“We won’t leave.” Dean sits beside the bed on a rustic wooden stool. It’s actually quite a nice item. But seven hundred dollars for a stool is ridiculous. This place must have had some wealthy weekend visitors to be moving such luxe stock. Don’t even get me started on the cost of the French bed linens or the etched glassware. All of it beautiful. The owners, were they still alive,would’ve definitely looked down their noses at me and my meager budget.
“Promise?” asks Sophie.
“We aren’t going anywhere without you. It’s okay to close your eyes and go to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, we’ll both be right here.”
Sophie yawns. “I don’t need to sleep.”
“Okay.”
“The bad guys that hit Astrid and shot you aren’t going to find us?”
“No. We will never see them again. They can’t hurt anyone else either.”
She thinks this over for a while. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”
“Don’t know yet,” he answers in this low, calm voice. “We can figure it out later. After we’ve all had some sleep.”
“I’m still not tired,” she says around another yawn.
“Okay.”
I watch from my position on one of the sun lounges. The thermometer in my hand beeps and Dean turns my way. My small smile is answered with a nod from him. Still no sign of a fever and my nasal passages are blessedly free. Sophie has been much the same, though she’s done some coughing. Her throat seems irritated, so there’s no way to be sure. We’re not out of the woods. Not yet.
However, I wouldn’t be surprised if she screamed herself hoarse shouting for her mother at the locked bedroom door she told us about.
We gave her throat lozenges from the drugstore. Which were what she’d been there to find. The cough didn’t get any worse and no other symptoms seem to have developed. She devoured a packet of the freeze-dried mac and cheese and a packet of freeze-dried ice cream. Weird bunker backpacking food is a win with the child.
We gathered antibiotics and a variety of pain meds from the drugstore. Along with cough medicine and antihistamines and things to see us through the virus if we have it. Wet wipes, multivitamins, and a restock on some items for our first-aid kits were on the shopping list too. Now we wait to see if we’re going to die or not. Still waiting.
Sophie’s eyelids drift closed ever so slowly. She fights sleep every inch of the way. It’s an epic battle. And Dean sits there in silence, waiting her out with infinite patience. His expression never changes, and same goes for his posture. With elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped loosely together, I would never have picked him as a possible girl dad. But he’s shown nothing but this peaceful, pragmatic attitude when it comes to the child. Talk about surprising.
I feel an odd tenderness toward him tonight. Which is also unexpected. No one has ever had my back in this way. Like anything could happen and he would still be standing at my side. It’s like the world is daring me trust him or something. Such a wild idea. To be fair…it’s not like there used to be multiple life-threatening events per day. But at the end of the world, he is fast proving himself to be the person I need to have with me.
When he eventually comes to join me over on the sun lounges, his frown is heading deep into scowl territory. I am not the only one experiencing big feelings. The last time I saw him this perturbed was the morning he came to tell me people were breaking into houses on the block and we had to flee. He’s so emotionally stunted, it’s hard to say quite what upset him this time. It could be any one of the several hardships we’re currently facing.
“Well done getting her to sleep,” I whisper.
“This is fucking terrifying.”
“What is?”
“Her.”
“The small child has upset you?”
“How do I keep her safe too?” he hisses. “I’m having enough trouble keeping you in one piece.”
I bite back a smile.
“It’s not funny. Stop smiling. What do we do with her?”
“Our best. How’s your arm?”
“Fine,” he says dismissively.
“Is this the first time you’ve been shot?”
“Yeah. Not an experience I’d recommend. Riding in a vehicle that drove over an IED is what got me an honorable discharge.”
