Beneath Dark Skies (Rolling Hills Ranch #1)

3. Farron

THREE

FARRON

LEAVING AT FIRST LIGHT

Day 381

The morning sun casts a golden glow across my face, making me appear brighter than I am for a moment. Leaning closer toward my reflection, I look into green eyes that have long lost their shine, the sullen look accentuated by dark circles underneath. Long raven curls fall to my lower back, limp and lifeless. Even the freckles scattered across my nose and cheeks look dull, my tanned skin now appearing wan, despite all the time I spend outdoors. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are zombies out there that look better than I do.

I wish I could blame the end of the world for my appearance. What’s the point of putting in effort when it’s the apocalypse and I’m around the same people daily? But staring at the woman in the mirror, a faint echo of who I once was, I can’t escape the truth. It’s not the external chaos of the last year that’s the culprit for what I see, but my own inner turmoil. The darkness and lines around my eyes betray just how little sleep I get these days.

Letting out a huff of air, I finish brushing my teeth and turn my back on the mirror, tired of looking at myself and done with the path my thoughts have decided to go down. I grab my black Stetson sitting on the table near my front door as I head out of my little cottage, Magnum hot on my heels. As I walk over to the barn, I breathe in the fresh air, enjoying the subtle breeze as it brushes against my skin, and listen to the sound of the gravel as it crunches beneath my boots.

I make my way towards the main house over to the left. I feel a pang of sadness as I take in the giant two-story ranch house with redwood slats, a wrap-around covered porch with wooden beams, and grass all around. It truly is beautiful. Ma has potted wildflowers all around it with a set of rocking chairs for her and Pa. The two of them are usually sitting there, drinking their morning coffee as I make my way to the barn, but not today. I send up a silent thank you , knowing I don’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now.

My grandparents are always trying to get me to move back into my old room, but I can’t. I can’t walk around those halls and act like everything is okay, like what happened isn’t my fault. I can’t escape the whispers I hear in every creak of the floorboards or the stares of the photos that line the walls. I’m haunted by ghosts in that home. Not only ghosts of the departed but ghosts of memories. Memories of a life I was so desperate to leave behind but would now do anything to get back. Memories of the girl I used to be long gone in the face of what her world has become.

I’m haunted by ghosts of my own making.

So, no, thank you. I’ll stay out in my little cottage on the side of the ranch, enjoying a space that’s small but mine alone. A space that doesn’t cause guilt to gnaw at me incessantly.

Six farms border us on either side. When the world collapsed, and the dead began to rise, everyone hunkered down for safety. The few people who managed to escape the nearby town of North Star, which fell to the infected early on, sought refuge with us. Rolling Hills welcomed them with open arms, and despite our small numbers, we’ve all successfully integrated, building an incredible and peaceful community .

We diligently patrol the fence line at least twice daily and have encountered little trouble. We’re nestled deep within the mountains, so we remain elusive, a difficult community to find unless one knows precisely where they should be looking.

I make my way around the back of the main house, finally arriving at the barn—my safe space. I love the smell of dust coming down from the ceiling, the hay and feed. I love the animals within and how I lose all sense of time when I’m with them, tending to their well-being. I love not having to adorn a mask or worry about saying the right thing.

The barn is almost as large as the house, with stalls lining either side. As I make my way down the familiar path of the barn, I go through my usual routine of stopping and saying good morning to all the animals. A few chickens are clucking and moving about, while the goats are wandering around, like always, wreaking havoc until I give them all a pet and toss down some food.

Stopping at the first stall, I reach out and stroke the velvety nose of my brother’s horse, Comet. Her stunning coat is a striking combination of lustrous white adorned with black spots, resembling a constellation in the night sky. She nuzzles my hand affectionately, and a smile graces my lips as I whisper a few words of affection to her. Continuing, my steps lead me to the next stall, which belongs to my horse, EJ. He stands tall and proud, his caramel-colored coat gleaming under the soft light filtering through the stable. A long white patch runs down his face to his nose, strikingly contrasting his rich brown hue. He also has white markings on his legs near his hooves, highlighting that distinction in color even more.

With a soft sigh, I stroke his sleek coat, the rhythmic movement calming me. As I do, I can’t help but marvel at him. He towers over me, his size and strength setting him apart from our other horses. His gentle demeanor is in complete opposition to his stature, showcased in the way he leans into my touch.

“Hey, EJ,” I murmur, bringing my forehead to rest against his head. “It’s a rough one today, boy… I think you and I need to go for a ride later.” He lets out a small neigh and gives my fingers a little nibble, causing me to giggle. I lean further into him, letting that sense of calm wash over me even further. His dark eyes look at me, deep and soulful, as his breathing seems to slow and match mine.

I kiss EJ on the head before I move forward, making my way to Nessie, our pregnant Hereford cow, at the end of the barn. She usually would be with the other cattle, but since becoming pregnant, she’s been a bit scared and territorial with the other cows. As I approach, Nessie lifts her head, acknowledging me with a low moo. I can’t help but smile, my heart warming as I look at the expectant mother. Nessie was always a sweet and gentle creature, and she’ll be an incredible mom. I blink back the burning I suddenly feel in my eyes at the thought of my own mom, forcing the memories back down into their box in my mind, locking them back up as tightly as I can.

I reach out and rest my hand on Nessie’s side, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. I pull out some of my supplies, checking her heartbeat and the baby’s. As I lose myself in the moment and my work, my mind can’t help but wander towards the past and the job I do now.

I’m a vet. Sort of.

I’d been at Colorado State University for school when the world fell apart. Thankfully, I had been in my last year of schooling when the world went to shit, or I would have been useless.

It’s been my dream since I was a kid to help animals of all kinds. I’ve always struggled around people. I was too awkward or blunt, never able to find that sweet in-between like everyone else. Dealing with people always felt extreme in one direction or another, but dealing with animals was easy. I understood them, and they understood me. They didn’t expect anything from me but kindness, which I could always give, unlike people who expected everything while acting like they expected nothing.

The expectations now are an entirely new beast. The stress and pressure to tend to everyone weigh heavily on my shoulders. How could it not when I’m basically responsible for the health of the entire community?

Admittedly, a vet is not all I am for Rolling Hills. I’m also the doctor, the main perimeter rider, the inventory supervisor, and a frequent supply runner – though I don’t do that often now since I’m needed here. The community’s only doctor can’t be risked, of course. For the most part, I like what I do. But the responsibility I feel for Rolling Hills can be stifling.

I’ve never admitted this out loud, but…

I’m scared.

There.

I said it.

Granted, it was in my head, and my audience was a cow, but…to-may-to, to-mah-to.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice the body standing at the entrance of the stall until a throat clears. Looking up from Nessie, I remove the stethoscope from my ears and find Holden leaning against the opening with his arms folded over his chest, his hair windswept. We’re twins, but that hasn’t stopped all the fake arguments we’ve had growing up, him rubbing in my face that he’s the more attractive twin and me accosting him for his ego. He’s taller, with black wavy hair he normally keeps brushed back, and the same tanned skin covered in freckles. He also has green eyes but doesn't have the haunted emptiness hidden in the depths of his irises. He keeps a short beard at all times, part of what he likes to call his ‘rugged sexuality…’ Gross. He’s fully covered in an array of colorful, American Traditional style tattoos—some of which are of the dumbest things—and he’s got his left eyebrow pierced.

With a cheery smile, he says, “Hey Ronnie, how you doin’?”

Hearing the strange, upbeat tone, I give Holden a long look. His expression gives him away, telling on him instantly. He’s hiding something from me. Holden’s never been a good liar, especially when something’s bothering him.

Narrowing my eyes, I ask him, “What are you hiding, Holden?”

He backs up, throwing his hands into a placating gesture. “Woah, can’t a big brother just check on his little sister without getting the third degree?”

I don’t know why he thinks he’s so slick after twenty-eight years. Holden may be able to fool others, but he’s never been able to fool me.

“You’re only three minutes older than me, dumbass,” I say, tossing my stethoscope into my bag before refocusing my attention on him. “Just spit it out,” I say sharply, my words cutting.

He runs a hand through his curls and looks down at me. “I’m going on another supply run on my own. Jay and Todd just finished one together, so they won’t be going with me. And before you say anything, I’ll remind you that we need to keep looking for supplies. We’re fine now, but one day, it will all be gone or eroded, and we have to keep building. Not to mention, winter is coming soon, and you know how much harder the supply runs will be in the snow. We still have so much to do here, Ronnie.”

“That doesn’t explain why you have to go on your own,” I grind out.

“I’m more concerned with scoping out areas we haven’t been before,” he admits. “It’s easier to do so quietly, staying hidden, when it’s just one person. It’s faster if I don't have to worry about anyone else. Again, I’d go with Jay or Todd, but they just got back.”

I try to keep my cool, knowing he’s not entirely wrong, but his rationality hits a nerve. It would be smart to stock up before winter, and to do that, we have to explore further, but it scares me to think he’s leaving for one entirely on his own. There’s a small bit of resentment, too, at the fact that Holden always disappears for days on end for supply runs, leaving me behind.

And in the depths of my mind, a nagging suspicion lingers: does Holden choose to go on these runs to escape the confines of the ranch? If I hadn’t gone to Colorado, Holden could have explored more, and he wouldn’t be trying to do that now, at the worst possible time. The thoughts swirl in my mind, emotions rising until I snap.

Unable to contain myself, I inadvertently raise my voice. "You know what? No. You’re not going on your own, and that’s the end of it. Send Trevor, for God’s sake."

Well, at least I tried to keep my cool with him.

With a smile, he teasingly says, “You know Trevor can’t go out there, Ronnie. The guy can barely handle perimeter checks here. The only thing he knows how to use is a rake.”

He’s right. Trevor would be dead before he even started if he stepped foot outside of those fences. Born and bred on his family’s ranch, Trevor’s skills are practically non-existent. I’ve known him since we were kids, and he’s had a crush on me for years. He’s nice enough, but it's as if his body and mind never quite outgrew boyhood. His lanky frame seems to stretch out endlessly, giving him an awkward appearance. Then you throw in his rake and clingy personality, and he’s something else altogether.

“Yes,” I say wryly, giving Holden a look. “And yet you continue to tell me I should ‘give the poor guy a chance…’ Not good enough for a su pply run, but good enough for your sister? I don’t want to date him just because he’s your best friend’s brother.”

“He could be a good partner,” Holden replies, unable to stifle his laugh. “At least you know the only third you’d ever have to worry about in your relationship is the rake. Anyway, if he goes off on a supply run, he’s probably not making it back.”

“If Trevor goes out there and doesn’t come back, I won’t care, Holden. But if you don’t make it back…” I trail off, tears beginning to burn my eyes.

“Hey,” Holden says, taking a few steps forward and pulling me in for a hug. “It’ll all be okay. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The scent of coffee mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly mown grass envelopes my senses. I hold onto Holden tightly, breathing him in, imprinting his scent into my memory. I am memorizing him, trying to give myself something to hold onto during his absence, like I do every time he leaves. He’s all I have besides Ma and Pa, but it’s more than that. He’s not just my brother or a presence in my life. He’s my other half.

Holden is the light to my darkness, my rock, when the waves never stop crashing and beating me down. He’s my protector, my confidant, and my savior. He pulled me from the darkest depths when I had no hope and made me fight. As dramatic as it may seem, I think I would die without him. I know that there’s no way I could take this world without him. Holden is the thread holding me together, and if he’s gone, I will entirely fall apart. I would have nothing left to fight for.

“When do you leave?” I whisper. I want to fight him more on this, to try to convince him to see reason. But Holden’s just as stubborn as me, if not more, and I know there’s no getting through to him at this point. If I keep arguing, he’ll just close up, and I can’t have him leave upset with me. I can’t go through something like that again .

“At first light tomorrow,” he responds. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I can get back.” He releases me from the hug and obviously attempts to change the subject. “So, tell me how Nessie’s doing. How much longer does she have until that baby pops out?”

“Nessie's doing alright,” I reply, the mention of the cow a brief respite from the burden of my previous concerns. “A few more weeks to go. She'll probably give birth in two months.” The thought of the baby’s impending arrival brings a fleeting smile to my lips.

Holden nods along, his expression soft with genuine interest as we discuss Nessie’s pregnancy. He mentions how precious life is as if I need a reminder of the fragility of everything. As if I don’t know how quickly everything can slip away, leaving you with nothing. The preciousness of life is something I understand well, and it’s the very reason I’m so nervous and filled with dread about Holden venturing out again on his own.

I try to keep listening as he talks and makes jokes about different things, his laughter ringing through the barn, but I can’t shake the feeling of unease clinging to me like a shadow. Something in my gut is turning, a sinking feeling and a relentless grip of fear that keeps threatening to consume me whole. It’s as if an invisible hand has shoved its way into my stomach, squeezing my insides, twisting and turning.

It’s been happening more and more lately, the feelings intensifying with each passing day. I try to rationalize it away, but deep down, I know something big is going to happen. I can feel it in the air, like a storm brewing on the horizon. I’m not religious, yet I find myself praying. I pray to be wrong and that everything will be okay. I pray that the unease is just my own mind playing tricks on me like it has in the past.

But I cannot shake the feeling that something is coming.