The Survivor Chronicles (Book 3): The Forsaken (31 page)

"Everything, everything we've been through. Our story," Donald answered.

Riley had been right in her guess, Xander realized. "We're in the story?"

"I think the story started when I met you guys."

"But
your
story began before us," Riley said.

Donald placed his finger in the notebook and closed it to look at her. "My story wasn't all that interesting," he replied nonchalantly.

"But wouldn't you want people to know about you before all of this happened? Wouldn't you want them to know..."

"No," Donald interrupted her, though his tone hadn't been abrupt. "They wouldn't want to know about me, and there's not much about my life that I'd like to recall."

The word sorry formed on the tip of Xander's tongue but he didn't utter it. Donald wasn't looking for sympathy, of that much he was certain. Xander didn't know what this man had been through, or what it was he was trying to forget, but it was obvious he didn't want to talk about it and Xander wasn't going to pry.

"I'll tell what you went through when all of this started, if you would like?" Donald asked hesitatingly.

Xander didn't know how to feel about that and he saw the same uncertainty in the faces of those surrounding him. He glanced down at the slab of wood in his hand. His blood had stained the bottom half of the third B a deep mahogany color. That blood may be one of the few marks he left upon this earth by the time this was all over. This log may be one of the only things left of Bobby. There was already nothing left of Lee, or Carol and his parents, other than his memories. Even if no one ever saw what it was that Donald was writing, he'd like to tell what had happened.

People will know their names
, Riley had said. This may be the best way for them to do so, Xander realized. Perhaps it would even help him to heal, help
all
of them to heal in some way.

"We're not that interesting either," Mary Ellen said.

"More so than me," Donald assured her.

"I was at work," John started and then glanced around at the others. "When it started, Carl and I were at work."

Donald opened the notebook again. "What about before then?"

John frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head. "Before was a different life. I'll tell you about my family, they should be remembered, but I'm not going to live in the time before. I'd prefer to tell how we survived until now. The others might like to tell you more, but not me."

"He's right," Mary Ellen murmured. "
Before
was someone else."

Donald stared at them before bowing his head in acceptance. "I'll write whatever you're willing to tell."

"We were at work," John started again as he began to pick at the browning grass beneath him. "When the first quake hit."

Xander continued to work on Bobby's grave marker as John began his story. When his voice trailed off, Mary Ellen started speaking and then Riley. Xander listened to them as the screwdriver scraped over the wood. When his time came, he took a deep breath before picking up where Riley had left off on their story.

He finished carving the wood and placed it down to listen as John picked up his tale again and so it went around the circle. Xander glanced over at Donald as he placed the pen down and stretched out his cramped fingers. For the first time Xander noticed that Donald's loose fitting shirt had long sleeves as he watched Donald push them up. It was such a strange thing in this heat, but then Xander's gaze fell to the marks on his arm. The marks were faded and appeared to be more like scars marring his fair skin, but Xander recognized some of them as needle marks. He'd seen them on a few of his college classmates. Donald rolled his sleeves back down when he caught Xander's gaze on his arms.

"I told you, mine's not a very interesting story," Donald said so quietly that Xander knew no one else had heard him.

"We all have ghosts," Xander whispered.

"Some of them are uglier than others."

"Some humans are uglier than others too."

Donald gave a low chuckle. "I suppose we are."

"The sun will be rising soon," Riley murmured.

"We can pick this up again later," Donald said as he closed the notebook.

"Do you think that man at the church was right?" John asked, drawing Xander's attention away from Donald. "The one that said that God has forsaken us?"

"No," Al answered as he stood up and stretched his back. "No one has forsaken us. We're still here, we're still surviving, and that's enough for me to know that we haven't been forgotten. It's times like this when you learn who you are. Some of us will fall, and I'm not talking about the people who have been lost, like Bobby and Lee. We must all succumb to death one day." His gaze went to the car that Peter and Josh were in before focusing on the group surrounding him. "Some of us, though, will rise up and become something more, maybe even something better.
None
of us have been forsaken though, and I don't care what anyone else says about that."

They were all struck speechless by Al's passionate words. Looking to break the lengthy silence, Xander took hold of the log before he rose to his feet. "We should probably get back on the road. Just let me put this with Bobby."

Riley yawned as she rose beside him and slipped her hand into his. He caught a glimpse of the notebook in Donald's lap. Scrawled across the top were the words,
The Survivor Chronicles
. He lifted an eyebrow at the title. "Is that what you're calling it?"

Donald glanced at the notebook and nodded. "I think it's fitting."

"So do I," Xander agreed.

He walked with Riley over to Bobby's final resting place and stood for a minute before bending to place the log by Bobby's head. "Goodbye friend," he whispered. "Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life."

Riley wiped at her eyes as he kissed the top of her head before turning her toward the car. It was going to be an exhausting day, but he was eager to get the final leg of their journey started as he slid behind the wheel and started the car.

Al was right; he knew that in his heart. Bobby had not been forsaken, none of them had. What lay ahead of them was a road of their own choosing. A road they would all have to travel as they learned who was going to rise and who was going to fall.

End of Book 3.

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My name is not really Erica Stevens, it is a pen name that I chose in memory of two amazing friends lost too soon, I do however live in Mass with my wonderful husband and our puppy Loki. I have a large and crazy family that I fit in well with. I am thankful every day for the love and laughter they have brought to my life. I have always loved to write and am an avid reader.