..
Almost Heaven
..
DAY 38
The morning dawned blue and soft. As the sun began to just peek over the horizon, Kurt, Dani, and Santana found themselves on the bank of the Lehigh River. They were in Laurys Station, a town that barely qualified as such. The river was wide and deep, and the banks along both sides were shaded by dense tree cover. As the sun gradually climbed in the sky and glinted off the trellis bridge half a mile downstream, Kurt sat at the water's edge with his elbows resting on his knees and his gun on the dirt beside him. A few feet behind him, Santana was sprawled on the ground, sleeping off the exhaustion from the night before with her arm draped over her eyes to block the daylight. Dani had left the two of them on the riverbank in order to scout the nearby buildings for anything they might be able to use.
There was no breeze, and it was unbearably quiet. If there were birds calling overhead, Kurt didn't hear them. He'd spent a half hour up to his waist in the river painstakingly scrubbing Ennis' blood from his face and out of his hair. He could feel a large, tender bruise on the side of his head where Ennis had hit him with the bat, and supposed he was probably lucky that the damage wasn't worse. He had tried to sleep, but was unsuccessful and had resigned to simply staring out over the water and waiting for Dani to come back. The silence was oppressive, and it filled his ears, his skull, and his chest almost to the point of bursting.
He combed his fingers through his still-damp hair, trying to keep it out of his eyes. He hadn't had a haircut in two months and he was getting sick of it tickling his ears and the back of his neck. Goosebumps coursed over his skin despite the early summer air. The back of his head tingled with static, and he felt strangely detached from the ground underneath him, as though he was sitting high in a tree rather than on solid earth.
When a hand suddenly came down on his shoulder, he jumped and grabbed his gun, every muscle tensing as he readied to defend himself.
Dani flinched back, her palms up. "Whoa, whoa, sorry," she amended quickly. "I said your name like four times."
Kurt forced himself to relax. He set the gun back on the dirt to his left, away from Dani. "Sorry. Spaced out."
She sat next to him, crossing her legs. "You okay?"
"Sure."
"Are you hungry?"
"No." He could feel her staring at him. "What?"
Dani cleared her throat. "Well, you've hardly said anything since we left Nazareth."
"I'm fine, Dani."
"Kurt, you did what you had to do, okay?" she tried to assure him, reaching over to touch his forearm.
He yanked his arm away from her. "I don't feel bad about that," he said flatly.
Dani pressed her lips together, falling quiet, and resigned to pulling split ends from her hair. Behind them on the ground, Santana snored.
Kurt pushed his hair back out of his eyes and shifted to let his bare feet dangle in the water. He laid back on the root-gnarled ground, closing his eyes against the sunlight winking through the treetops, and the silence crept back into his chest.
DAY 41
Carole felt sweat dripping from between her shoulders all the way down to the small of her back as the sun beat down on her from directly above. There was no cloud cover today to give relief from the early summer heat, and in this part of the cemetery there were no trees to provide shade. Armed only with a small pair of garden shears, she knelt in the overgrown grass and hacked at the weeds that had taken over Finn's final resting place. The grass had gotten tall enough to obscure his death date near the bottom of the short headstone, and Carole made quick work of cutting it all down to a well-groomed level.
Her hair was pinned back out of her face, and a bead of sweat fell from the tip of her nose into the soil. She sat back for a moment to rest, allowing herself to breathe in the humid air and listen to the droning of insects and the calling of birds. Oddly enough, the cemetery felt much more alive than the Berrys' overcrowded house with its stale indoor air and shuttered windows.
She missed home. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly, and she felt like she'd been snatched into some alternate nightmare reality. Less than a year ago she had been enjoying family dinners with her husband and children, excited for what the future would bring her newly adult sons and looking forward to having an empty nest to enjoy with Burt. Their lives were going so well. And then she'd gotten that call from the hospital, and Finn was gone, and nothing was right after that. Nothing was in her control any more, and now she didn't even have her own house to try to feel safe in.
Here it was different, though. Here, she could keep the weeds and grass in check, she could be close to Finn, and she didn't have to worry about anyone trying to steal anything from her, since there was nothing in the cemetery worth stealing. Without a doubt, this was the safest place in Lima. She leaned over and snipped a clump of dandelions from the foot of the grave.
"Hi," said a voice from behind her, and Carole nearly jumped three feet.
"Jesus, Blaine," she said once she'd turned to see him standing behind her. "You scared me."
"Sorry." Blaine shifted awkwardly. "What are you doing?"
Carole brushed some of the trimmings from her knees. "I don't want it getting too overgrown."
"Can I sit with you?"
Carole couldn't help but give a small smile. "Of course."
Blaine sat in the grass to her left with his legs crossed, picking idly at the blades near his feet.
Carole noticed that his pack sat flat and empty against his back. "Were you on your way to the truck?" They had slowly been building up a cache of food in the various closets throughout the Berrys' house, utilizing the space wherever it could be spared. The Target truck still had more than half of its contents neatly packed inside and clearly labeled, which made them feel spoiled in comparison to the rest of the Lima residents.
"Yeah, but I'd rather be here," said Blaine.
She didn't ask why and instead suggested that she could go with him to visit Cooper's resting place, but Blaine blanched visibly at the idea. "I just thought you might find some solace in it," she quickly amended.
"It's not that," he said softly. "I just don't think I'm ready to see the house is all."
"Oh, Blaine," she sighed, reaching over to squeeze his wrist. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." After all, it wasn't just Blaine's brother buried on their property — she'd forgotten that his parents were still inside what was left of the house. Guilt washed over her. It had only been a little more than two weeks; how could she have been so insensitive?
Blaine swallowed and cleared his throat. "I appreciate the offer," he said diplomatically.
"Did Artie not come with you today?" She didn't want to make him feel smothered, but she didn't like the idea of Blaine being out and about on his own, without anyone to help in case he ran into trouble.
"No, he went with Hiram and Leroy to get water from the lake."
Carole wiped sweat from the back of her neck with her palm. "I wish a real shower wasn't too much to ask for."
Blaine snorted at that. It was the first time she'd seen him laugh since the blackout, and though it wasn't much, it was a welcome sight.
They sat there for a while longer, silently enjoying each other's company and the nice weather, until finally Blaine looked up at the sun's position in the sky and said that he should get going to the truck. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing bits of grass from the seat of his pants. Carole stood as well and tucked the shears back into the small canvas bag she'd brought with her to the cemetery. "I'll come with you," she said. "That is, if you'd like me to."
"Yeah, that'd be nice." Blaine fiddled with the straps of his pack, tightening them slightly around his shoulders.
"Okay, let's go." Carole smiled at Blaine's back as he walked in front of her toward the cemetery gates. These days she had been feeling Finn and Kurt's joint absence more profoundly than ever, but having Blaine nearby lessened the ache in her chest just a bit. She only hoped she did the same for him, in the absence of his own family.
For the first few weeks after the blackout, Lima had been blanketed with a heavy odor — a pungent mix of decay and gas and charcoal. It had emanated mostly from the plane wreckage in the middle of downtown, but any place where there was an uncollected body in the streets the smell was renewed. Now, at last, it seemed to be dissipating. Or, Carole thought bitterly, maybe they were just getting used to it. But a breeze rushed past them as they walked, and it finally smelled clean.
The two of them meandered through the streets of Lima, winding their way past shuttered homes, looted shops, and now-useless cars abandoned where they'd stopped over a month ago. Dust, leaves, and trash were collecting along the curbs, blown like tumbleweeds and maintained by nobody. Carole peered into various vehicles as they walked by, hoping for a glimpse of anything useful.
Movement up ahead caught her eye, and the hairs on her arms immediately stood on end. "Blaine," she said sharply.
He stopped in his tracks, following her gaze along the road to where a group of people were heading towards them from a few blocks away. They were too far away to be individually identifiable, but Carole instinctively knew in the pit of her stomach that they were trouble. There were eight or nine of them, and that was enough to scare her. She wrapped her hand around Blaine's upper arm and quickly led him away from the street.
They darted over the sidewalk and up the nearest driveway, ducking down behind a pickup truck. Carole consciously placed herself closer to the road than Blaine, wanting to distance him from a possible threat as much as she could, and hoped they hadn't been seen already.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as they waited for the group to pass. When the gang finally came into view, Carole felt a wave of nausea slam through her body. They were dressed in jeans, flannels, and t-shirts and easily could have been a group of friends just going out and having fun around town, except for the fact that every single one was armed. A couple had bats, one clutched a crowbar (Carole shuddered), and the rest had guns. Carole hated to think where they might have gotten them. Though they were grimy and unwashed, they didn't look malnourished. The two leading the group carried cans of gasoline.
Blaine inhaled sharply behind her, and she turned briefly to see him staring at the group in pure terror. His eyes were dilated, an almost imperceptible tremor coursing over his limbs.
"Blaine?" Carole whispered, reaching down to grip his wrist tightly.
He didn't reply, still staring at the gang. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. Under her palm, his skin was freezing cold.
"Would you just shut the fuck up already?" snapped one of the older males in the gang, making Carole look back in their direction. "We've got enough to deal with right now without you whining about everything."
The man was short but brawny, his hair shaggy and pulled back away from his ears. He was ambling along in the middle of the group, a gun on his hip, talking to a girl trailing slightly behind him. She was a wisp of a girl, with dirty blonde hair tied in a limp ponytail and a nervous, shaky manner.
"But it doesn't make any sense—" she was trying to argue.
"Kitty!" the man spat, his hand shooting up as if he was ready to strike her. She flinched back, almost tripping. "I said shut the fuck up."
The girl — Kitty — swallowed, her hands curling into fists. "We're doing enough damage, Nolan. Plus, it's a waste of energy! We don't need to keep burning the houses!"
Nolan's shoes scraped on the pavement as he stopped, allowing the rest of the gang to pull ahead. They cast awkward looks in the girl's direction, knowing she was in trouble but unwilling to help her, and kept walking.
"How many fucking times do I have to explain this to you?" Nolan seethed, his finger jabbing in her face.
"Yeah, I know, you don't want to leave evidence behind and land us in jail for what we're doing," Kitty said, as mockingly as she could muster, though her knees were trembling.
"Exactly."
She was exasperated. "You can't seriously think that's still a risk at this point! By the time the power comes back, everybody's going to have bigger things to deal with than figuring out who was looting what!"
Nolan refused to listen to her, and instead demanded that Kitty hand over her gun.
"What? Why?"
Instead of explaining, he grabbed her with one hand and ripped the gun from her hip with the other. She yelped in protest, but before she could say anything else he let the nose of the gun hover dangerously close to her chin. She froze.
"You'll get this back when you decide to be less of a problem," he said, then tucked her gun into the back of his jeans and turned to catch up with the rest of the group.
Kitty shivered, though it wasn't cold, and she looked like she was about to start crying. "You know, Mom would be really disappointed in you," she said. And without any further response from Nolan, she swallowed, squared her shoulders, and followed behind him.
Carole let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and stayed hidden with Blaine behind the truck until the gang had traveled far enough down the street. Once she was confident they wouldn't be seen if they moved, Carole stood up and stretched a cramp out of her calf. Blaine was still crouched down with his shoulders taut and his knuckles pressing against the pavement.
"Blaine? Honey?" Carole leaned over, touching the back of his arm.
He blinked, drawing a small, shuddering gasp as he was jolted back to the present. He shook his head and coughed.
"It's okay, they didn't see us," Carole assured him, though she had a feeling that wasn't the real problem. "Come on." She gently tugged on his wrist, pulling him back to his feet. He glanced furtively toward the road, like he was half sure the gang was going to hear them and come running back to kill them. "Was that the same group that attacked your house?" Carole asked softly.
A muscle in Blaine's jaw twitched, and he nodded. His eyes were glassy.
There was nothing to say to make this better, so Carole did the only thing she could think of and drew him into a solid hug. He didn't cry, but he leaned into her embrace and rested his forehead on her shoulder. At least for the moment, he trusted her to keep him safe.
DAY 42
The monotony of the desert at last had given way to sharply climbing foothills, green undergrowth and coniferous forests hugging the edges of the road. Puck and Mercedes had climbed to a significant altitude, but their view was still obscured by mountains in all directions as the road snaked through valleys and gorges. After more than a month trekking through the Mojave, the cool breeze and shade felt like nature's reward. They had changed their travel schedule once again, now walking during the day and sleeping at night, camped in the woods along the roadside after dusk. Travel was slower now that they were climbing in altitude, but there was more food readily available for the horses and water was easier to find. Food for Puck and Mercedes, however, was quickly running out.
What little food they'd managed to pack with them from the gas stations along the desert highway was already gone, and they'd left a trail of Chex Mix bags and granola bar wrappers in their wake. The gifts they had received from Carter and June — cans of beans, dried jerky, sacks of oats for the horses — were quickly depleting despite their best rationing efforts. On the one hand, Mercedes was amazed that they had managed to make it through the desert at all. On the other, she had a feeling that it would likely be the easiest part of their journey. They had slowed considerably as the terrain grew more rugged and it took more effort and more time to cross a shorter distance. Colorado was proving to be much less hospitable.
At the edges of the desert as the land gradually sprouted into green mountains, the number of people increased. They'd passed through Cortez, then Mancos, and finally reached Durango. The streets were strewn with abandoned and wrecked cars, just like every town before, and the windows of houses had been boarded up in most places as people staunchly defended their homes from possible intruders – neighbors and strangers alike. On the rare occasions that Puck and Mercedes encountered the locals face-to-face, they wanted nothing to do with them. Instead, people would quickly hide, or stand their ground while pointedly holding a gun, and Puck and Mercedes would continue along the road without striking up a conversation. In Mercedes' opinion, they were lucky to have not been shot yet, and the last thing she wanted to do was die in the middle of nowhere at the hands of some trigger-happy redneck.
In Durango, they'd found a tourist center in the middle of town and broken in after tying the horses to a bicycle rack outside. It was dusty and dim indoors, the only sunlight coming in from the windows at the front. The shelves of snacks and the coolers of drinks were all empty, and even the vending machines at the entrance had been tipped over and smashed, leaving glass shards strewn across the linoleum floor. But they weren't here for food.
"Here we go," said Puck as he strode over to the display of brochures up against the wall to their left.
"I'm going to check out the toiletries," Mercedes said, already heading for the back of the center, which was a small store for travel necessities.
Puck didn't say anything, already combing through the informational booklets.
Mercedes didn't find much in the store, not that she was surprised. She was desperate for some toothpaste and deodorant (not to mention shampoo, lotion, razors… all things she'd taken for granted just two months ago), but every place they'd checked had been ransacked. She did manage to find hairbands and bobby pins, however, and she quickly gathered up a healthy supply of both and stuffed them into the front pocket of her backpack.
When she returned to the front of the center, Puck was on his knees with a huge map of Colorado and the bordering states spread out in front of him. Mercedes set her pack against the cashier's desk and knelt beside him. She felt a ripple of disappointment when she saw on the map that Durango was much, much closer to the western side of Colorado than the eastern, and despite being in Colorado for a few days already they had really barely left Utah behind them. She'd hoped that they were already close to Kansas, but she should have known better.
"So it looks like we're heading for Pagosa Springs," she said, her eyes following the biggest road heading east.
Puck apparently didn't agree. "I think we should go north, along here." He pointed to Highway 550, which stretched due north from Durango into the mountains, where the town names grew sparse and the color of the map turned several different shades of dark green.
Mercedes blinked and frowned. "Puck, are you crazy? We're going east. Why would we go north?"
Puck was strangely solemn. "Do you really want to take your chances with the people around here?"
"What do you mean?"
He tugged on his earlobe and then sat back, crossing his legs. "I think we need to avoid people as much as we can. You saw how many guns there are in this region. People are going to shoot first and they won't ask questions. We got lucky so far, but I don't think it's a good idea to count on that until we're out of the Rockies."
Mercedes was quiet, staring at the map.
"Look," Puck continued, tracing his finger along Highway 550. "Right here. There's a trail that cuts across the mountains and hooks up with Route 149." His fingertip ran over a thin dotted line meandering through the dark green patches of the map. "We hit 149, then we follow that straight through to Monte Vista."
"Puck, that'll take longer."
"Only by a day or two," he countered quickly. "If that."
"Okay, but a hiking trail? Anything could happen. If we get hurt, there's nobody around to help us."
"Trust me," Puck insisted. "I'm way more scared of the people around here than I am of the mountains."
Mercedes sighed, disagreeing with every fiber in her body. But he was right — they had seen a lot of people with guns. And she did owe Puck her trust. It had been Puck's idea to travel through to Mojave at night, which was likely the only reason they'd made it through. Puck had been the one to get a horse, making travel easier. He had worked hard to keep their little group safe and fed, not to mention the fact that he'd survived a Gila bite. And she hated to admit it, but he was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind.
"Okay," she said. "We'll do it your way."
Puck was visibly relieved as he folded up the map and tucked it into his pack.
"But if we get eaten by wolves, I'm blaming you."
"Fine by me."
DAY 43
Five days after leaving Nazareth behind them, Dani, Santana, and Kurt had made it to Drehersville. It was far too slow for Kurt's liking, and he had been tense and snappish the entire time they'd been traveling since Laurys Station. Dani couldn't blame him too much considering that thirty-ish miles over the course of five days wasn't exactly an impressive speed, but the fact was that they just couldn't walk very quickly. It was impossible. Their time in Nazareth, despite being well-fed, hadn't been nearly enough to rebuild Kurt and Dani's strength, and Santana had lost a considerable amount of energy from being starved and caged.
So each day, they walked as far as they could and no more. Dani examined the road map they had stolen from a gas station in New Tripoli and did the math, finding that they had covered less than sixty miles since Rachel had died.
Dani wondered if Rachel was still peacefully laying underneath the birch trees, or if she'd been scavenged and ripped apart by animals.
In Drehersville, they found a few deserted houses and combed methodically through them, guns at the ready until they knew nobody was home. They stuffed anything useful and portable into their backpacks and left everything else behind. Dani was once again shocked at how quickly their food was depleted – the canned goods and non-perishables she'd stolen from the Nazareth kitchen were already more than two-thirds gone. In their fourth raided house, she was overjoyed to find a few Campbell's soups collecting dust in the back of a cupboard.
"Nice," Santana said with a smile as she pawed through the rest of the kitchen cabinets.
Dani grinned back and set the cans on the counter. Santana's face was gaunt and skeletal, her hair brittle and her arms barely more than twigs, but her smile still lit up the room. "I'll leave these with you," Dani said. "I'm going to go see if Kurt needs help upstairs. You going to be okay?"
Santana nodded, then gasped and squealed in delight when she discovered a packet of matzos and a barely-opened box of baking soda. Even the smallest victories felt like miracles.
Dani reached over to squeeze Santana's hand, then kissed her temple and went in search of Kurt.
Upstairs, she found him standing stock-still in the entrance to one of the bedrooms. Her stomach dropped, fearing that they'd found another rotting corpse like Edna MacCready in Easton. But there was no overpowering smell of decay here, no buzzing of flies. Dani approached Kurt cautiously — in addition to being terse, he had also been extremely jumpy and a little bit paranoid the last several days. His gun was still in his hand, but it was hanging idly by his side rather than up and ready to shoot.
"Kurt?" She spoke softly, trying not to startle him.
He didn't flinch, fortunately, only saying a flat "Hey" before turning his attention back to the room.
Dani stood beside him, peering past him into the bedroom, and a pang of sadness rippled through her chest. It was a child's room. Toddler's toys were strewn across the floor and the bed was in the shape of a race car. A calendar hung on the wall above a plastic play table, still on April, with the day after the blackout circled in marker and a note: GRANDMA VISITS! The door jamb to Kurt's left had three nicks carved into it in increasing heights.
Wiley, age 3
Nina, age 5
Henry, age 6
Dani swallowed. It was dead quiet; she couldn't even hear Kurt breathing. "I'm sure they're okay," she whispered. Somehow, it felt as though if she spoke any louder, the house itself would hear her lie.
Kurt didn't reply immediately, instead pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his fingers outward over his eyes. His hand lingered, palm covering his mouth, and then he brushed his hair back out of his eyes and let out a heavy breath like he'd been holding it in for a while. Dani wasn't entirely positive, but she thought he might have been fighting the urge to cry.
She repeated his name gently, reaching for his hand. She had been about to offer to talk if he needed it, but he cleared his throat and tugged again on his hair.
"I'm all right," he said, his voice hollow.
Dani studied him. His hair was much too long and was covering his earlobes and the nape of his neck, filthy and a little bit matted. His facial hair had already come back and coated his jaw, drawing his face downward. His eyes had even changed color and were a paler blue than she'd ever seen, void of light.
"I got an extra blanket from the closet," he stated, almost absentmindedly as he continued to stare into the child's room. "I don't think there's anything else here."
"Why don't we go back downstairs?" Dani suggested, reaching up to touch his shoulder blade. "Santana and I found some good stuff in the kitchen."
Kurt nodded, then finally turned away from the bedroom and walked toward the stairwell. His gun still hung loosely from his hand like he'd forgotten it was there.
Dani went to follow him, then paused and ducked into the bathroom across the hall. She opened the medicine cabinet and dug through the drawers beneath the sink until she found what she was looking for. She unzipped her pack and tossed in a packet of men's disposable razors, and tucked a small pair of barber's scissors into the outer pocket. Quickly, she shrugged her bag onto her shoulders again and went to catch up with Kurt.
The river in Drehersville was small and shallow, an easy current winding its way through the green. As the day meandered into mid-afternoon, they found a comfortable place to sit along the shore, not terribly far from the road. Here in the warm sun, watching a couple of mallards paddle by, it was almost enough to forget everything that had brought them here. They stood with their feet in the water and rubbed fistfuls of baking soda into their hair, all over their skin until it turned grey with dirt. The river wasn't deep enough to fully dive in, so they each floated lazily in the current, holding on to the rocks on the streambed to anchor themselves. In the heat of the early summer sun, the cold water was a relief.
Dani, however, being from further south than Kurt and Santana, was the first to begin shivering. She gave her hair one last rinse and waded back out of the water, then found a sunny spot on the riverbank to warm back up. She lay back, bare breasted and with her arms folded under her head so the hair in her armpits would dry. As the sun gently melted the goosebumps from her skin, she dozed in and out, lulled by the rustling of leaves overhead, the chittering of nearby sparrows, and the water flowing past.
A little while later, Santana and Kurt returned from the water and joined Dani in the sunshine, both as naked as she was. Nudity had become something ordinary, an unavoidable fact of the road and void of any sexuality or indecency. If anything, being bare-skinned only served to remind them in no uncertain terms of how close they were to starvation, all skinny limbs and jutting bones.
"Looking good, Aphrodite," Santana joked, poking Dani in the soft underside of her bicep. She sat on the ground to Dani's left and wrung the water from her hair.
With his skin still dripping, Kurt pawed through his backpack until he found his cleanest pair of boxers and jeans and tugged them on over his sharp-cornered hips. Dani, who was now adequately dry, sat up and yanked a too-big t-shirt from her bag and pulled it over her head. She didn't bother with a bra; they hadn't discussed stopping but she knew they were done walking for the day. Here was as good a place to camp as any. She withdrew the scissors from the front pocket of her pack, then patted the ground in front of her. "Sit down," she said.
Kurt stared at her like he wasn't certain whether she was talking to him.
"Sit," she repeated, holding up the scissors. "It's time for a haircut."
He didn't move. "Why?"
"Kurt." Dani was more forceful this time, leaving no room for argument. "Sit down."
At last he obeyed, tentatively sinking down to rest cross-legged in front of her, still bare from the waist up. Santana gave Dani a sidelong look and a small smile, like she knew what Dani was up to. She didn't say anything, however, and instead started munching her way through the box of matzo crackers. Dani combed her fingers through Kurt's damp hair and began to trim. She was far from a cosmetology expert, but whatever she managed to do would be an improvement. Bit by bit, little by little, he relaxed under her touch.
Together they sat quietly and watched the water flow past, sunlight glinting off the ripples. Santana eventually put on some clothes and sat with her elbows on her knees and her head resting on her forearms. She looked exhausted, but it wasn't the same kind of exhaustion Dani had seen when they were locked inside the Nazareth police station. It wasn't the sort of angry and terrified tired that screamed just kill me already. This was instead an unburdened, optimistic weariness, because they needed rest but still had so far to go.
Snippets of Kurt's hair fell as Dani worked, collecting on his freckled shoulders. It wasn't until she brushed the hairs off, her palm ghosting over his shoulder blade, that she realized he was shaking. "Kurt?" she said, now alarmed. Her tone made Santana lift her head.
Kurt had clamped one hand over his mouth and nose, the other over his forehead, and he was struggling to breathe.
Dani dropped the scissors and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, but she couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him. Santana scooted closer, reached for one of his wrists and pulled his arm down, clasping his hand between both of hers.
"Kurt. You're okay." Santana spoke firmly but kindly, a voice rarely heard. "You're okay."
He choked on his next inhale, a shudder coursing through his body like an oncoming earthquake. Dani drew him back against her chest in a solid embrace so that he wouldn't have to support his own weight. He didn't fight her. "We've got you," she promised, and held him as he cried.
Dani wasn't sure how long it took before Kurt's breathing began evening out, but he'd exhausted himself completely, sagging in her arms. Santana still held his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.
"I could have just left him."
Dani blinked, not sure she'd heard him right. Kurt's voice was quiet, barely audible over the river.
"He was locked up," Kurt said, clearing his throat. "I could have left him."
Santana's eyes flashed in the sun, her grip tightening on Kurt's hand. "Kurt, they got what was coming to them." She opened her mouth to say something further, but Dani sent her a look that said Hey! Not helping!
Dani swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "Kurt, I don't know if it was the right thing to do," she said. She could hear Ennis choking on his own blood as he fell, and the squelch of Nick's innards as he tried to hold them in. She could hear the shots from Kurt's gun, and the snap of Nick's arm as Santana broke it. Mostly, she could hear Kurt's voice echoing in the back of her head and the cold, emotionless tone that she never wanted to hear again. Do you think I won't shoot you? How's my aim now?
"But if you'd left him," she continued, forcing her nausea back into a corner, "somebody else would have broken him out. And he probably would have come after us."
She couldn't see Kurt's face and so wasn't sure of how he reacted to the idea that Ennis might have hunted them down given the opportunity. All Kurt said was, "I don't think he would've found us, though."
Dani shook her head, squeezing his shoulders. "You can't let yourself get hung up on the what-ifs."
"Ennis was a bad guy," Santana interjected. "If it was you in the cell, he would've done even worse."
Kurt sat up at last, pulling out of Dani's hold and reclaiming his hand from Santana. He leaned forward and drew his knees up to his chest, staring at the water flowing by.
"Kurt… shooting them might not have been the right thing to do, but it was the safe thing to do," Dani assured him. "And with everything else that's happening, safer is better."
"Killing them didn't make us any safer," Kurt replied hollowly.
"Well, I think you're telling yourself that so you can punish yourself." Dani paused, her mouth pursed. She glanced at Santana, hoping for an idea of what to say to fix this, but Santana seemed just as lost. "You didn't kill Toby," Dani said, reaching for the first thing that came to mind. "We could've left him in the armory."
Kurt shook his head. "Toby's just a kid. He's our age. He didn't do anything wrong."
"Exactly. Toby didn't do anything wrong. Ennis did. Nick did."
This didn't seem to have any comforting effect on Kurt whatsoever, his spine remaining rigid. Dani couldn't say she blamed him; her own words weren't making her feel better either.
"I just…" Kurt started, his head bowing as he rubbed a palm over the nape of his neck. "I just miss home. I miss my dad. And Carole. And Blaine. And Rachel." His voice cracked, tripping over Rachel's name like a rock caught underfoot. "And I don't feel like me anymore. And home won't be home anymore."
He drew a slow breath, and sighed. There were no more ands. Or too many to name.
"We don't know what we're going back to."
Dani didn't know what to say to that, the solid weight of everything they'd been through sagging against her back. Santana, on the other hand, was not so encumbered with silence.
"No, we don't. But we are going back." Santana's voice was hard and razor-edged like a newly minted sword, determination sharpening the line of her jaw. It was the most alive Dani had seen Santana look in weeks. "Like you said," she continued, lightly touching Kurt's arm with the back of her hand. "Nothing will stop us."
Highway 550 was a wide, two-lane stretch of pavement patched with years' worth of repair work in the tar, nestled in a sweeping rocky valley between sharp green peaks. The pine-covered mountains surrounding it cut into the sky like shark's teeth, giving the blue a serrated edge. Mercedes imagined that this particular place was especially beautiful in the winter, when it was capped with snow and bustling with skiers and snowboarders in goggles and puffy coats. Now, watching the cracked pavement scroll by, scattered with a handful of abandoned vehicles collecting dust, she wondered if this place would ever see that kind of activity again. The wind whistled past them, making the horses' manes flap, and the sun was nearing the mountains lining the western ridge.
Mercedes shifted uncomfortably in Peach's saddle, her buttocks and thighs aching. "It's getting late."
Puck glanced at the sun, still not low enough to be considered evening. "I saw a sign a ways back for a ski lodge or something," he said. "Shouldn't be too far. I bet we can camp out there." He didn't argue with Mercedes' unspoken request to stop earlier than they normally would have. Maybe he was as much in need of a break as she was.
The brilliant blue sky overhead was only just beginning to soften, the shadows stretching longer across the road, when they spotted the lodge. As they drew closer, Mercedes' eyebrows quirked as she realized this place wasn't so much a lodge as it was a massive luxury hotel complex, a veritable compound of five-star amenities cut apart from the wilderness of the woods by a high metal fence at its border. Signs along the side of the road promised a full-service spa, a pool, one- to five-bedroom suites, and priority access to the ski slopes. It was the sort of place visited by people in a higher tax bracket than Mercedes or Puck could ever hope to reach.
Mercedes couldn't suppress a snort when she read the archway over the drive leading up the hill: PURGATORY RESORT.
"Well, that's a little on the nose," she remarked.
They guided Peach and Mr. T off the main road and up the drive to the main building. The buildings were still designed to look as rustic as possible without actually being rustic — lots of polished timber and antlers that were meant to look like hunting trophies but very well could have been plastic. They tied the horses to the railing of the deck leading to the front doors; they would find a comfortable place for them later. The lobby inside was spacious and boasted several plush seating areas and a welcoming front desk staffed by nobody, lit only by the sunlight cascading through the windows carefully placed for the best view of the mountainside.
Puck's shoes scraped noisily on the floor and he smacked his hand over the little bell on the desk. The chime echoed through the building, reverberating for longer than Mercedes thought possible for such a small bell, the sound disappearing into the emptiness.
"What's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?" Puck said, throwing his hands up in mock frustration.
Mercedes thumbed her way through a brochure from the rack by the desk, detailing all the things offered in the spa. "How much do you think a place like this costs a night?"
"No idea," said Puck as he heaved himself over the countertop, plopping down where the concierge used to stand. "Nothing any more." He rummaged through cupboards and drawers, searching for anything useful. He let out a victorious "A-ha!" when he found a granola bar in the cash drawer, hidden and forgotten by the hotel clerk. He peeled off the wrapper, broke it in two and gave half to Mercedes. He left the cash neatly organized and valueless in the till.
The elevators at the other end of the lobby were useless apart from the sign in front of them detailing what could be found on each floor. Puck tapped a finger at the top of the list. "What do you say?" he asked. "Penthouse?"
They climbed the stairs all the way to the top, six floors up. The corridors here were narrow and smelled of stale air freshener and trash rotting in an unemptied garbage bin somewhere. Puck pushed through the door to a suite and walked in without hesitation, Mercedes' jaw dropping behind him. The suite was bigger than most apartments, with a big squashy couch and a fireplace and more rooms branching off in either direction. The far wall was almost entirely glass, with a double door leading out to a private balcony with deck chairs bleaching in the sun.
Puck stepped out onto the balcony, Mercedes following. The view was spectacular. The sky overhead was turning purple and gold, orange light bleeding into the valley from where the sun was sinking past the mountains. The valley stretched below them, lush with evergreen and mottled with hills. In the distance, Mercedes could see a herd of deer meandering across the road. For a moment, she felt as though they were inside the eye of a giant — the mountains and ridges and colorful peaks an iris below the sky's lens, looking up and into outer space.
She leaned on the balcony railing, looking down six stories to where she could see the horses still standing by the main doors. The swimming pool, an unnatural shade of blue and hedged in by an iron fence, was full of debris.
Puck gripped the railing to her left, gazing out across the landscape and drawing a deep breath into his chest, looking like he was riding on the prow of a ship. He held the air in his lungs for a second and then released a loud whoop that made Mercedes jump. His voice boomed outward and then came back, carried by the wind and resonating in the hills. He cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, and shouted again into the valley.
"What are you doing?" asked Mercedes.
Strangely, Puck didn't answer. He shouted again, listening to his echoes.
Mercedes watched a hawk circling a mile away, then pulled in a gulp of air and did the same, calling out into empty space. Her voice rang out over the hills, higher-pitched than Puck's and easily mistaken for a bird call. Puck grinned at her, then threw his head back and howled like a coyote, and before she knew it she was laughing and joining in.
Together they stood at the top of the empty ski resort, howling and whooping into the wind and listening to the earth toss their voices back.