of railroad tracks, and Quinn stopped, walking perpendicular to the road along the rails for fifty yards.
“What are you doing?” Alice asked, shielding her eyes from the sun. Quinn paused and bent down, picking something up from between the rocks that filled the gaps of creosoted timbers. He came back and flipped her a dull, flat object. She caught it.
“Flattened penny?”
“We haven’t seen any driveways for over two hours of walking. Kids usually put pennies on tracks. If there’s kids around here, there must be a house nearby.”
Alice gazed at the smashed penny and tried to hand it back.
“Keep it,” Quinn said, beginning to walk again. “It’s your lucky penny.”
“I could use some luck. And some coffee. And a steak. But mostly luck.”
Ty walked ahead of them, Denver’s nose dropping to the pavement every few minutes. The dog’s tongue hung out, a long strip of pink.
“You’ve seen me cry more than anyone else has now,” Alice said quietly as they followed the boy and his Shepherd.