Beneath Dark Skies (Rolling Hills Ranch #1)

20. Kenji

TWENTY

KENJI

THE HEART TO HEART

Day 408

As if sensing my confusion and knowing he probably needs to explain himself further, Jay leads us over to a pile of hay to sit down. I settle beside him, waiting for him to speak.

He picks at a nonexistent piece of lint on his jeans, taking a moment before speaking. “When the outbreak happened…” he begins, immediately pausing to gather his thoughts. “A few weeks after the outbreak happened, my mom was in town running errands. We had heard about the outbreak but since we didn’t live near a big city, we figured we were probably safe for now. Everyone was busy working, so nobody had the TV on or was listening to the radio. It wasn't until one of the survivors came running from the nearby town and told us what happened that we had any clue.”

He claps his hands together, a nervous gesture, and squeezes them tightly. “My Grandad was ready to run into town to save my mom, his daughter , but I wouldn’t let him. I couldn't bear the thought of him seeing her in danger, so I decided to go instead. The person who came from town warned us that the town was overrun, but I couldn't bring myself to believe it. The idea of the dead walking? It seemed impossible, surreal. I honestly didn’t believe them.”

I get it. The concept of the dead walking still baffles me; we were living in an impossible world.

Jay takes a moment before continuing, his voice thick with emotion. “Holden and Todd got into my truck with me, and we headed to town. When we approached, we saw bodies everywhere, strewn across the ground, infected roaming about, windows smashed in… It looked like a warzone.”

As Jay recounts the chaos of that day, my mind flashes back to the first day I experienced the full effects of the outbreak. I remember I felt like I had been transported to that awful night on the job when Adrian and I were called to a terrible car accident, the scene unfolding before me like a haunting flashback of blood and death. I remember how hard Theo and Adrian had to work to shake me out of the flashback. But when I did come back to them, I was faced with a reality just as awful as the flashback. I can’t help the tremble that runs through me at the memory.

“We couldn't go any further; the dead were upon us. We barely made it out. I remember having to relay what we saw to everyone back home. Some didn't believe us, and others couldn't handle the truth at first,” Jay's voice wavers slightly. “My grandad forbade me from returning until we could get a better handle on things. He kept assuring me that my mom would be okay, that she was a fighter and she'd make it through somehow.”

I watch as Jay quickly wipes at his face, and I feel my heart breaking for him. “We returned a week later, and we took out the remaining dead still lingering in town. For weeks, I went back, scouring every inch, looking at every face, hoping to find my mom.”

I place a comforting hand on Jay’s shoulder, images of my own mom flashing through my mind.

“But she wasn't there,” Jay continues, his voice thick with grief. “I searched and searched, but she was nowhere to be found. And the town’s not that big, Kenji.” Tears stream down his face as if the pain of losing her had just happened. But grief doesn’t adhere to a timeline.

After taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, Jay speaks again. “I fear that she turned, that she's out there wandering around. If she were still alive, she'd be here.”

“So that’s why you ran off to the zombies?’ I ask, my voice soft and understanding.

Jay nods solemnly. “I look at every single one that comes close to the fence line. We haven't had any in over a month; we're too far into the mountains. So I thought maybe…” His words trail off, the hope in his eyes dimming.

My chest tightens at the thought that every time a zombie comes anywhere near Rolling Hills, Jay feels a flicker of hope that ends up immediately extinguished. Hope for an answer, hope for closure. “I'm sorry,” I say sincerely. “I didn't lose my mom in the outbreak, but I know what it feels like to lose someone that close.”

Jay looks at me questioningly, prompting me to open up to him, just as he has.

“My mom adopted me when I was five,” I begin, memories flooding back. “I was in foster care before then, and let's just say it wasn't great. I never truly felt what love was, always being pushed to the side until she adopted me.”

I reminisce about the day Suzie May came to the home I was staying at. I was resentful toward the people I lived with; they didn't care about me. None of the foster homes ever did. The people at this one gave me two pairs of clothes and then basically wiped their hands of me as though what they did was enough. Even then, I couldn’t complain. I had experienced much, much worse at some of the other foster homes I had been forced to stay at. You learn to keep quiet, lock your bedroom door, and never fully sleep through the night .

I learned to hate the world, feeling like nothing was good in it. Sometimes I still feel like that.

I laugh a little quiet laugh remembering that day that Suzie May came. I wasn’t nice to her, suspicious of who she was and why she was there. But she saw something in me, something worth loving, and she took me home. It was a turning point in my life. It was just her and I, and she gave me her undivided attention. I had my own room and toys. She ensured I ate at every meal and was appropriately clothed. For the first time I could remember in my short life, I experienced love.

“That's how I met Adrian and Theo,” I continue, briefly touching on our bond. “Adrian was my next-door neighbor, and we clicked instantly. Then a few years later, Theo moved into the neighborhood.”

I skip over the details of Theo's past; that was his story to tell. Instead, I mentally recount the day he became a part of our family. I still remember the day Theo moved in. We were twelve, and he was seven, but that didn’t matter. We took him under our belt. We learned sign language pretty fast, even though Theo said he didn’t understand a thing we were saying for the first three months.

“She died four years ago from an aggressive form of brain cancer,” I admit, the pain of the memory still raw, my throat closing up. “Theo and I were in the doctor’s office with her when she was diagnosed. They wouldn't give us an exact time frame, but they said within the year. And they were right.”

I’m silent for a few moments as my mind tries to skip through the painful memories of what it was like to see her lose parts of herself, forgetting her life, forgetting us, before I pat Jay on the shoulder and say. “You're not alone. I'll keep my eye out, and I hope we can bring you peace one day.”

Jay looks at me with gratitude, expressing his thanks as we remain silently sitting on the bale of hay, stewing in our emotions. I can’t shake the parallels between Jay's story and Adrian's. Two men holding onto hope, unsure if they would ever find the closure they deserved.