SPIRIT

Season II

SIX | Rest in Peace

"That's horrible, but . . . you know it's not your fault, right?"

"BLESSED BE GOD, FATHER OF our Lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to Him for the gift of our brother Otis, for his span of years, for his abundance of character; Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace."

One by one, we all stepped forward and placed a stone on the pile that we had erected in place of Otis' grave. Even Rick and his group took part in the ceremony. They had all arrived earlier that morning and set up camp a little ways away from the house. I had been surprised at the size of the group but was grateful that they all wanted to show their respect for the man that had lost his life to save Carl's. Even Carol, the grieving mother of a little girl that had gotten lost in the woods and was still missing, stood in place by the other women.

Dad's voice carried across the breeze solemnly as he delivered the eulogy. The tears of mourning burned at the backs of my eyes, but they refused to fall, never breaking past that barrier I had created. I had to be strong for the family, especially for my sisters.

As she took her place beside me once more, Maggie grabbed my hand, and I let our fingers intertwine. My other arm had Beth pulled to my side, letting her cry against my shoulder as I rubbed her arm. They had taken Otis' death hard as he had been a part of the family for years. He had been like an uncle to us all, and he had been ripped away from us without giving us the chance to say goodbye.

His death had affected more than just our family. Shane seemed to be taking it hard as well. He seemed more withdrawn since he had returned, not quite as present as he had been since he ran up onto the farm after his friend. We had let him shower up in our bathroom after he returned from the FEMA shelter; when he came out, all of his hair had been shaved. A mental breakdown was easy to recognize when it manifested so prominently.

"He died as he lived, in Grace." Dad cleared his throat and closed his Bible. "Shane, will you speak for Otis?"

Shane lifted his head. He looked at my father before glancing around at the entire group. Finally his eyes landed on me. Then he looked away again and shook his head.

"I'm not good at it," he declined uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

Maggie made a small noise in the back of her throat. I tugged her a bit closer and squeezed her hand. Rick's gaze landed on me from across the way. Holding it for a moment, I felt the lump in my throat grow larger. I swallowed thickly and looked up to keep the tears from spilling over.

Patricia stepped forward then. She turned to Shane, hands clasped in begging.

"You were the last one with him. Please, I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning."

Hearing her voice break as she pleaded with Shane proved almost too much for me to handle. Breathing shakily, I just pulled both of my sisters into a hug, letting them cling on to me as much as they needed to. My eyes squeezed shut tightly as I buried my face in Maggie's hair to hide from everyone else and keep them from seeing me so close to breaking down.

Finally, Shane spoke up again.

"We were about done. Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limping. It was bad. Ankle all swollen up. 'We've got to save the boy.' See, that's what he said. He gave me his backpack. He shoved me ahead. 'Run,' he said. He said, 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover you.' And when I looked back . . ."

There was a heavy pause. It would have been better if it had been in silence. Between Beth's sniffles, Maggie's shaky breathing, and Patricia's barely audible sobs, the grief was deafening. It surrounded me.

"If not for Otis, I'd have never made it out alive. And that goes for Carl too," said Shane. "It was Otis. He saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his."

If any death ever had meaning, it was his.

The tears finally broke past the waterline. Shane's words just hit home with me. To hear the final moments they had spent together, to know that Otis was so willing to sacrifice himself to erect a lethal mistake that I had played a big part in, tore at my heart so violently that my chest physically hurt. It ached.

"Thank you," whimpered Patricia.

"Thank you, Shane," said Dad. "And now, may Otis rest in God's hands for eternal peace. Amen."

"Amen."

Slowly the gathering began to break apart as Dad called the funeral to a close. I guided my sisters and Patricia back inside the house. The atmosphere had darkened into something much heavier from what it had been, and it hadn't exactly been light since I'd had Rick bring Carl to my father for help.

Carl had woken up that morning. Already he was on a path to a full recovery from his injury, thanks to the medical supplies Shane had delivered just in the nick of time. He was definitely sore and a bit miserable, but it was a huge relief to know that he would be okay. If he hadn't made it, or he wouldn't recover, then Otis' death would have been in vain.

He would have loved to know that his actions had saved that child's life. It broke my heart to think that he had died without knowing. But another part of me knew that he did know. I could feel that he was still with us in heart and that he was watching over us, over the family, and over Carl.

Wiping away my tears, I focused on making sure my family was taken care of and that they would be okay. I knew they would be eventually. We had always been a strong unit. But I also knew that this wound would take time to heal, and while it may never heal properly, we would learn to live and cope with it.

Patricia, Maggie, and Beth all retired to their bedrooms for a quiet place to continue mourning the loss. I made each of them a cup of chamomile tea in the hopes it could provide a sense of comfort for them. "Chamomile soothes the soul," as Momma always used to say. It was how she always used to calm herself when things got too difficult for her to handle, and it became a way for me to soothe myself as well. So I shared that with my sisters whenever life got in the way.

In the relative quiet of the house, I found myself thinking of Henry. He still felt close to me despite the long absence. I could almost see him sitting across the table from, could almost see his smile and hear his laugh after some lame joke he told; I could feel his arm around my shoulders and his lips pressing against my temple.

My hands wrapped around my cup delicately as I drowned myself in the memories of my husband.

Late husband, I reminded myself.

Rick said he had seen him, had seen his body back in Atlanta. Part of me still didn't want to believe it. Why should I trust Rick's memory when he could have simply seen someone who looked like him? It could have been anyone in that tank. But part of me had already known. If Henry had still been alive, he would have come home by now. We would have heard something.

Although missing him, I didn't find myself exactly mourning him. Otis' death had hit a lot harder than the alleged news of Henry's. The potential reasons why swirled around inside of my head as I stared down at the wedding band circling my finger. Maybe it was because I had heard it from a stranger, who could have been completely wrong. Maybe it was because I had suspected it after he hadn't returned after Atlanta had been bombed. Or maybe there was just so much else going on right now that I didn't have the space within me to grieve anymore than I already was.

Someone cleared their throat gently. Startled, I felt my muscles jump slightly as I looked up. Rick stood just in the entryway to the kitchen, thumbs hooked awkwardly underneath his belt.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said, shifting on his feet. "You holding up all right?"

I then cleared my own throat quietly. My lips pressed into a thin smile as I looked to him. It felt more like a grimace, and I knew it probably looked like one, too.

"Hanging in there," I said softly. "How's Carl?"

"Good, thanks to your father. He's resting right now. We can't thank you enough for saving him - and for letting us all stay here for the time being. If there's anything we can do to help out, let me know. I want us to earn our stay on your land."

My smile turned a bit more remorseful. "It was the least we could do."

A silence lapsed between us. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it wasn't exactly comfortable either. We avoided each other's gazes for a couple of seconds before finally I cleared my throat.

"Did you need something?" I asked.

"Oh, uh, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, as though even asking me for something would be an imposition on me. "You wouldn't happen to have a map of the land or anything, would you? We're setting out to find Carol's girl."

"I think Daddy has a county survey map in his office. Let me go grab it for you."

He thanked me as I abandoned my tea on the table and headed up the stairs. The only reason I even knew about the map was because Maggie and I used to steal it all the time and go adventuring in the woods and over the acres of fields. Dad used to get so mad at us, especially when we stayed out after dark or missed dinner and came home covered in mud and other filth.

The map was in the same place that he had always kept it. Folding it carefully between my hands, I made my way back downstairs and met Rick in the living room. He was examining a picture frame. As I neared him, I saw that it was Henry's and my wedding photo.

Hearing me approaching from his side, he glanced up and set the frame down gently.

"You look happy there," he noted.

"I was." My voice was a bit shorter than I intended. Softening it, I added, "It was the happiest day of my life."

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place -"

"It's fine. Really. Here."

I handed over the map. He accepted it tentatively, as though still worried he'd upset me. It was the reminder that upset me more than anything, not him looking at the memory imprinted in film.

"Thanks. I promise I'll give it back. We just need a good layout of the land so we know what we're doing."

"I'm not worried about it," I said quietly before asking, "What happened to her?"

Rick's expression shifted suddenly. It was more than just a missing child to him, I could tell. It meant something to him, something personal. He truly cared about finding her. She wasn't his daughter, and as far as I knew the only connection she had to the group really was her mother, but finding her was important to him.

Sighing, he looked down. It took a moment before I got any more response out of him, and I was just about to tell him to forget about it (it really was not my business, after all) when he looked back up at me, clutching the map in his hands tightly.

"We ran into a herd of those things back on the highway. She got scared and ran off into the woods. I went after her, but there were walkers after us, so I hid her and lured them away. But when I went back to grab her . . . she was gone. We've been looking for her for three days now."

"That's horrible," I sympathized gently, "but . . . you know it's not your fault, right?"

He seemed to blame himself for the missing girl. After hearing the story, I could understand why he felt it necessary to shoulder that guilt, but it sounded like he had done the right thing. He'd tried to protect her, and from what it sounded like, she had probably gotten frightened and taken off again. She was just a child after all.

Rick shrugged and glanced down at the map, shifting his weight uncomfortably once more. "It doesn't really matter whose fault it is. What's important is that we find her and bring her home."

I nodded my head. Chewing on the inside of my lip, I thought for a moment. It had been majorly my fault that Carl had been shot. That was something I didn't know if I could ever forgive myself for, even now that he was recovering well and would be okay.

"There's a lot of land to cover. You're gonna need all the help you can get." I shoved my hands into my back pockets. "I can help you look for her, if you want. I know the land for the most part."

"I can't ask you to do that, Lydia." My name sounded foreign falling from his lips, but I liked it.

"You're not. I'm offering," I countered, and when he looked like he was about to protest, I added, "Please, I . . . It'll help keep my mind off of some things, if I'm helping you."

Rick held my eye for a long moment, conflicted, before bowing his head for another beat. Then finally he let out a sigh and looked back up at me, relenting, "Okay. I won't stop you. But if your father gets upset about it or you get hurt somehow, then I want you to back away from the search, okay? I don't wanna overstep any boundaries here."

Letting a small smile play at my lips, I agreed to the stipulations and followed him outside to his group, waiting for the search to begin.