Chapter 2 #2
I licked the last of the stew from my spoon, feeling it warm and heavy in my gut.
I stood, stretched, and let my eyes wander back to Linda and Evelyn.
They were still in their corner, hands laced together, faces close, their conversation a whisper between them, but the colors of their thoughts ran hot and alive in my mind.
I licked the last of the stew from my spoon and set the empty bowl aside. The warmth sat heavy in my gut. Linda and Evelyn were still in their corner, hands laced, faces close. Their voices stayed too low to hear, but their thoughts ran clear and hot.
I reached for the cup of water beside me and took a slow drink. For a second, I caught my own reflection in the dark window glass: tired, bristled, hair a little wild, salt still at the edges from the day. The old Navy memory of clean shaves and pressed blues flickered and went.
A girl gets her mother’s name, I thought. And a boy gets her brother’s.
I left the cup on the table, leaned back in the chair, and let the noise of the hall wash over me. The generator thrummed somewhere below. Lantern light moved across the floor. I stayed where I was, waiting.
I looked up at the ceiling, then closed my eyes and waited for sleep, or for Autumn, or for whatever would come next.
The hall thinned out as the hours ticked by. The long tables emptied row by row. Dishes rattled in a plastic bin at the far end. Someone had lit a few candles along the windowsill. Outside, the dark settled over the island, no moon yet, only the steady push of the tide against the shore.
I stayed where I was, watching. My legs had gone stiff, but I didn’t want to move yet. There was a quietness in the air tonight that felt earned. Across the room, two elven women spoke in low voices, heads bent close together. One of them kept glancing at me, then away.
A scrape of chairs caught my ear. From the corner table, Linda and Evelyn stood up.
They moved together the way people do when they’ve shared a bed long enough that their bodies know the same rhythm.
Linda’s hand rested on Evelyn’s elbow, guiding her through the press of the last few bodies, and Evelyn leaned into the touch without looking.
Both of them were wearing the clothes the scavenging parties had handed out: shirts with the sleeves rolled up, jeans that had seen better days, and boots or shoes with mud still caked on the soles.
Linda’s sandy blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders.
Evelyn’s dark hair was tied back in a rough ponytail that left a few strands loose along her temples.
Neither of them had bothered to clean up from the day’s work.
Dirt streaked Linda’s forearms, a fresh scrape reddened the skin over her right knuckles, and Evelyn had a dark smudge along her jawline that might have been charcoal.
They looked like they’d spent the afternoon wrestling with broken machinery or digging in the old boatyard.
I watched them cross the floor. Their steps matched, left and right together, and when they reached my table, they stopped side by side, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Linda spoke first. Her voice was soft, pitched for the quiet of the room. “We’ve been talking.”
Evelyn nodded. Her fingers found Linda’s wrist, thumb rubbing a slow circle over the skin. “About the list.”
“I know,” I said.
They’d both signed, Linda’s name first, Evelyn’s three days later in the same handwriting. I’d seen the board, checked it out of habit. Tonight was their turn, and I’d known they meant to take it together.
Linda’s mouth opened and closed. She breathed in, steady, and tried again. “We still want to do it together. Both of us. Same time.” The words came out in a rush, her cheeks coloring under the lantern light. “If that’s still okay.”
Evelyn watched my face. Her hand tightened on Linda’s arm. Dark brown eyes, steady. She’d been a quiet one since the cruise ship. What she said, she meant.
“I’d like that,” I said.
Linda exhaled. Her whole body loosened, shoulders dropping, and she stepped forward and hugged me.
Quick, warm, the smell of salt and sweat, and with a faint trace of mint soap.
I hugged her back, felt the narrowness of her waist, the soft press of her chest against mine.
When she let go, Evelyn was right there, arms around my neck.
I felt the heat of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt.
“God, I’m so nervous,” Linda whispered, loud enough that a couple of heads turned at the next table. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
I laughed. “It’s okay. Me too.”
“Bullshit,” Evelyn said, and the word cracked the tension open. Linda snorted, and then all three of us were laughing, the sound bouncing off the empty tables, and the tight knot in my chest eased.
“We’re lucky,” Linda said when the laughter died down. Her fingers found Evelyn’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. “Some people might have to wait months. We only had to wait a few weeks.”
“When it’s my turn,” Evelyn said, looking at me, “can we do this again? Both of us?”
“Of course,” I said. “It falls within the established pack rules, and I certainly have no objections.” I winked, offering a sly, almost comical grin.
Linda glanced at Evelyn, and the giggle that escaped them belonged in a dorm room, not a post-apocalyptic settlement hall. Young, unguarded, a sound that hadn’t been roughened by two years of survival. It was good to hear.
For tonight, it was Linda’s name on the list. The board in the hallway had the order laid out in Casey’s neat handwriting, names and dates, a system she’d built when the requests started piling up and nobody wanted to feel like they were cutting in line.
Linda had signed her name and then asked if she could bring Evelyn.
Casey shrugged and said, “Sure, why not,” then wrote a small note beside Linda’s name that read “+E.” The board itself looked like it had survived a few battles, smudged pencil, half-erased names, a doodle of a wolf in the corner. It almost felt normal.
I reached out and took both their hands. Linda’s fingers were cool, callused along the pads from hauling rope. Evelyn’s were warmer, softer, the nails bitten short. They both smiled at the touch, and the heat in my chest kicked up a notch.
“We’re a mess,” Linda said, looking down at herself.
Dirt under her nails, the scrape on her knuckles, jeans stained dark at the knee.
Saying she was a mess was an understatement, but I didn’t mind.
It only showed that she was earning her keep.
“Both of us. We were helping sort the salvage from the south shore, and it got… messy.”
“We should clean up,” Evelyn said. Her eyes met mine. “If that’s okay.”
“Meet me upstairs,” I said. “Say, one hour?”
They nodded, hands still in mine, and for a second nobody moved. The room around us had gone quiet. There was only the low murmur from the elves and the distant hum of the generator. The candles on the windowsill guttered in a draft, sending shadows racing along the wall.
Then Linda leaned in and kissed my cheek, quick and warm, and Evelyn squeezed my hand one more time, and they turned and walked toward the side door, shoulders touching, heads bent together, their voices dropping to whispers I couldn’t hear.
I watched them go. My pulse was running a little fast, blood warm in my veins, and I took a slow breath and let it out. The room felt too big all of a sudden, too empty. I stood up, stretched my back, and started gathering my bowl and cup.
Movement at the far window caught my eye.
Autumn sat on the sill, legs dangling. The blue glow from outside framed her in silhouette, platinum hair floating around her face in the draft from the cracked glass.
She was watching me, had been watching the whole time, her deep blue eyes unblinking.
When she saw me looking, she raised one hand and waved, fingers splayed, a gesture so small and deliberate it could have been missed if I’d blinked.
She smiled, and I waved, then she turned and pressed her palms against the glass, staring out at the dark water beyond the seawall. Her green velvet dress caught the candlelight, the thin green fabric almost translucent against her skin.
I picked up my dishes and carried them to the bin.
The hall was empty now except for the elves and a lone ci dyn sweeping near the kitchen door.
My boots echoed on the tile. Upstairs, the old executive office waited, the bed I’d salvaged from Horizon’s crew quarters, the blankets Joy had arranged that morning before she left for the ship.
Joy said that she would be sleeping on Horizon tonight.
She’d said she was helping Taylor with the work there.
Casey was out there with Emma, carrying the mission forward, and I was here with two women who wanted to share my bed, and Autumn on the windowsill watching the sea.
I climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking under my weight, and tried to quiet the noise in my head.