What We Need to Decide: What We Need, #2

By Elena Johansen

Planning a future is a tricky thing, more difficult than picking the best route off a map--especially when the world lies in ruins.

Paul doesn't have any doubts about Nina. She chose to follow him, and to love him, more every day. Life on the road will never be easy, but with her by his side, he can do anything.

Nina never hoped for much, before the plague, or after. Having Paul to love, and to love her, was more than she'd expected. No matter what else is wrong, being with him feels right, and she sets aside her armor to let him in.

But when Nina reveals her deepest secrets, Paul realizes the life he hopes to have some day might be out of his reach.

And when Paul shows her his darkest side, the piece of himself he can't accept, Nina wonders if she'll lose the man she loves to his own demons.

Will Paul and Nina allow the struggles of their pasts to define their future?

What We Need to Decide continues their story, begun in What We Need to Survive, following them as they face the dangers of a world that isn't as empty as it seems, and the challenges of forging a strong bond under the worst conditions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elena Johansen
• Release date: Sep 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536525311

Book preview

Chapter One – Destination

October 12th, 6:35 pm – OH-93, south of Oak Hill

Nina sat beside Paul in front of the fire and waited for him to tell her what was on his mind.

She sensed something weighing on him. His distant expression was more than the unfocused gaze of someone staring into the leaping flames. He peered through it, past it, as if trying to see into the future. The slight furrow of his brow meant he didn't care for whatever chain of events he conjured up.

He'd been quiet all afternoon while they'd foraged for food in Oak Hill. With a solid set of wheels underneath them, they didn't need to stop in every town to hunt for supplies. But when they'd found a small grocery next to the highway with no obvious signs of damage, Paul had pulled into the parking lot and suggested they investigate.

They'd found a case of energy bars and more honey-roasted peanuts than they could eat in a week. Not that Nina wouldn't try.

They hadn't talked much as they scanned the aisles by the beam of Paul's flashlight. Without the hum of the air conditioners, the electric whine of the fluorescent lights overhead, or the bland pop music playing on the radio, their voices had echoed through the cavernous building.

Though no one would hear them, Paul had whispered, and so had she.

He wasn't whispering anymore. He was silent, almost brooding.

Nina had needed time to get used to his easy, talkative nature at first—his effortless charm inviting her in, and how he kept trying to be her friend when she couldn't admit she wanted one. Since they'd gone beyond friendship, she was having equal trouble getting used to his silences. He'd admitted to worrying he talked too much sometimes, or he'd bore her, so he overcompensated by shutting up for hours. And sometimes, he was just tired.

This quiet between them as they sat together at the fire seemed thoughtful.

Emulating Paul's endless patience with her was a challenge, but Nina wanted to try. She sat beside him without fidgeting or filling the silence with small talk. She was terrible at small talk anyway—if she dove into it, Paul would suspect he was making her anxious.

Instead of demanding he spill his secrets, which tempted her, Nina made herself do something practical, something useful. Diverting her circling thoughts with activity wasn't new—she'd done it plenty to calm her mind before she and Paul had gotten together.

But she still thought of him as the practical one, the one ready for any eventuality. She had to play catch-up, learning to be as self-reliant and self-assured as he was.

Their spare gear was stored in the back of the pickup truck. They'd already built the fire and eaten dinner, but they hadn't pitched the tent yet. By the way the western sky was blazing orange and pink, sunset was no more than half an hour away. Nina wasn't practiced enough at camping to be comfortable setting up the tent by firelight. She lifted it out of the truck bed and scanned the site for the best spot.

When Paul noticed what she was doing, he jumped to his feet to help. Together they cleared a space and put up the tent, a two-person dome barely long enough for Paul to stretch out in. They had one sleeping bag between them, which got unrolled, unzipped, and laid flat to serve as a mattress. Their blankets went on top, though they had no pillows. Nina supposed they could have taken theirs from the house when they left, but neither of them had thought to, and they hadn't found new ones.

After they finished, Paul plunked himself back down at the fire. Not sure what else to do, Nina joined him. He draped his arm over her shoulders, and she leaned her head against his chest, grateful for the contact. But he was still silent, and she still didn't know how to ask what was making him so somber.

Before long, she was dozing off.

You should go to bed, Paul told her after the third time she jerked her head up to keep from falling completely asleep.

A good idea, but it could be a better one. Come with? Nina asked, her voice small and sleepy.

He shook his head, trailing the backs of his fingers over her cheek. I’ll be in soon.

Nina's skin heated from the caress more than from the warmth of the fire. After a few days together on the road, Paul's casual affection finally felt natural to her. Building that part of their relationship was easier when they were alone together, with no one watching and driving Nina crazy with nerves.

But she sighed when she settled into their thin, inadequate bed, alone and not nearly warm enough without Paul beside her. Summer was giving way to fall, and already the nights were far colder than she thought they'd be. She curled herself tightly, pulled her blanket up to her chin, and tried not to worry. The sudden feeling of distance between her and Paul kept her too tense to sleep. She wanted the warmth of his body and the solid comfort of his presence.

He was only a few feet away, but it felt much farther.

Nina told herself she was overreacting, but it was still new to her, this intimacy of hearts, not just of bodies. Uncertainty ran rampant inside her head—she knew she should find out what was bothering him, but she didn't know how, not without potentially making the problem worse.

Sometime later she woke, fuzzy-headed and night-blind, without realizing she had fallen asleep. Paul was in the tent. He'd put the fire out, so no light shone through the thin nylon walls, and in the dark, he'd bumped her getting into bed.

She made a complaining noise, and he kissed her hair as he gathered her in his arms. Sorry, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.

His heat thawed her chilled joints, and she melted closer to him. When she began to kiss her way up his neck, though, he pulled away.

Not tonight, okay? It's late, I think we both need the sleep instead.

Nina laid her head on his shoulder, determined not to let him know by any sound or change in her breathing how even his gentle rejection stung. Not much, not unbearably, but she hadn't expected the first time to be so soon. They'd made love in one form or another every night since they'd left, and more than once on a break from traveling during the day.

They were still new to each other, and both of them had been starved for real affection. Nina had a gnawing hunger in her, a craving for him she couldn't seem to satisfy.

Until tonight, she hadn't doubted Paul felt the same hunger. For those precious few days they'd had together at the house, it hadn't mattered whose idea it had been to get naked. But on the road, Paul had been letting Nina make the first move. Either because it was his nature—which Nina didn't believe, he was too passionate to sit back and wait for her every time—or because he was trying to be sensitive to her past. She remembered the horror in his expression when she'd told him about her time on the road with Darren, before they'd met.

She'd refused to go with Paul, at first, because of it.

Obviously, he remembered too, which made him hesitant.

Nina wiggled closer. Paul's arms settled more snugly around her. His heart thumped beneath her cheek, steady and strong, a drum keeping time for the soft drone of the crickets outside.

He didn't pull away.

Her anger and hurt eased with every reassuring thump in his chest. She could choose to hang onto them, or to let them go. Paul was trying to make her life easier by being undemanding. He was trying to keep her fears contained and quiet her anxieties.

And if he erred on the side of caution, wasn't it another sign he cared?

With a deep sigh, she let it go, like dropping stones into a pond and watching until they sank out of sight. Paul? she whispered. Are you still awake?

Hm? he murmured, nuzzling her hair with his lips.

I know you're too tired to talk now, but something's bothering you. Will you tell me soon? Because I'm worried about you.

After a long pause, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep right when she'd finally figured out how to safely phrase her concerns. Then he said, Not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet, sweetheart. Might be a bad idea.

She pawed her hands up his body until she found his face, then drew him down to her for a kiss. A soft one, which she hoped he knew wasn't asking for more. Then think about it. Because I want to help.

All right, sweetheart. He interrupted himself with a wide yawn. I can do that.

If he said anything else, Nina didn't remember when she woke up in the morning. Early sunlight painted the far side of the tent a brighter shade of green. She rolled over to joke with Paul for letting her sleep past sunrise, but she was alone. Not even a memory of warmth came from his side of the bed.

Nina's winter coat was draped over her, though, on top of her blanket. Paul must have done it when he woke up, and his care of her made her heart flutter, even if she wanted to be the one taking care of him.

When she emerged from the tent, shoving her hands down the arms of her coat, she found Paul sitting in the cab of the truck with the door still open, his feet on the step. His notebook was spread across his knee as he wrote. He wore his usual layers, shirt and sweater, plus his own winter coat, a rugged denim jacket, surprisingly warm and sturdy. Nina knew because she'd found it for him, delighted at the quilted lining and how it was big enough she'd drown in it. Which meant, she'd hoped, it might actually fit him.

It did, which made her happier than she'd expected to be.

Their coats had been stuffed in the back of the truck with their extra supplies, but the chill in the morning air must have prompted Paul to retrieve them. She hadn't seen him wearing his yet, but the deep blue color, a few shades darker than his jeans, turned his hair a brighter gold. For a moment, she just stood in front of the tent and marveled at him, her long-legged songwriter with his shaggy hair and beautiful hands and quiet, considerate heart.

She'd had no idea love could feel this way. Maybe she should have tried it sooner.

But it wouldn't have been with him, so it might have been all wrong.

When Paul lifted his bent head to smile at her, she couldn't help returning his grin. Faint, dark circles shadowed his eyes, which made Nina wonder how long he'd lain awake the night before wrestling with whatever demons troubled him. But he kept smiling as he set his notebook on the dashboard and stretched out his arms, inviting her to step into them, holding her when she did.

'Morning, she said, muffled by his coat.

Looks like you slept better than I did. He kissed the top of her head.

She faced him, not sure what to say, and tried to keep the worry out of her expression. She didn't want to ask again, because he might think she didn't trust him to tell her when he was ready.

Despite her best efforts, some fraction of her inner turmoil must have lurked in her eyes, enough to crack the edges of his uncertainty. He squeezed her tighter for a moment, tight enough for her ribs to protest, then kissed her forehead before speaking. I know we planned to avoid big cities, he began. And I still think we should. Except . . .

Except? Nina prompted when he broke off, glancing away.

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze again. I want to go home.

Chapter Two – Direction

October 13th, 8:13 am – OH-93, south of Oak Hill

Waiting for Nina to reply was nerve-wracking. She was going to tell him going home was a terrible idea, echoing his own thoughts. But he couldn't get it out of his head, hadn't been able to for the last two days as they approached the Ohio-Kentucky border.

Okay, she said, then returned to the tent without another word.

Paul stared after her, mystified, until she reemerged with one of their maps in her hands.

Scooch over, she ordered. He drew his legs inside the cab and slid across the bench seat until he was behind the wheel. She climbed in and spread the map out between them. I don't remember the last mile marker we passed, but I figure we're somewhere near here. She traced the fine black line of the state route and tapped one spot with her forefinger. I thought we'd be farther in four days, but backtracking to get around that fallen tree cost us a whole morning. And this same distance would have taken us over a week on foot, so I'm not complaining. She tilted her head as she considered the map. If I'm reading this right, the closest bridge over the Ohio River is in . . . Ashland. So we cross and head west instead of south, until we get to Louisville.

She said the name of his hometown the same way he did, which bore little relation to its spelling. She hadn't busted out his accent to tease him lately, but she had a good ear for it.

Nina . . . Paul began.

She focused on him instead of the map, but she said nothing.

You're really okay with this? he went on, his pulse leaping under his skin. I was expectin' to argue about it, and I wasn't necessarily expectin' to win.

After I met up with John and the others, after we scavenged enough supplies to outfit me again, I could have left them. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were intense, holding his gaze. I didn't, and you know why. John had somewhere he wanted to go—I didn't. I followed him because I was scared to be on my own. I still am, but that's not why I'm with you. If you have somewhere you need to go, I'll follow you, because I have better reasons to.

She peered at the map again, letting Paul bask in the quiet conviction behind her statement. A small, mostly-ignored voice in his head was waiting for her to say I love you, because she still hadn't. But when she said something like this, warm and simple and powerful, he wondered if he was listening for the wrong words.

Struck speechless, he bent his head over the map too, careful not to bump hers. He traced the wide blue line of the meandering Ohio River and took refuge in practicality. I ain’t sure the closest bridge is the best one, he said, testing the thought out loud with slow words. I get the feelin' the bridges are gonna be impassable. Like, from real roadblocks, if the government had time to set up quarantines or something. Or from too many cars goin' through with people dyin' in 'em. We might have to cross on foot.

You're probably right. They'd be natural choke points. She drew her finger along a different route. Then we aim for a bridge farther upriver, so we can keep the truck longer. How many miles do you think we have left in the tank, if we don't have any luck siphoning more gas?

I filled up from the cars at the grocery store yesterday. We're close to full, maybe two hundred miles.

Nina quirked a half-smile at him. Maybe we should have taken the sedan. Better mileage.

Nah, it was gonna break down before we drove a full day. Makin' this clunky sound when we took it to the library, and I ain’t a mechanic. Paul bent closer to the map and started using his forefinger as a ruler to estimate distance. Looks like we're headed for Aberdeen, then. It's . . . ninety-five miles away? A hundred? We got twice the gas we need for that, so even if we run into another tree and have to backtrack, we should be okay.

And the next bridges are all in Cincinnati—I wouldn't count on us making it that far. Aberdeen it is. She hesitated. I like that we don't argue over the map, the way they did.

Fragments of the heated disagreement between John, Mark, and Sarah came back to him, from the day they'd found the tire swing. Me, too. He didn't want to remember, though, because the sweet memories of getting to know Nina while she climbed the oak tree were tainted by what had become of the rope they'd salvaged from it. Breakfast? he suggested, to change the subject.

She folded the map and set it on the dashboard. Sure.

After they'd eaten, they broke camp. Nina stowed their packs in the cab while Paul piled their bedding in the back, and they disassembled the tent together. Though they'd only done this a few mornings, they hardly had to speak to get everything done. They pulled the tarp over the truck bed to protect their gear from the weather, then Paul kicked dirt over the ashes of their fire and scattered the stones he'd arranged around it. His goal wasn't to hide their presence, which would have taken more work. The abandoned campsites would cling to him in an ever-lengthening trail, weighing on him. The world was plenty desolate already—he didn't want to add to it more than he had to. Erasing as much of their footprint as he could before they left erased the sites from his mind as well. They became a part of nature again, not places he'd slept.

Sometimes he wondered if he was foolish, but he did it anyway. If Nina thought he was foolish, she never said.

Ten minutes later, everything checked and double-checked, they were on the road. With the truck, they couldn't camp according to John's rules, which had meant figuring out their own.

The truck was sturdy, but neither Nina nor Paul was an experienced off-road driver, so they didn't risk camping deep in the trees as John had. Instead they kept a lookout for side roads, choosing dirt tracks or long, unpaved driveways. When they found one, they turned off their main route and drove until they saw a good spot to set up for the night. In the morning, they returned to the road and were on their way, with no chance of getting lost in the woods.

Staying in towns might have given them better shelter, but they'd have lost driving time, because they never seemed to hit a town near sunset. The extra miles were worth sleeping on the ground, as long as the truck was running. Once circumstances forced them to abandon it, safe shelter could take priority over speed.

Nina insisted on taking the first turn at the wheel. When Paul tried to protest, she had him look at himself in the rear view mirror. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and studied the sunken skin around them. I guess I really wasn't sleepin' well, he conceded.

Nina didn't insist he entertain her, letting him gaze out the window instead and daydream as the miles rolled under them. When it started to rain, Paul watched the drops slide down the glass and thought about what it meant to be going home again. This time he knew what he would find, which made this trip easier than his mad dash out of New York, racing to make it home before he lost his father to the plague.

He hadn't made it, which hurt more than he'd expected it to, given how strained his relationship with his father had been. He had gotten there in time to say goodbye to Steve, the little brother he'd left behind, who'd grown up in his absence.

It should have given him closure, those hours he'd sat beside his brother's bed, but nothing was enough to make up for the years he'd been gone. After he'd lost Steve, too, the numb fog of shock had closed in on him.

He'd shoved his regret aside in order to focus on survival, so it had taken months for him to understand he hadn't worked through his grief, only ignored it.

It had taken meeting Owen, a boy who'd shouldered the burden of burying his entire town, to make Paul realize the weight of what he had left behind.

Do you think they're okay?

Nina glanced at him, obviously startled, and he explained. John and the others. Owen was so upset we were leavin' . . .

It hasn't even been a week, she replied. I'm sure nothing bad has happened. As to how they're feeling? She shrugged. I know you miss them, and they probably miss you too.

Her tone riled Paul. You don't think they miss you?

Nina laughed. I'm sure Sarah does, at least. But I didn't fit in with them, Paul. I hope they're okay, but I can't see them stewing about us being gone. Not when it'll be easier for them without us. And I'd rather be with you.

Paul couldn't argue with her. This time, going home, he wasn't going to be alone, which made it easier, too. He shifted his attention from the raindrops to Nina, admiring her profile as she watched the road ahead. The tiny upturn at the end of her nose was adorable, and he hadn't ever given it the appreciation it deserved because he had a hard time seeing anything but her eyes.

After a while, she sensed him staring and glanced over at him. What?

In the early days, his attention would have made her uncomfortable, would have put her on the defensive. Now, she wasn't exactly preening, but she did radiate a quiet sort of happiness when she noticed him watching her. Nothing. Just wanted to look at you.

She faced the road without answering, but he could tell she was trying to hide a smile. The rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers lulled Paul into daydreams as he stared out the window, imagining the raindrops following the road, rushing downward to the river, racing them to their goal.

Chapter Three – Carrying Capacity

October 14th, 3:43 pm – US-62, Aberdeen, OH

The traffic jam was so vast, Nina had to get out of the truck to see it properly. The edges of the window limited her field of view, and the roof of the truck held her in. She couldn't take in the scope—something so impressive could only be viewed under an open sky.

Which was strange, too. Trees had dominated most of her time in Ohio. The roads were narrow veins cutting through endless swaths of forest. Their branches hung over the road like anxious sales attendants or helicopter parents, reaching and prodding and demanding attention.

On the border, though, the forests retreated, always in the distance, never in reach no matter which way she turned. As Nina scanned the road leading to the bridge, she couldn't help but admire the view beyond it, the low and rolling hills, gentle swells of distant green which couldn't hide the sky.

Nothing could hide the parked cars lining the highway.

Paul killed the engine and followed her out, giving a low whistle of amazement. We're still at least a mile from the bridge, he observed from the other side of the truck's hood. Didn't think it'd be this bad. Didn't think there were enough people left for it to be this bad.

Nina couldn't stop staring. The worst roadblocks she'd encountered were a few cars on either side of a fallen tree, or an accident that had never been cleared away.

She never imagined this level of gridlock. She knew Paul had been right, no bridge would be clear, but this was far worse than she'd expected.

The sounds of Paul sorting through their extra gear broke into her thoughts. They needed to figure out what they could bring with them, and what they'd be forced to leave behind. Nina joined him, and he wordlessly passed her blanket over, already rolled and ready to secure to the top of her pack. The sleeping bag was too bulky to take, though the tent, packed into its compact carry bag, was not.

He stopped to consider what remained of their case of protein bars. Grab the packs out of the front, will you? Let's see how much we can stuff 'em.

Nina passed Paul his pack before opening hers and pondering the contents. Was it cold enough to put on her extra sweater to make more space for food? Since the afternoon sky was sunny, with no breeze, another layer might be overkill. Instead she crammed the food into the space she had left, zipping the top nearly closed and feeding the bars one at a time into the hollow below the zipper. She'd be digging through mushed bars to get at anything underneath them, but these were the healthiest, most portable food they'd come across since setting out together. She didn't want to leave any behind if she didn't have to.

When Paul was done, five bars remained. Too early for dinner, they traded a wordless glance and sat together in the bed of the truck to eat anyway. Nina's stomach groaned at the thought of splitting the fifth one, so she let Paul have it. They'd gotten used to light meals.

But they were walking again, which meant they couldn't waste anything.

Nina hopped down and shouldered her pack. Paul didn't hop as much as unfold his long body as he stepped out. He settled his own pack on comfortably, but struggled for a minute with the best way to carry the tent.

It reminded Nina of her old yoga mat in its bag, though the tent wasn't as big. She'd always worn it slung across her back, which wouldn't work for Paul, not with his pack in the way. Having it over only one shoulder would make it prone to slipping off.

I guess I'll just carry it in my hands, Paul muttered, turning grouchy.

Wait, try this, Nina said, taking the tent from him and suppressing a giggle. Lean down a bit. When he complied, she looped the strap over his head and one arm, but with the tent in front of his body instead of behind. Will that bother you?

Paul took a few experimental steps, then stopped and twisted his body at the waist, moving his arms as if reaching for something. The tent hung loosely enough not to press into his chest, but it bounced against his ribs with every step. He returned to Nina. Tighten the strap for me an inch or two? he asked, bending down again. The buckle's high enough that I can't really see it.

She did, and when she stepped back, they stared at each other. Nina reached for something to say, a joke to make about how attached she'd gotten to the truck, or how she'd miss the long afternoons of easy conversation while they were driving. Their hopes had been high when they'd pulled out of the driveway that first