How to Save A Life, Chapter 1
"Sam!" That was Ginny, her voice full of irritation. "Are you helping?"
Sam lifted his head from the pillow and turned groggily in the direction of the voice. "Coming," he mumbled.
"God dammit, I can't do this alone!"
"I said I'm coming!"
Groaning, Sam heaved himself out of bed and pulled his shirt on. His sister had been getting on edge lately, riding his ass about every little thing. Maybe it was because Dad was pulling an assignment in L.A., or maybe it was because of the news reports they'd been hearing lately. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was nothing.
He came downstairs to see Ginny looking rather cross, standing in the kitchen next to a sink full of unwashed dishes. He shook his head, suppressing a morbid smile.
"Dishes?" he asked incredulously. "Come on, Ginny—"
"For Christ's sake, I asked you to clean up! Last night! I asked you to clean up after you and your friends! Come on, at least help me clean up the living room. It smells like a bitch."
She tossed him a rag and turned to the dishes with a loud huff. Sam rolled his eyes and bent to pick up some paper cups on the carpet, trying to remain angry, but it was hard when her silence fell on his ears like a hammer. He went over to the trash can, threw his "catch" inside, and went over to his sister.
"I'm sorry, Gin," he said apologetically. "It won't happen again."
She sighed and shrugged resignedly. "It's fine, I guess," she said. "I'm just sick of…of everything."
Sam studied her for a bit, decided not to push it, and returned to the living room.
By the time they were finished, it was almost noon, and they were both starving. Sam went over to the fridge and made to open it when Ginny interrupted.
"It's empty," she said. "We'll just have to order pizza."
He turned away from it dejectedly. "Shit."
"It's not all bad," she said lightly. "We still have some money left over. Phone." Ginny held her hand out for the receiver.
The pizza didn't come.
"What the hell?" demanded Sam, looking at the clock anxiously. "It's been an hour."
"No shit," Ginny snapped. "This sucks."
"Well, now what should we do?"
TWO WEEKS LATER
What, indeed.
Ginny scanned the empty road, looking for anything out of turn. She knew that she wouldn't find anything, but pretending to have some sort of objective kept her mind away from those unwelcome memories.
The small camping light flickered and died, and she was engulfed in darkness. She swore under her breath. That had been their last light.
Something shifted behind her and Ginny turned just in time to see Shane sidle up next to her. "Hey," he whispered.
"Hi," she replied.
Silence. Her new companion studied her, as if trying to figure out what was going on in her head. "Something on your mind?"
Ginny shrugged, staring pointedly at the yellow stripe bisecting the deserted road. Finally, when she got the feeling he wasn't going away, she sighed. "Why the hell are we here, Shane?"
He seemed to be expecting the question. "I don't know. Maybe because we were faster. Maybe because we knew better. I don't know. I just know that we're alive and I want to keep it that way."
"If that's why we're still alive," Ginny said, turning to him angrily, "I don't see why my brother is dead."
Shane relented, feeling the sick sensation of crossing a line with someone he liked. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
"Then what are you saying?"
Ginny dropped her gaze. "He's dead," she said feebly.
"You don't know that, do you?" he said desperately.
"Of course I know!" The fury in her voice shocked him and he fell silent. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, "I watched him die."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Ginny, I'm so sorry—"
"Yeah," she said bitterly. "I suppose everyone is."
Shane struggled to find the right words. "Tell me what happened," he said hoarsely.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm not ready."
He nodded silently and looked away. When nothing else was said, he sighed and reached for the spare rifle on the roof of the RV and spent the next six hours next to her, keeping his eyes on the road.