TUESDAY
“Don’t come any closer,” I say in my best calm voice.
Dean’s expression isn’t one I’ve seen before. His eyes widen for a moment before he can hide the horror behind a blank face. The man is shook. Which is fair enough, since I am feeling it myself.
I smooth a hand over the girl’s back, rubbing in gentle circles. Her blonde hair is tangled, her white skin and clothing dusty, and she’s overdue for a bath in general. She’s between eight and twelve at a guess. I honestly don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve spent quality time around children. Mostly since I was one. But her shoulders are shaking and the front of my tee is sticking wet to my skin. Her face feels so hot. From trauma and grief or the flu, is the question. And honestly, it doesn’t even matter all that much. I’m already infected if she has it. There’s nothing to be done.
On the other hand, Dean is standing eight or so feet away from us and might not have been exposed. Hopefully not yet.
“Back away,” I order him. I stroke the girl’s tangled head of hair. “Get out of here. Now.”
He stares at the child attached to me with his jaw set. “You don’t know for sure, do you?”
“No. But that’s beside the point. Until we know, we have to act as if she has it. And that means you putting some distance between us for a day or two to be safe, right?”
He turns his face toward the front of the store. Yes. Saving himself is the good and sensible choice.
“You need to go,” I say. But he still isn’t going. He’s just standing there frowning. “Get out of here, Dean. Now.”
“No,” he says in this resigned kind of tone, wandering over as calm as can be. “Whatever this is, we’re doing it together.”
Shit.
He gets down on one knee and pulls tissues and his canteen of water out of his backpack. Then he says to the child, “Here you go.”
I am stunned and shocked and all of these things. We’re going through some weird times. But for him to bind our fates so firmly together is wild. Don’t get me wrong, the man has issues. However, none of them have anything to do with making a commitment to me and our supposed future. Something at which each and every one of my previous relationships spectacularly failed.
No idea how to think or feel about that. Perhaps trepidation for starters, with bewilderment coming up fast.
“What’s your name?” he asks. “Are you on your own?”
The little girl allows him to mop up her face. She blows her nose robustly and downs some water. “Sophie. Everybody died.”
“My name’s Dean, and this is Astrid,” he says. “Did you get sick?”
Sophie shakes her head. “Mom did. She locked herself in her bedroom. Told me to stay in the house until the food ran out. Not to let anyone in or talk to them. Just watch my shows or read my books. And I stayed until yesterday. But then the power went out and I got scared.”
“I would have been scared too,” I say in solidarity. “How old are you, Sophie?”
“Nine.”
“Wow. You’ve been so brave.”
Dean nods in agreement. “We’re going to need a new plan,” he says to me.
And yes, we sure do. But that’s how, on the second day of the apocalypse, we become parents.
Neither of us were keen to go from house to house checking on occupancy. And staying in the drugstore seemed too much of a lure for anyone who might be passing and searching for oxy or something. No idea exactly how many were killed by the virus and such. But we’ve crossed paths with enough people to be cautious.
The home goods store down the block seemed like a good idea for the night. It had a fancy front window display shielding the rest of the shop from view. We only use a couple of small travel lanterns on low setting. And a blanket hangs over the front door to stop any hint of light from escaping.
The town stays quiet as darkness falls. Though howling dogs can be heard an hour or two after. What’s happened to all of the pets is a sad thought. But fewer humans will in all likelihood be a boon to the rest of the wildlife. It might not be long before whitetail deer and coyotes and who knows what else are common in the streets. More common than people, at least. Weeds and wildflowers will grow through the cracks in the roads and all of our great works will slowly be undone.
I wonder if we’re going to live long enough to see it.
Sophie and I are sleeping on the demonstration bed made up with crisp striped linen sheets and fluffy matching coverlets with frilly pillows. Dean will make himself at home on one of a pair of cushioned cane sun lounges. I offered to let him have the bed due to the gunshot wound and all. But he declined.
“You won’t leave?” Sophie repeats in her soft, tired voice.
