Neva feels as though her body is burning from the inside, her pillows and sheets drenched in sweat as her breaths come in shallow, uneven rasps.
She is dimly aware of the acrid rawness in her throat, but her body refuses to move,
and even brushing away the strands of hair clinging to her damp neck promises to be a laborious strain.
But the thirst cannot compare to the caving hollowness spreading within her, like a perpetual dark void with jaws,
its carnivorous teeth sinking into her in a smothering ache until she feels herself chewed apart.
If Rhett were here, he would wrap his strong arms around her, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her would chase away all the numbness of the days and all the pain of the sleepless nights.
He would press his lips to her forehead before placing a cold, soothing cloth against her skin just as he had when she endured that terrible night of fever and nausea while carrying their unborn son.
Even a mild cold would leave him worried sick over her, and he would pamper her, never, never, never leaving her side, both in sickness and in health.
When is he coming?
When...
Father... when?
She wonders why this longing feels almost like dying when she has only seen him a few hours ago.
So much so that she now stands at the doorway, awaiting his return, pressing many, many kisses against her baby's soft,
chubby cheeks as his giggles bubble around her like sunlight breaking through white, fluffy clouds.
Awaiting at the very same place, where she last kissed her husband goodbye, their son nestled in her arms, before handing him his lunch bag as he left for the workshop, just a few miles away in Idaville.
A laugh escapes her as her baby lurches into her with a squeal of excitement, burying his face in the crook of her neck as a stream of giggles flows from him.
She lifts his tiny hand and presses a kiss to it, her heart swelling with love and adoration for her angel-faced baby, her most, most, precious baby.
Just as she thinks that the world could not possibly be more wonderful, the fresh April breeze carries with it the familiar sound of a car approaching.
A pure,
untethered bliss sweeps through her as the maroon-cherry-painted Skoda emerges through the fissures of leaves and twigs before turning onto their street.
"Dada's finally home, Rhean," she coos, kissing her son's forehead just as her husband steps out of the car, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.
Truly, she marvels at how one smile from her husband metamorphoses her blossoming garden into a breathing, thriving Eden beneath God's eternal light, a light that shall never wither into darkness.
Their son beams at the sight of his father as he waves at them, and she wishes she could erase the few steps stretching across the yard between them, if only so he could kiss her sooner.
A mild frustration flickers within her when he takes what feels like a lifetime to reach them.
Having had enough of thousands of days and miles lo of space dividing them,
she thinks to take it upon herself to walk towards him.
It truly seems he's been walking forever by the bright red camillias blooming by the gate, nestled among the shrubs that gird the garden like a living fence.
A chill creeps down her spine as it hits her while he lingers by the camellias, then takes another cautious step towards her, only to stop there once more.
He frowns. "Angel?"
Out of nowhere, a strong wind sweeps through the yard, setting the skirt of her dress fluttering and tearing away petals and leaves from her garden.
A morose, bluish-grey hue looms over the world, and all warmth bleaches from her as she finds the weight of their baby in her arms gone... and the presence of her husband by the camellia shrubs... gone.
Frozen water replaces her legs as she finds herself stranded in a war-ravaged terrain, littered with broken weapons, rotting corpses, and shredded remains.
She stares at Noah, limp beside his father, his bluish-grey complexion grimy with dried blood and dirt.
She wants to look away, but she can't, fixated on the guts spilling from his stomach, where maggots trickle inside and out in an uneven, ravenous flow, gorging themselves amid the apocalypse of his body.
"Neva!" The familiar, distant voice calls out to her before a sharp crack of gunfire shatters the silence.
"Neva!" he calls out again, his voice seeming to have come from somewhere closer.
Through the foggy haze she catches sight of a tall, familiar silhouette.
"Rhett..." she whispers, and starts towards him, her bare feet pressing into dirt and blood.
She tries to not lose his silhouette through the grey smog and mounts of ruins, afraid he'll disappear.
"Angel!" His voice is strained with desperation.
She is unaware of how she is moving at all, unable to feel her legs as her pulse thrums fast in her hears when another gunshot cracks through the field.
A thunderous blast follows, sending dirt scattering through flames and smoke, the earth shuddering beneath her until she trips over a corpse and crashes onto the ground with a painful thud.
The corpse's wide, lifeless eyes, its face stained scarlet, wrench at a knot in the chains of her memories, the feeling of watching the VIP through the safe-room camera as he crumples to the ground, a bullet hole blooming in his forehead.
"Angel!" Her husband runs toward her, his footsteps growing nearer.
Her vision blurs until she can make out only his murky features.
Beloved.
A voice whispers, soothing as a calm river.
Do not be afraid.
Something cold, sharp glides across her palm, and without even seeing it,
she somehow knows it's a large, blood-rusted nail resting against her dirt-smeared palm.
"Hang on, Angel," Rhett says, his frame appearing more clearly through the thinning smog.
Her chest clenches as anxiety collides with a tug of anticipation to feel the firm essence of him, cocooned in his warmth,
his calm heartbeat lulling the world's barbarity away.
Here he is...
Almost here...
Almost...
"I'll be there—" A gunshot cuts off his words.
Everything slows down.
Thump, thump, thump, her heart beats, amid the silence deafening while his eyes dim.
Blood gushes out the wound blooming in his forehead before he crumples to the ground.
For an unknown, winding moment, she remains unmoving.
Unable to make sense of the recurring image in her head, the image of his eyes, the light pulled taut between love and fear before suddenly flickering out.
It begins with a numbing emptiness rippling through her arteries, the cannibalistic teeth sinking deeper into her neck,
gnawing her down now that they have sucked her dry.
Before it slams into her with a violent eruption, lava flooding over her.
It is overwhelming, melting into the nakedness of agony, exploding into a wreck of screams, shrieks, and piercing cries as she crawls through mire.
A voice calls her name, slipping in and out of her senses as she drags her battered body towards him, where he lies amidst a mountain of soldiers' corpses.
"Neva, wake up," the voice says. "Neva."
A gentle pat against her cheek pulls her back to the rasping sobs tearing from her, the dim, ivory light from the bedside lamp framing the blurry shapes of the master bedroom in deep shadows of blue.
"Did you have a nightmare?"
Ishmael presses the back of his hand against her neck. "You're burning up."
A flash of lightning flickers through the room, the rumble of thunder and the patter of downpour sinking her deeper and deeper into the abyss with jaws.
Sickened by his touch, debased by the storm outside, Neva wishes for nothing more than his rough hands to close around her neck and finish what he has failed to do that April day.
Then she can be with Rhett again.
But it is only a dream.
He is searching for her. She knows it. She knows it because he's her husband.
She knows he's close, so, so close.
She knows because they are one flesh, one soul, one breath.
He told her to hang on.
He would be here soon.
Soon...
Soon is his unfinished word.
She will hold on within this hollow shell, where darkness echoes with maddening screams,
even as days drag by, and weeks drop into months,
and months drown into years.
Yes.
She will hold on.
For as long as she lives, as long as she breathes, he will follow the sound of her voice, murmuring, Rhett... Rhett... Rhett... and her Father...
their Heavenly Father, will guide him to her.