Katherine Hanna - Breakdown

Chris nodded again, but still he did not move, seemed uncertain.

Brian hesitated, took another breath. “Um, are you hungry? I have food—”

“No, I just ate, actually,” Chris said tightly. “I’m not some skinny.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Brian said, taken aback that Chris would use that word. “It’s just that…” He stopped.

“I look like shit, I know.” Chris leveled a stare at him. “I’ve been on the road. I washed when I could. Not much chance for laundry. Sorry.”

Brian figured the best thing to do was ignore the subtle hostility. He probably deserved it, but it still felt like a slap in the face. He thought back to the last time he’d had a conversation with Chris. It hadn’t really been a conversation; it had been more of a screaming match. It was the last thing he wanted now.

“Let’s go home, Chris,” Brian said, trying to sound welcoming, sincere. He gestured with his head toward the bus line where Ian stood, holding their place.

Chris blinked and looked away. “I have some things.” He stepped back to the wall were he’d been sitting, pulled a duffel and a blanket roll with a strap of some sort out from behind a small bush, and slung them over his shoulder. He joined Brian, walking beside him but keeping a distance. His face was not as hard as it had been. He seemed to be trying to think of something to say.

It was only a short distance to the queue.

Chris was looking at Ian. “I wouldn’t have known him.”

Ian watched them approach. As they reached him, Brian saw his son clench and unclench his fists.

“Hi, Ian. You were a baby the last time I saw you,” Chris said quietly.

Ian ducked his head. “Hi.”

The line had grown, and the regulars cast suspicious looks at Chris. Chris stood next to Ian and didn’t look at anyone. The bus pulled into the station, swung around to its stall, and stopped with a hiss and a squeal. Brian took all of their various packs and bundles and stowed them in the luggage compartment. He counted out the bus fare for himself and Ian and found his hands were shaking a bit. He turned to tell Chris how much the fare was, but Chris was already counting out coins from his pocket. When it was their turn, Brian and Ian got on first. Chris followed.

“Hold on,” the driver said. He waved Brian and Ian past, but his eyes narrowed as he looked at Chris. “I want to see your card.” He held out his hand.

Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out an official green card, dated and stamped. The driver scrutinized it with a frown, then shoved it back at Chris, took his money, and waved him on. Chris pushed past Brian and went all the way to the back, scrunching himself into the corner by the window. Brian sat next to him, giving him as much room as he could, and Ian sat across the aisle. Chris remained tense, drawn in on himself, his mouth a tight line. Ian shot defiant glances at the other passengers. The seat in front of them remained empty as everyone else boarded; two people stood at the front rather than sit there. Ian got up and took the seat as the driver slammed the door closed.

The bus lurched out of the station. Brian glared at the backs of the other passengers. They all knew him and Ian, and their suspicion of Chris angered him. But then he had to admit to himself that they had every reason to be wary in spite of a current blood-test card. The cards were a formality, renewed every six months, but everyone knew they didn’t mean much a week after they were issued. Incubation time could be days to weeks.

Brian glanced sideways at Chris. He realized he would have given anyone who looked like Chris a wide berth. He felt a niggling apprehension begin to grow. He had not thought this through. Of course he wouldn’t have left Chris there in the bus station, but bringing him into their group was going to change things. Jon would be ecstatic, but what about Laura? There was bound to be some tension…

Wondering about that made him wonder about himself. Now that he had looked at Chris and seen him as the others on the bus would, he realized that he didn’t really know Chris any more than they did. He himself had changed in the past six years. Those years must have changed Chris, too. I don’t know him at all. His head began to ache as his thoughts churned around in circles. Chris sat staring out the window, his jacket still bundled in his lap. I have to talk to him.

“How did you get to Britain?” Brian asked, keeping his voice low. Ian shifted in his seat to look at him, then at Chris.

Chris kept his gaze on the back of the seat in front of him. “There are some ships. They don’t take passengers unless you have a hell of a lot of money, so I worked my way over. Came in at London.”

“Did you walk here from London?” Brian asked, startled.

Chris shook his head and finally looked at Brian. “No. I spent a short time in London, then got another ship to Portsmouth. They—” He bit off what he was about to say, started over. “I worked there for a while, then at another place near there. That’s where I walked from.”

“Weren’t there any buses?” Ian asked, keeping his voice down too.

Chris shrugged. “Might have been. But I didn’t mind the walk.” His face softened whenever he addressed Ian, Brian noticed.

“That’s a long walk,” Ian said.

“It is. I found a bicycle, thought I might ride, but the tires had gone bad.”

“We could have got tires for it,” Brian said.

“But I would have had to push it here on the rims, wouldn’t I? I pushed it to the nearest town and traded it.”

“I hope you got a good price for it,” Brian said without thinking.

Chris looked at him straight-faced. “I think so,” he said, in that flat tone he had that carried weight. You’re not the only one who knows what he’s doing , the tone and the look together conveyed.

Brian kept his mouth shut and nodded once, conceding. Chris hadn’t changed so much after all.

“What’s London like?” Ian asked.

Chris glanced at him briefly, then back at Brian. “You’ve not been to London, have you?” He meant since the crash, Brian knew, and this time his voice held a hint of something else—not quite superiority, but something close. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen , Chris had said. Brian shook his head. “You don’t want to go to London,” Chris continued, swiveling his head back to Ian to answer his question. Ian was smart enough not to ask, “Why not?”

The bus reached its first stop and several passengers got off. The man and woman who had been standing took the seats, with a peek toward the back.

“So how did you end up in Hurleigh?” Chris asked once the bus was under way again.

“Bought an estate there, before the crash. Well, Simon did, really, though I paid for most of it. Simon was fixing it up. We left Bath that first winter, just after Christmas. Just in time.”

“Estate? Big place?”

“Big enough. Land to farm. We do okay.”

Chris nodded. “Farms are safer. Are there many outbreaks?”

“Nothing in the last year, that we’ve heard of at least. Rumor is the small ones go unreported.”

Chris turned his head to gaze out the window at the countryside. Brian and Ian exchanged looks, stayed quiet. Brian felt that some of the tension had eased, but he was wary of asking Chris too many questions. The bus made its scheduled stops, and the seats emptied.

“How is Laura?” Chris asked, breaking the silence.

“She’s well. She had a bad time of it. Lost her husband…” Brian trailed off, uncomfortably aware that he had made no mention yet of Chris’s apparent loss. For some reason, it seemed impossible to ask.

“It’ll be good to see her,” Chris said, and took up watching out the window again.