“We’re doing guard duty?”
“I am,” he says. “Yes. Just to be safe.”
“Why don’t I go first while you get some sleep? You lost blood today.”
“Thanks,” he says. “But as you said, I haven’t taught you how to shoot yet.”
“We spent an hour waiting and watching. That was me learning how to keep a lookout for any suspicious activity. My lungs and feet work just fine. I can shout or come wake you if I see something or get nervous.”
He hesitates so hard.
I rise from the lounge. “Get some sleep and stop being such a big baby. I’ll make a cup of coffee and go stand near the front door to keep lookout.”
“Keep the lights off. You need your night eyes. Make sure you listen as well. And wake me in a couple of hours.”
I am probably not going to wake him for at least twice that, so yeah. It’s not a lie if you just don’t answer.
“And thank you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEDNESDAY
Sunlight and soft voices wake me. Sophie is reading aloud from a book about wabi-sabi. The Japanese philosophy of finding value in broken or imperfect things. Dean nods and makes occasional comments, such as “interesting” and “okay.” Guess literature choices are limited in the home goods store. But she is loving the attention, and he seems happy to be giving it. Which is nice.
No one is coughing or sneezing. Thank fuck. You would have thought our luck would be running out by now. However, here we are, still alive. Religion isn’t my thing, though I’m starting to think someone is on our side. We might just live long enough for us to figure out how to raise a tween together, build a community, and become friends. Stranger things have happened.
I mean, we’re still alive. Nothing is impossible.
Dean goes exploring and finds an old white Ford Ranger. It’s been somebody’s pride and joy. I doubt the truck has been driven on a day outside of Sunday in years. Lifted four inches and polished to within an inch of its life. The interior is immaculate, withThe Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Marsby David Bowie in the tape deck. Sophie is less than impressed with the choice of music.
We fill a bag at her house with photos, clothes, and a few other favorite items. I asked her if she’d like her mom to be buried in the garden. But she seemed more upset about the idea of her mother being disturbed or removed from the bedroom. Should she change her mind in the future, we can always plan a trip and come back to see to her wishes.
Then we head south toward Wolf Creek.
I offer to drive so Dean can rest his arm, but he’s too much of a control freak to give over the wheel. What a surprise. We have to turn around and find different routes a few times due to traffic pileups and such. Cows on the road also slow us down. Sophie and I take the opportunity to say moo to them, but Dean declines to join the conversation.
Taking a direct route on the highway would have gotten us there in half a day. Assuming there were no overturned semitrailers or crashed planes or whatever. The world went down in messy and chaotic ways. But I am reasonably certain we’re doing the journey in a slow and indirect manner to avoid other people, and to make sure we’re not being followed. There have to be some humans left out there who aren’t assholes. Finding them will be the trick.
There used to be so many people wandering around taking up space. Protecting your peace, carving out your corner of the world, was the trick. It was easy to see people as passersby or competitors. But now with far fewer people, we need some who might be prospective friends or found family.
Rebuilding the world will take a whole lot more than us.
One thing we learn on our journey—children have no chill. Just none. Being contained in the truck all day drives Sophie wild. In the afternoon, we stop at a small swimming hole fed by a natural spring and set up camp for the night. It’s a good chance for us all to get clean again. Sophie’s long hair takes some work; then she lives her best life splashing about mermaid style. She jumps and splashes and screams her lungs out. Children really know how to live and they don’t mind doing it loud.
Dean stands guard while we’re in the water. The campground is reasonably secluded and back from the road. But he still digs a hole for our fire to hide some of the light.
We haven’t seen anyone else all day. That is, no one alive. There have been bodies in vehicles and some outside of housesin various states of decay. Like they went looking for help at the end. Or maybe they just didn’t want to die alone. What wedidsee is a pack of dogs gathered around something out front of a barn. I didn’t want to know what they were eating.
I tried to distract Sophie from the sight. But the world is full of dead bodies now. It’s not something I have a hope in hell of protecting her from. She got quiet after the first few, then just sort of started ignoring them. I don’t know if it’s a healthy attitude. So damn much I don’t know when it comes to children.
For dinner, she ate more of the freeze-dried mac and cheese and then cried herself to sleep while I rubbed her back again. Of course, she misses her mom. I miss mine. Surviving the end times is sort of like falling down the rabbit hole. It takes time to find your footing.
Dean went for his dip in the dark while I watched for lights or movement or anything. And I sit with my back to the swimming hole. What the man looks like naked is none of my business. He can skinny-dip in peace, as far as I am concerned. Parade around naked for all I care. Though he’s probably wearing his underwear, the same as me. Dark boxer briefs would be my guess.
Not that I’m wondering about his underthings, dripping wet and clinging to his body, because how weird would that be?
THURSDAY
