Every car they passed revealed the same story. Battered bumpers, flickering lights, someone dead behind the wheel. Every wreck meant another twist of red guilt in her guts. To think she’d traded her broken hand for this broken world.
“I can’t.” She slumped against the window. “Can’t live with this.”
“Ashlee, look at me.” Dad stopped the van. “Us survivors, we gotta keep on living. We can’t afford to be hopeless. Besides each other, hope’s all we got.” He pointed to the highway entrance ramp. “We’re gonna get on that highway, drive toward Clarks Summit, and hope we make it past Snare’s zone. We’re gonna hope that beyond it, everything’s all right. That someone can help heal our wounds. That we can find a new home and start living again.”
“But, Dad… How am I supposed to live with what I did?”
“By remembering what you have to live for. Who you have to live for. Anytime you need a reminder, look at that boy in your arms. The little fella needs us. Needs you.”
Jake looked about as bad as she felt. Scrapes covered his forehead. Bruises bloomed around his bandages. Bloodstains discolored his nose, cheeks, chin.
Poor kid. It was heartbreaking.
“He stabbed his eye for you, Ashlee. He’s worth it.”
Seeing Jake, knowing what he’d been through—it made her feel even worse.
“He deserves better than this ruined world,” she said.
“You keep saying the world’s ruined,” Dad said. “You’re wrong. The two most important people to me are still around. They’re my world. So stop saying the world’s ruined.”
His words melted through her like hot water through ice.
She clutched Jake tightly. His good eye blinked—one small miracle within a massive disaster.
Maybe Dad has a point.
He put the van in drive. They crossed the bridge, leaving Hollow Hills. The high beams blazed ahead, reflecting off the snow along the I-81 entrance ramp. They took it and merged onto the messy highway.
Because of the throbbing pain, Ash couldn’t tell if her hand was buzzing. Her ribs felt normal. She looked at her father. “Dad? Any buzzing?”
He shook his head.
With a bittersweet smile he pressed the gas.
They rumbled up the highway, pushing through fog, following tire tracks whenever possible. They rounded the curve of a rock wall. Dodged wreck after wreck. The van stalled in deep snow. Rolled free. Stalled again. Rolled free again.
When the van struck a pothole, Jake stirred.
“My head,” Jake moaned. “It hurts.”
“I know.” She hugged him closer. “We’re almost there.”
“Hurts…”
“You’ll make it, tough guy,” she assured him. Then she whispered to herself, “You’ll make it.”
Their car ate up more miles. The Clarks Summit exit loomed in the headlights. Nobody buzzed, nobody burned.
Dad hit the gas.
They held their breaths.
And broke on through to the other side.