The leaf stuck there with diamonds in the spider's web, fluttering in the soaking autumn wind. A brilliant orange colour, the most brilliant of the millions in the forest off tenth side road and King, was not dulled by the grey light of the evening. The spider—a rather skinny specimen with spindly legs—sat motionless in her trap, thinking of food. The little piece of autumn in her web quivered in the breeze, threatening to break free.
He hadn't been back to the tenth line in a year and a half. He hadn't seen his wife in the quarantine camp, and his visits to the crash site--initially once a day--had been fruitless. It had become apparent long ago that there was nothing left for him here.
She had insisted though. He hated himself for giving in to her--he never could say no to pretty girls--and this one was no better. In the three weeks that she’d followed him, she had managed deftly to be both irritating and beautiful, though he suspected much of the attraction was survival instinct; her nose was definitely too long, but her eyes were admittedly nice. With the nonchalance of the curious bystander, she approached the wrecked 1979 Buick Skyhawk "RoadHawk" edition. A cool car to the bitter end; even here, rotting in a ditch, people wanted to check it out.
"You must have been going so fast... Did they really chase you all the way here?"
No, I just woke up and decided to kill my wife in a fiery car crash. But he didn't say that.
He said: "No. There was another roadblock. They were just waiting for me."
"Can I... you know, look?" He gazed down at the crumpled and torched sheet metal of the old H-body with a slightly surprised composure; nothing stirred. He nodded absently; she didn’t see it and asked him again.
“Yeah, sure.”
They had burned it to kill the virus. There would be nothing inside but mud and ash--sterile mud and ash. Kneeling in her tired jeans, she peered through the shattered driver's window at the remains of the like-new GM 5-speed transmission (with custom mounting) and the wicked leather bucket seats he’d managed to scrounge up on eBay. His father had been right of course, the car had cost him too much.
"You aren't staring at my ass, are you?" Her muffled voice floated up from the car.
"What? No, I was looking at the trees." He couldn't lie to pretty girls either. She chuckled to herself and stood up brushing the damp from her ratty jeans. She gazed at him for a moment, smile fading, before taking him in her embrace.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, Jack." she apologized, resting her head against his, "I'm a real jerk to make you come here. I guess I just... It must have been so terrifying." He brought his arms around her and returned the hug.
Yes, it was. But he didn't say that.
He said: "It's okay." The pang in his heart, sickening shot of adrenaline to his soul, was all that had greeted him as they had approached; a year and a half was a long time, it seemed. The embrace faded and she turned back to the car and folded her arms. He eventually found himself staring at the ashen mud.
With a rising hiss, the low grey clouds that had ridden on the wind all day began to shower upon them and the colour was washed from the world.
"Eek! Crap, that's cold!" She shrieked as she darted forth along the rusting wire fence toward the woods, a hundred meters or so to the west. "Come on!" They jogged through the rain-slicked wind, past the lonely volunteer corn and stopping only when he tripped and received a face full of mud.
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