Chapter 3 #2
“I haven’t been able to listen to the radio in a while.
It got damaged when the roof leaked.” She shrugged.
“Not like there was much to listen to, but...” She shook herself a bit and continued.
“I moved everything else, though. And the rest of it works,” she added, as if wanting to reassure him. “If you need it.”
He nodded, thinking about the messages he needed to send. He needed a map so he could find out where they were and what settlements might be in the horde’s path, and he needed to reach out to Key and Odette. But suddenly, the thought made him tired.
For weeks—months, really—connecting with his family had been all he could think about, but now his mind was full of Allie.
Her breakdown upon bringing him into the bunker had torn at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He’d seen Z-terror plenty of times. People often held themselves together until they felt they were safe, then they let the shock and fear from a zombie encounter take over—or at least, the ones who were good at surviving did.
The more zombies, the worse the reaction, no matter the delay.
He’d simply stood there, feeling clumsy and useless, while she shook and wept, hiding her face from him as if he would think of her as anything less than his savior.
He’d wanted to gather her into his arms, but he’d heard Key’s voice admonishing him: You just met this woman. You cannot barge into her personal space and try to fix her.
So he’d settled for asking permission to touch her shoulders. And the light massage had seemed to help. Her muscles had felt like carved wood beneath his hands before they’d softened as she relaxed.
Then she’d turned to him, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking her hands in his, trying desperately to warm them. The skin-to-skin contact had left him almost breathless. She’d felt it too. She’d leaned into it for a moment. If he’d leaned toward her...
Nope. Nope. Stop that.
“This computer, I couldn’t figure out for the longest time,” Allie was saying.
“Why would anyone need a computer down here, unless a working internet connection might be some signal that society was still going? Then I found one of the surveillance cameras outside and figured out it was connected here.” She turned on the computer, and it booted up.
The desktop was empty except for a few icons.
She clicked on one and opened a four-way black-and-white split-screen that showed the field outside and the lone tree at different angles.
As of yet, the open area above them looked empty and peaceful.
“We can keep track of the horde with this.” Allie’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, maybe a bit too much. “When it gets here.”
When. He stared at the computer for a moment, wondering how long it would take for that footage to show masses of the undead. Hours?
Allie sighed. “Enough of that,” she said, turning off the computer.
“I saved the best for last.” She walked past him, brushing his arm, and led him into the kitchen, where she flipped on the dim lights.
“The pantry is... Well, it’s got to be at least half the size of the rest of the bunker.
I haven’t put a dent in it, even though I’m eating three meals a day.
And there’s a full kitchen, bigger than some of the ones in real houses I’ve lived in before. Although that isn’t saying much.”
Cam’s mouth dropped open when he saw the kitchen table, which was laden with cans, bags, and foil packets of soup, tuna, vegetables, and ready-to-eat foods of all kinds.
No one knew where the tradition of the Last Meal had originated, although Cam’s settlement had gotten it from another survivor who’d come into possession of a notebook of post-apocalyptic etiquette called Robert’s Rules of Chaos.
The idea had spread slowly through the remainder of the living world, aided and abetted by ham-radio operators and word of mouth, making it a tradition to leave food on the table of any shelter when you left it.
Even just a protein bar or a can of something.
That way, any survivor who came to that shelter later would have something to eat.
And if they were in bad shape, they wouldn’t die with an empty stomach.
Allie had left an entire feast on that table. Cam walked over and picked up a sheet of paper covered in neat, precise handwriting. The note gave details about the contents of the pantry and the important attributes of the bunker, and it ended with “May the gods be with you.”
Cam’s chest ached a little. She’d done her best to make sure that anyone coming into the bunker would feel welcome and be equipped with all the knowledge she could give. How long had it been since he’d met someone who was really, truly altruistically nice?
Yeah, post-apocalyptic etiquette existed, but it was more pragmatic than empathetic.
Robert’s Rules of Chaos were simple and to the point: Always leave doors closed but unlocked.
If you’re barricading in zombies somewhere, mark the door.
If you’ve cleared zombies from a building, mark it clear.
Never take all the supplies from a safe space—especially the food.
Always leave at least enough for someone to have that Last Meal.
As far as Cam was concerned, Robert’s Rules of Chaos mostly boiled down to one basic tenet: Don’t be a dick.
But what Allie had set up in the bunker for the hypothetical person who might stumble upon it someday when she was gone went above and beyond. Pure, generous kindness. Cam had never wanted to hug someone he’d so recently met—a stranger, for all intents and purposes—as much as he did right then.
Yeah, that’s why you want to hold her. Admiration. Appreciation.
He remembered the strength in her narrow shoulders, the warmth of the skin of her neck as he’d rubbed her, soothed her. Fucking hell, it had felt good to feel her tight muscles ease under his touch, to know he was helping her and making her feel better.
“There’s so much food here that I wanted to make sure there was enough even for a group of people, just in case,” she said, twisting her hands together. “Do you think it’s enough? The food, I mean?”
He smiled at her. “This is maybe the most enough I’ve ever seen.”
Her hands relaxed and fell apart, and she gave him a tentative smile that made his chest tighten again. Cam wondered what her laughter would sound like and resolved then and there to find out.
She gestured at the table. “If you’re still hungry, I could make you something.”
Cam’s stomach growled. But as he gazed at Allie and her neat, clean clothes and hair, he suddenly remembered he was several days from any kind of wash or even a change of clothes. He’d been trying to get away from the horde for days then running for what had felt like hours.
He bent his head and lifted his arm a fraction to sniff surreptitiously.
He winced. Oof. Maybe that was why she’d pulled back earlier—he stank to high heaven.
He had no business interacting with Allie until he cleaned himself up.
“Actually, since today is apparently my Make-a-Wish Day, I would love a shower in that bathroom you showed me earlier, if that’s possible. ”
Allie’s eyebrows rose as she gave him a radiant smile.
“Of course! Goddess, I should have thought of that. And there are clean clothes in the second bedroom I showed you if you need them.” She paused, and her nose crinkled a bit.
“I mean, man clothes. Clothes for a guy. Probably around your size. From whoever built this place.”
That smile and the excitement in her eyes did something to his insides. “Do I dare to hope there’s hot water?”
“Absolutely!” Then she shook her head, still smiling. “Not, like, hours of hot water, obviously, but you could easily take a fifteen-minute shower without running out. The water heater isn’t huge, but it works really well.”
Damn. Most places outside the Plant were lucky to have lukewarm showers of limited capacity.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how she’d found the bunker and if she had any idea who’d built it, but he suddenly felt like if he didn’t get out of the grimy clothes and into something fresh and clean, he would go out of his fucking mind.
Shower first. Questions later. And hopefully, she’ll smile at you again.
“Lead the way,” he said.