Seven Years Since Yesterday

If Tomorrow Ever Comes

RYAN

I'm not going to say a word.

Nothing—not even Lyn's desperate glares—will convince me to try talking some sense into Rodger.

Lyn drove for hours before finding somewhere to stop and stay for the night, eventually deciding on an abandoned shopping mall. We kicked open the door and unloaded our stuff. Our cooler, bags, blankets, the dog, our food and clothes—there was just one thing. Naomi.

Maya and I had wrapped her in a sheet. We just couldn't stand to see her... well, like that.

"She can't stay in the truck," Lyn tells Rodger while we're all sitting around on the dusty floor, spreading out blankets to sleep on.

"Then what the hell do you want?" He places both palms against his forehead, fingers tangled in his hair.

Lyn gives me a look. I quickly focus my attention on my fingernails, picking the dirt and blood out from under them.

She sighs, giving up on my help for now. "We could, um, find a nice spot somewhere close by and..." she pauses, fighting back tears, "find somewhere to... you know, lay her to rest."

He studies her, eyes narrowed, fists slowly clenching. I brace myself in case he lashes out. He can beat the shit out of me all he wants, but he'd better not put even one finger on my cousin.

"Listen to me," he says in a low voice, "I am not going to dump my girlfriend's body in some alleyway to rot and be eaten by rodents. You can forget it." He stands up and trudges out the door, slamming it behind him.

*****

I toss and turn for hours, shifting the blankets we've spread across the stone floors. Maya and I were supposed to be sharing a knitted blanket, but she ended up swiping it in her sleep and rolling over to face Lyn. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, debating about whether or not I should wake her up and demand that she share the blanket. Something tells me she wouldn't take that very well.

Over and over again my mind replays Naomi's death. The nicest person I've ever met—she was like a caring older sister to me—and now she's gone forever. I wince and roll over onto my back. I stretch my arms far above my head, pulling my skin taut against my ribs.

My stomach groans from hunger, and I suddenly feel lightheaded. The crackers I ate earlier in the truck wore off hours ago. I stare up at the high ceiling, wondering when morning will come. My eyelids begin to droop, and I exhale and can feel myself finally drifting off to sleep...

My body jolts awake when Rodger gets up from the blanket a few feet away from me. He shuffles toward the door, I huff, pissed off that he's woken me up right when I was finally falling asleep. Where the hell is he going anyway? Where is there to go?

I flip over to my stomach and grapple for my glasses. I slide them onto my face and watch him anxiously. Now he's on his knees, shoving things into one of the duffel bags that we've brought. Guns, ammo, knives, canned food—

He's leaving.

I scramble to get up and follow him, trying not to wake the others. "Hey," I whisper. He ignores me and continues toward the door. "Rodger, hey," I repeat, sharper.

His hand is on the door, but he pauses, frozen because he's been caught. His hand grips the knob, and he stares at the door. "What do you want?"

"Where the hell are you going?"

He opens the door, not even glancing in my direction. "Getting out of here."

"You're—you're just gonna leave?" My voice gets embarrassingly high at the end of my sentence.