Days of Love and Blood

Choices
    Flashes of white stripes reflected off the yellow beams from my headlamps, bursting in and out of existence . The dulling cacophony of windshield wiper moans and worn tires against wet pavement lulled me into a trance. The dim light in front of me was our only guide through a moonless night. Hazy fog surrounded us. It was outside the car and inside my eyes which labored to stay open. Fatigue was setting in. I knew the danger but had to keep going. It was too late to stop.
    There were no streetlights. No lights of any kind on either side to illuminate our safe passage and chase away the bogeymen who persisted in my mind. The night had come early with thick clouds and a heavy downpour. I drove slowly - carefully, staying in the middle of the road while the thin white dashes guided me. I knew approximately where we were but couldn’t tell if I was driving through a small town or farmlands. I knew the road very well but tonight it was foreign. I had no idea how far we had left to travel.
    I needed to dream to stay awake so I forced the image of my parents into mind and imagined their surprise at my arrival. With any luck I would be there tomorrow along with their grandson who had fallen asleep an hour ago in the back. I let my mind invent the details. I would pull up to their house and watch them rush out in confusion, wondering who I was. They wouldn’t recognize the big R.V. I was driving. My husband only recently purchased it right before the blackout. It had been a dream of his - to have this home on wheels. I never bothered to tell my parents about it. I had been angry when he bought it and considered the clunker a waste of money.
    Now I was thankful he bought it. The past two months would have been impossible without it. Although, it did have its own set of problems. The gas consumption was problem number one. I was lucky enough to come up with a workaround - smart enough. But the problem was always there, forcing me to constantly work on it. Pulling up to a gas station wasn’t enough. Without power, the pumps wouldn’t work.
    This old R.V. saved our lives on countless occasions but I never had the chance to express gratitude toward my husband for buying it, or remorse for tearing into him. The last time we talked about the camper, I berated him about the expense. I made him feel like a fool for buying it. I was angry. My heart ripped open when I thought about the argument and I let loose a gasp as tears moved downward into my gaping mouth. I heard my son whine gently as he changed position.
    I missed my husband.
    We were together for eight years. That’s all. I was unfairly robbed of a lifetime with the only man who could break down my walls and touch my heart.
    I was independent and strong from a young age. The few boys I dated up until Ritchie had been nothing more than a contestant in an impossible sport. They would try to control me - I would resist; they would get more insistent - I would leave. It was the same thing over and over again. Power and control issues. Cross the line with me and it’s over.
    Ritchie never crossed the line. I think it was because he was the same way. He fought against control with every drop of his life force. And that’s how it went. He never tried to control me and I never tried to own him. Within days of our first date, we were inseparable. That didn’t change after eight years. He was my best friend. Life was different after Ritchie. It was no longer just me - Carson. It was me and Ritchie. I never thought I could love someone so much, either. At least, not until our son arrived.
    Suddenly, we were a family and the love was immeasurable. I would have thrown myself in front of a highway truck for either one of them. That’s how strong my love was for them. The person I was before Ritchie and Ronan no longer existed in my memories. I couldn’t remember the point when it went from “I” to “We”, as if it had always been “Us”.
    As strong as my love was, I couldn’t save him. I wanted to, but I had to save our son. Ritchie screamed at me to save Ronan. His screams echoed in my mind. I had to run. I had to leave my husband behind.
    I left my best friend behind.
    He died because I ran.
    I hated myself.
    The decision to run replayed in my mind. I held my son cradled in my arms. We were running. They were behind us - chasing after us - lusting over our deaths. We were close to the building. A metal shed which had protected us for a week or so. My husband was