Before The Door

By Ruth Godwin

Zoe Richards is only twelve years old when nuclear war devastates the United States. She is on a trail ride with her parents - some 2000 miles from their home and family - as bombs fall all across the globe and what's left of society degenerates into chaos. The small family begins their long journey home, but the violent culture they find themselves in costs them dearly. In just a few weeks, Zoe finds herself alone, still hundreds of miles from her home and remaining family.

The world was a scary place before the war, but afterwards it is a literal hell on earth...and Zoe must face it all alone. Robbers and worse await our young heroine, but she confronts each trial with courage. During her travels, she meets both friend and foe; she saves lives and is forced to take lives. Through everything she grows stronger...but no longer is she the child who traveled with her parents.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Godwin
• Release date: Apr 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465935366

Ruth Godwin

I have always enjoyed anything adventurous, and have worked in fields that tend to give me a rush. I've been employed as a firefighter, a correctional officer, a police officer, and a park ranger. My most recent job has been - get this - as a church secretary. Honestly, that was the biggest adventure of all. I have been writing since 4th grade, when I won a short story contest and had the honor of meeting Mercer Meyer. I have always written for myself, until my sister questioned why I didn't try to get published. After that I started letting other folks read my stuff, and I've since acquired a pretty large fan base at my church. I am married and we have a beautiful daughter. I enjoy shooting, anything to do with horses (including cleaning stalls, if you can believe that), hiking, and hanging out with good friends.

Book preview

Before the Door

by

Ruth E. Godwin

Published by Ruth Godwin at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Ruth Godwin

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Chapter 1

Zoe Richards pressed her hands to the wound in her father's side, pushing down hard in an effort to staunch the flow of blood, just as her mother had instructed her.

Lightning split the sky above her, and the thunder was immediate and nearly deafening; it shook her to her very bones. The rain beat down in steady sheets, and it felt as if the clouds themselves were trying to punish her.

The thunder rolled away across the angry sky, and she heard shots ring out in the woods east of her position - the sharp crack of a rifle, then a quick succession of booms from her mother's handgun.

Even with the storm raging above them, Zoe recognized the gunfire for what it was. Over the past week, she had heard the bark of her mother's weapon several times. Between that and the years she had spent target shooting with her parents, she easily recognized the distinctive sound of the .40 caliber weapon.

Her father was fading. Even at her young age, Zoe recognized that he would succumb to his injury if they did not get him help soon. Their current situation was unlikely to provide the level of care that he needed, and she battled against grief and despair even as she prayed for her mother's safety.

She heard one more pistol shot, then the gunfire fell silent, leaving the storm to rule over the tiny valley for a time. She kept her hands pressed down on her father’s injury, wondering if her mother had won the day...and terrified that she might have lost.

She could hear almost nothing over the pounding rain, but after a few moments, Mojo, the family's dog, leapt to his feet. He growled deep in his throat and stared into the trees, his teeth barred. Zoe's father's rifle was on the ground nearby, but she ignored that for now. She left one hand pressed to her father's wound and withdrew the small .380 her mother had given her days ago when all this trouble began.

She had been spared killing anyone until now, and she prayed that it was her mother approaching instead of one of the men who had attacked them. There had been at least three of them on that hillside, however, when her father was shot.

Zoe's young mind had still been processing that first shot when her dad dropped from his saddle with a cry. Her mother had reacted quickly, firing back at the three men and sending them scampering into the trees for cover. Things had happened very fast, and Zoe did not think she had hit any of them. The dog had started after the men, only to return to Zoe's side when she yelled for him.

The older woman helped Zoe get her father and the animals hidden away in the trees and had hastily directed her daughter in the best way to help the man they both loved. When she was satisfied that Zoe would manage well enough, she disappeared into the trees, in search of the men who had fired upon them.

The Kentucky woods were thick, and the overcast skies brought an early twilight to the bloody day. Zoe could see nothing through the trees. Mojo growled again, low and deep, and Zoe held her breath. Her mother's voice called to her from the shadowy forest. Zoe?

It took the frightened girl a few seconds to find her own voice. I'm here, Mom, she said, setting down her weapon and returning her free hand to her father's injury. Her mother entered the tiny clearing, apparently uninjured, and looked with worried eyes upon her husband. Did you get them? Zoe asked as her mother walked over to her horse, Angel, and withdrew the medical kit from a saddle bag.

The older woman nodded, her ice-blue eyes wide and damp with either rain or tears - Zoe was not certain which. Two of them are dead and the third one's hurt. If he survives, I don't think he'll be back. She pulled a stack of gauze from the medical kit.

Were there any others? Zoe asked.

The woman unzipped her unconscious husband's coat, studying the blood seeping around Zoe's small hands. She looked her in the eye. No, she said. When I tell you, honey, I want you to lift your hands so I can put the bandages on, okay? Zoe nodded and her mother said, Okay, go ahead.

As soon as the child lifted her hands, her mother pressed a thick stack of bandages to the wound. Her father groaned and his eyes drifted open, moving between his wife and daughter. Did we get them? he asked weakly.

Zoe's mother nodded, tears now running down both cheeks. We got them, she whispered. She let a sad smile drift across her mouth as she brushed her husband's dirty mop of brown hair away from his face. That smile confirmed, in Zoe's young mind, that her father did not have much time left. I told you I could outshoot you.

Unbelievably, her father laughed. He immediately winced, then looked up at his wife. Roxy, he mumbled, you gotta go.

She shook her head. We're fine for a while, she told him. He opened his mouth - Zoe thought to argue - and her mother pressed a finger to his lips. She looked at her daughter. Zoe, honey, go get a couple of blankets for your father - the wool ones from Chubby's pack, okay?

The twelve-year-old looked from her father's pale face to her mother's calm one. Her parents were both emergency medical technicians, and both worked for the Ravalli County ambulance service back home in Montana.

In addition, her mother served as an unofficial - but skilled - veterinarian to the tiny town of Darby, where Zoe had been born and raised. Zoe had assisted her mother on dozens of vet calls, with everything from delivering colts to treating the neighbor's Saint Bernard for an accidental gunshot wound.

Zoe could not identify it, but there was a subtle change that came over Roxanne Richards when she knew she was going to lose a patient, and the girl could see it on her mother now. She looked at her father, willing him to be all right. Are you going to die? she asked him.

Her father glanced toward her mother, and Zoe could see something unspoken pass between them. He looked at Zoe again and nodded sadly. I'm sorry, baby, he whispered.

The tears that Zoe had successfully held back were unstoppable now. She coughed out a sob and threw herself on her father's neck. He reached up and hugged her to him. She could hear him crying softly and she squeezed him tighter, praying silently to God to save her father.

Zoe's mother said, Hold this, Jim. Keep pressure on it. I'm going to get you those blankets.

Zoe felt her father nod, then her mother stood and walked over to the horses, clustered in a small group nearby. None were tethered, but Zoe knew they would stay put. Zoe and her parents worked with all their horses nearly every day, winter and summer, and they took a one-to-three week trail ride every August.

Zoe whispered, I don't want you to die, Daddy.

I know you don't, Zoe Jane, he told her. But I can't stay. His voice broke as he said the words, and the sound of her father's tears shattered Zoe's small heart. He sucked in a shuddering breath and grasped her shoulder, pushing her back weakly so he could look her in the eyes.

You'll be okay, Hawkeye, he said. Remember all those times we played paintball on Uncle Tom's ranch? Remember what Tom and me taught you, baby. Be smoke. From now on, everywhere you go, okay? And help your mom get home.

Her mother came back, draping a pair of heavy wool blankets over her father. Zoe moved her eyes between her parents, knowing that her mother could not fix this, as much as she might wish she could. The rain shifted into tiny pellets of ice and Zoe shivered in misery.

She looked at her father’s pale face, stark white in the shadowy gloom, and knew there was no way to save him. Though she hated herself for it, she thought perhaps it might be best for him to go like this.

The hail and rain were probably filled with cancer-causing radiation; she and her mother might be looking forward to a slow and agonizing sickness before they died. Better to die quickly than to suffer through illness for weeks or months.

She thought of her friends and family in Darby and looked to her mother. Do you think everybody at home is okay? she asked through her tears.

Her mother draped a blanket around her shoulders and said, Darby's a tiny town, honey. China isn't going to bomb it. They're probably safe.

And Grandma and Grandpa...have got that shelter downstairs, with lots of food and water...stocked for the whole family, her dad whispered. His voice cracked again, and Zoe felt her heart shrivel within her.

In her mind, there was nothing worse than seeing her father cry. It had only happened once in her entire life, three years ago when he had been forced to put down one of their horses. The stallion was nearly thirty years old, ancient for a horse, and her father had owned him for most of his life.

Zoe's tears, which had slowed, began anew. She hated herself for crying, for she knew that her tears would not help this situation. She wanted to be brave for her parents, but she could not help herself. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck again. When you and Mom get there, her father said, you'll be safe.

Her mother had brought over a handful of instant heat hand warmers. She opened several of these and placed them under her husband's coat. She held a couple of them out to Zoe as well, who had been taught to put them in her front pockets to warm the blood that flowed through her femoral arteries. Zoe ignored her mother, knowing she risked punishment for such defiance, but not really caring much.

The older woman looked miserable standing in the hail. She swallowed thickly, continuing to hold out the hand warmers to her daughter, and said in a surprisingly gentle voice, Honey, the last thing I need is for you to get sick. Take them.

Zoe sat up obediently, taking the two hand warmers from her mother and placing them in her pockets, just as she had been taught. She looked down at her father as she followed her mother's instructions and received a gentle - if pained - smile from him.

He turned his attention to his wife as she began opening another packet for him. Save those, Rox, he protested. It's getting colder. You're going to need them.

We can't risk a fire, she told him. Zoe knew from her voice that she was trying not to cry. And you're going into shock. We've got to get you warmed up.

Don't waste your resources on me, he insisted.

She smoothed his shaggy hair away from his face again, smiling at him through her tears. We'll hit a mall later and pick up what we need. Don't you worry about us.

He laughed again, and Zoe's mother leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. I love you, she whispered.

I love you back, he told her. She stood and retrieved a large camouflaged tarp from Chubby's packs. She secured the four corners of the tarp to nearby trees, building a hasty but effective shelter from the hail.

Zoe's father placed one hand on the back of Zoe's head, hugging her to him again. Rox, you really should go. What if somebody heard those shots? Or what if the bad guys have friends?

We'll be fine, her mother argued, though Zoe felt as if she would never be fine again.

* * *

Later, Zoe fell into a fitful sleep. Jim had lost consciousness shortly after their brief, tearful conversation, and Rox doubted he would awaken again. He was right; it would be far safer to take Zoe and be away from this place. But she could not simply abandon her husband of fifteen years.

Besides, Rox did not believe those men would return. Two of them were dead now, and she was certain she had wounded the third, possibly seriously.

The hail had shifted back into a steady downpour of rain, and she wished it would stop. She could hear nothing over the continuous drumming. Since the bombs fell, it had rained, hailed, or snowed an ugly ash every day. Whenever the rains came, the air smelled of metal, and she knew it was probably ripe with radiation.

She and Jim had talked about stopping and finding a place to hole up until the worst of the weather had passed. But they were hundreds of miles from their home and supplies. They would need to find sources of both food and water if they were to stop, and that would be difficult at best. Both of them believed it was better to continue their journey, no matter the risk of illness.

She looked down at Zoe, her eyes closed in sleep, her damp blonde hair fanned out across Jim's chest. The girl had inherited her mother's delicate features and golden hair, but her eyes - an intense emerald green - had come from her father's side of the family. Rox had fallen in love with Jim's eyes, and she knew that every time she looked at their daughter, she would see him. She prayed to God that it would not hurt as much as she thought it might.

She glanced outside their pitiful shelter at the fading light and wondered if she would be able to sneak away long enough to search the bodies of their two fallen enemies. She did not want the child to awaken while she was gone, though she would certainly hear her if she cried out.

She had planned to search the bodies in the morning when they left the area, but she was reluctant to do so in front of her daughter. Death was an ugly thing, and Rox knew that Zoe would see more than her share in the immediate future. Best to let her hold onto whatever innocence she could for as long as possible.

If not for the bombs that had fallen across the United States eight days ago, Rox might have bandaged Jim's wound and attempted to get him into the tiny mountain town they had passed the day before. She knew, though, that even if he survived the trip - which she did not believe was possible - there would be no help for him in the town, which was a tiny little spit called McKee. McKee was smaller than Darby, and there did not even appear to be a clinic in the town.

The nearest true hospital was in Irvine, some thirty miles to the south, a day's ride on horseback. Even if they could get him to Irvine, Rox was sure they would most likely find an unfriendly welcome. The rules of society had all changed in recent days.

They had been six days into a two-week trail ride in the Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia when the bombs started falling. Each year the family took a trip to a new area of the country for a one-to-three-week trail ride. Late in the afternoon on that fateful day, on a high peak above a tiny little West Virginia town, they had stopped to call Jim's younger brother, Tom.

Tom was in a panic when they reached him. He had awakened that morning to news reports that the city of Seattle had come under nuclear attack. Tensions between the United States and China had been running very high recently, and the general consensus of the news services was that China had launched the attack.

The U.S. had retaliated, and according to Tom, missile strikes had been launched against both Los Angeles and New York City. The situation was escalating even as Jim and Tom were speaking. Tom had advised them to get home as fast as they could and to avoid populated areas on the way.

Their truck was parked six days east of where they had received the news of potential global nuclear war, in exactly the opposite direction of home. Jim and Rox had decided immediately that it was a lost cause. Even if they could get to the truck, there was a good chance that it might not function.

They had taken everything they needed from it; all their weapons, food, water, extra clothes, and maps were with them on the trail. Jim, thank God, had even included a portable water filtration system. Chubby, their pack horse, was carrying everything they needed for the two-week trip, plus a little extra.

They had begun rationing their food and water as soon as they talked to Tom. It was a very long ride back to Darby, and they needed to conserve everything they could. Jim estimated that they could make the trip in as little as six weeks, but it could - and probably would - take considerably longer than that.

Already they had been forced to travel southwest into Kentucky in order to avoid Columbus and Cincinnati, both of which were heavily populated. From here, they had planned on heading west through Missouri and into Kansas before moving north into Nebraska, then Wyoming and finally home to southern Montana.

Their first scare had come when they ventured into a West Virginia town two days after talking to Tom. They had stayed on the trail for as long as possible, but had eventually been forced to leave it and travel overland. They quickly found their way blocked by a miles-long barbed wire fence.

Jim Richards always packed wire cutters while on trail rides, but on this particular occasion, he had left them sitting on the dashboard of his truck. He and Rox realized quickly enough that they would get nowhere fast without a decent pair of wire cutters, and they decided to attempt to acquire a pair.

They received an unfriendly welcome at the first ranch home they came across, and a few hours later located a town that appeared to be deserted. In the center of the quiet little burgh was a general store of the type that carried all the essentials that a ranching community might need.

Jim had left his wife and daughter to watch over him from the thick woods surrounding the town. Rox had Jim's .44 lever action Winchester rifle, and was surveying the area as her husband cautiously approached the store. The place seemed deserted, but that meant nothing, she knew. It could have occupants, and those occupants might be less than friendly.

Still, there was no smoke coming from the tiny chimney at the rear of the structure, and she suspected that if it was occupied, whoever was in residence would have a fire going. Jim signaled to Rox that he was moving forward and did so boldly. As soon as he reached the door to the store, someone started shooting.

The door exploded in a shower of glass and Rox saw her husband go down. She did not know if he was hit or not, but she shoved Zoe's head down and hissed into her daughter's ear, Don't move!

Another shot was fired and in the gloom, Rox caught the muzzle flash from a darkened window in the upper floor of what might have been a library. She fired through the window, then chambered another round and fired again, aiming a little lower this time.

Jim had found cover behind a brick planter near the entrance to the store, and now he added his firepower to hers. Rox spotted movement at another window in the upper level of the library, and a rifle barrel peeked out and began spitting bullets at her husband. She shifted her aim and fired several rounds from the Winchester.

The barrel withdrew, and Rox - keeping her eyes on the library windows - began pulling .44 caliber rounds from her pocket and inserting them into the side breech on the Winchester. As she reloaded the rifle, she called quietly, Jim?

I'm all right, he yelled back, only to be cut off by yet another round of firing.

Rox lifted the rifle to her shoulder and began shooting again. The barest hint of movement appeared at the second window and she fired two rounds, making the lace curtains jump. Screams cut through the shadow-draped day, and she knew she had hit her target at least once.

A rifle barrel had reappeared at the first window, but now it withdrew - hesitantly, it seemed to Rox - and she sensed her opportunity. She set down the rifle and drew her handgun. Looking to Zoe, she ordered, Stay down and don't move! Before her daughter could protest, the older woman climbed to her feet and pelted for the library.

She saw Jim out of the corner of her eye, still hunkered down behind the planter. He said nothing, not wanting to tip their enemies to his wife's plans, but she could feel his disapproval. He moved to stand and follow, only to duck back down as another shot came from the library. She heard a woman yell, You bastards!

Rox reached the door quickly, her blood pounding in her ears. She believed she had the element of surprise, but she knew she could lose that if the door was locked. She had to get in quickly and quietly if she was going to win the day.

She turned the knob and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it unlocked. The ground floor was dark and filled with shadows, but it appeared to be empty. The shelves were low enough to see the entire room, but there were plenty of places to hide on the ground floor. She would have to be fast and silent.

She could hear a man above her, moaning in pain, and someone else - she thought it was a woman - trying to comfort him and quiet him at the same time. She took the stairs two at a time, keeping to the outside edges to avoid any loose boards, and reached an upper floor landing with a doorway leading to a corridor.

She could hear voices coming from her left, and she strained her ears to catch any other sounds from either this floor or the one below. She heard nothing else. Leading with her pistol, she quickly cleared the doorway, staying low. At the end of the hallway, she saw a man and a woman. The woman was leaning out the window, firing toward the store with a semiautomatic rifle - an SKS from the looks of it. The man was lying in a growing pool of his own blood, and as Rox rounded the corner, he yelled, Amy!

As the woman turned, Rox's bullets blasted through her head and neck. She collapsed across the man, and Rox did not even hesitate. She shot him once in the head, killing him.

She ducked into an empty office, not wanting to remain in the hallway in case these two had comrades. Once inside, she froze, her back to the wall, and listened to the building for a moment. No sounds came from elsewhere, but she would still be cautious. She moved quietly back into the hallway and picked up the rifle, then discarded it when she saw that one of her bullets had struck the barrel, leaving a sharp dent in the metal.

She ignored the bodies, wanting to get back to Zoe and Jim. Moving downstairs, she headed for the door, but froze for just a moment when she heard what sounded like footsteps above her. She ran for the door, not wanting to get caught in another firefight, and saw Jim as he exited the store with a pair of heavy-duty long handled wire cutters. She signaled to him that there was someone else in the library. He nodded his understanding, and as he moved toward the trees, Rox heard an anguished cry issue from the building behind her.

She ran for the trees and saw that Jim had heard the cry as well. He was heading for the area in which Zoe remained hidden, so Rox moved toward where they had left the horses loosely tethered to a tree.

Had there not been other survivors in the town, they would have returned to the store for food and water. Jim, however, had been thinking when he entered that store, and in addition to the wire cutters, he had retrieved additional ammunition for all their weapons.

Later, after tucking Zoe in for the night, the reality of their situation had hit Rox with the force of a boulder. She realized then that the rules that governed American society were no longer in effect. In the United States of the twenty-first century, those rules were often sporadic anyway, especially in the bigger cities, but Rox knew then that the whole book had been thrown out. It saddened her greatly, and she prayed they would make it safely back to Darby, where Jim's entire family lived and worked.

Roxanne had fallen in love with her husband's family as soon as she met them. She had never been close to her own family, most of whom lived around Jacksonville, Florida. She had met Jim when the two of them served together in Desert Storm in Iraq. They had developed a friendship that had eventually blossomed into love. They were both discharged in December of 1990, and the following summer they were married. They moved in with Tom in Darby, building a house on the Richards family ranch. Roxanne wished to God they were there now.

No amount of wishing would make it so, she knew. With a last look at Jim and Zoe, she left the clearing, heading toward the bodies of her fallen enemies.

* * *

From the dead men, Roxanne retrieved two rifles, three pistols, a survival knife, a can opener, a hatchet, a flashlight, a folding shovel, a pack of Bic lighters, a collapsible fishing pole, fifteen cans of food, and a bag of beef jerky. Each of them also carried a canteen, though neither was more than half full. In addition, she found rounds for several different caliber weapons. Each man also wore a good, sturdy pair of boots, and each had a warm winter coat, though the coats were stained with blood now.

Roxanne stripped both men of their boots and coats and carried everything back to her temporary camp, where she loaded the extra items in Chubby's packs. Though she knew she should probably rest, Roxanne stayed awake for much of the night, keeping watch over her husband and daughter.

In the deepest, darkest part of the night, Jim slipped quietly away. Rox was awake for it; she heard his ragged breathing hitch and then stop, and she felt tears threaten when his respirations did not resume. Zoe whimpered in her sleep, and Roxanne, as she sat crying in the cold dark, wondered if the child subconsciously knew that her father was gone.

* * *

In the murky light of morning, before Zoe awakened, Roxanne attempted to dig a grave for her husband. The half-frozen ground hardly yielded enough to accept his body, but she did the best she could. She was thankful for the shovel, for without the tool it would have been impossible to dig at all.

When Zoe woke up, Rox was there. She pulled the girl into a hug and simply held her for a time, letting her cry into her shoulder.

She had never felt comfortable in her role as a mother, usually deferring to Jim on issues of raising their daughter. With a twist of pain, she longed for her husband to show her how to proceed.

When Zoe's tears finally slowed, the girl pulled away and looked at her mother. Will we bury him? she asked.

Roxanne nodded sadly. I already dug the grave, sweetie. Can you help me move him?

Zoe nodded and between the two of them, they managed to get Jim into the shallow grave. The rain from the night before had stopped with the morning light, and though the sky looked threatening, it did not resume.

Wordlessly, Rox and Zoe piled cold, loose earth on top of the man they both loved so much, covering him completely and patting down the dirt with the flat of the shovel. Roxanne looked at her daughter. Let's collect up some stones to place on top of the grave. That'll help keep him safe.

Zoe nodded again and assisted her mother in collecting dozens of fist-sized stones to lay over the grave. They worked in grieving silence into the afternoon, both letting memories of Jim Richards run through their minds. Sometime later, they were done. Roxanne asked, Are you hungry?

Zoe shook her head, staring for a moment at her father's grave. I think we should go now, she said.

Roxanne was surprised at this; she had expected Zoe to want to linger for some time at Jim's grave. Hesitantly, she said, Okay. I'll go get the horses loaded.

Zoe nodded and moved to help her mother saddle Angel, Charlie, and her father's horse, King's Errand. Together they loaded Chubby's packs, including the extra items Roxanne had taken from the dead men. With King not carrying Jim, Rox split Chubby's load with him.

When they were finished loading the horses, Zoe stood at Jim's grave and whispered a quiet prayer before climbing into Charlie's saddle. When she was settled on the horse, she looked sadly at her mother. Which way? she asked.

Zoe seemed to be carrying the weight of the whole world on her shoulders, and the sight of the girl's devastated eyes broke Rox's heart. West, the older woman told her as the heavy skies finally released their burden. Rox whispered a silent prayer of thanks to God that He had held back the rain while they worked. We're heading into Missouri, then Kansas. After that we'll head north.

Zoe nodded. Rox and Jim had often spoken of their plans in front of their daughter. The older woman knew that Zoe had at least a vague understanding of their route.

Using an atlas that Jim had brought with them, they had planned their journey very carefully. It was imperative that they avoid all heavily populated areas, as big cities would be likely targets of a nuclear strike.

They suspected that radiation levels would be high in and around major cities and even some of the larger towns, and had determined to avoid those areas at all costs. Once they got out of Kentucky and into Missouri - and especially when they got into Kansas and Nebraska - it would be easier to avoid population centers, as the western states were less heavily populated than those in the east.

As they started moving away from the area, Roxanne said, Keep your eyes and ears open, Zoe Jane. And trust your instincts, okay? It may keep you alive. Tonight I want to sit down with you and show you the route we're taking to get home.

The child nodded obediently at her mother, and with a last glance toward her father's grave, she followed the older woman out of the clearing.

* * *

That evening, Rox sat across a small fire from her daughter, watching the child carefully. She was eating stew from a can, staring listlessly into the flames. They had taken shelter in an abandoned, run down barn, though Rox had been reluctant to do so. The place was in the middle of nowhere, but if someone happened upon it, they might find themselves in a fight.

Still, it was nice to be able to dry out a bit. It had rained a half-frozen sleet since they started riding late in the afternoon. The child had not complained, though, and had in fact been extremely quiet since they'd left her father's grave behind.

Zoe put her can aside and Rox said, It's all right to cry, you know.

Zoe looked at her mother, her eyes bright. When Fish died, you said tears didn't help anything. Fish had been their thirteen-year-old husky. He had died the previous summer.

Rox bit her lip, feeling guilt twist in her heart. She had never felt any natural talent as a mother. Her own mother had abandoned her when she was in third grade, and her father had been an abusive alcoholic. The series of girlfriends who came to live in the tiny two-room apartment she shared with her father had been little better - and sometimes far worse - than her absent mother.

Tears aren't going to bring your father back, Zoe Jane, she whispered. But I was wrong to tell you they don't help. I don't think we can really grieve if we don't cry, honey. Zoe nodded, but did not look at her mother. After a moment, Rox continued. Pastor Dani used to say that we're clay in God's hands, and He uses our tears to soften us and form us into what He wants us to be.

Zoe was still silent, her hand rubbing Mojo's flank