Chapter 7
For the next two days, Micah stays with me in the camper and gains his strength back quickly.
I hunt in the morning of the second day but can’t find anything worthwhile.
So we fish for the rest of the day—Micah uses Jesse’s old rod—and we manage to catch two decent-size fish that we fry up for dinner that night.
Otherwise, I hang around with Micah, doing small chores and enjoying the company more than I would have expected.
He stays laid-back and friendly—sticking to easy conversations. While he asks me a lot about myself, it doesn’t get too deep and intimate. So nothing throws my internal guards up, and I have a couple of really good days.
On the fourth morning after he appeared, I wake up looking forward to the day.
It hits me as I sit up in bed, my eyes instinctively finding Micah across the small distance.
He’s still sleeping, the blanket pushed down toward his thighs like normal. His hair is too short to be messy, but his beard is rumpled and askew.
He’s in really good shape. I can see it in the developed muscles of his body and the health of his skin and hair.
He must have been able to get enough nourishment these past few years—which definitely isn’t the case for everyone.
That’s part of why he’s been recovering so quickly from the blood loss.
Getting shot now is often a death sentence. If the initial penetration doesn’t kill you, then infections, complications, or blood loss will.
There are no hospitals anymore. Not here or anywhere in the knowable regions surrounding us.
Maybe there is somewhere in the world where civilization didn’t collapse from the chaos and deprivation, but it’s not anywhere around here.
The only people who matter now are your neighbors—and whether you can work with them to survive.
There’s no longer any assumption that stores, hospitals, or emergency services will provide what you need.
It’s remarkable that Micah is getting better so quickly.
I’m still sitting in bed and staring at him—my mind buzzing even though I just now woke up—when he opens his eyes and meets my gaze.
“Mornin’,” he says in a groggy drawl.
“Hi.”
“Is it time to get up?”
“I’m getting up, but you don’t need to. You’re still weak and recuperating.”
He chuckles as he pushes himself up and drops his legs over the side of the bed. He winces only slightly as he stretches his torso.
“How does it feel?” I ask him, checking the bandages to make sure there’s no blood.
“It’s fine. Better than it should be for just a few days out.”
“You think you’ll be all right by yourself for most of the day?”
He frowns. “Why? Where you goin’?”
“We’re almost out of food. I need to trade for more. I’ve got some stuff here I could use, but if I’m going to make the trek, I might as well scavenge some more before I go to Cleverly.”
“Okay. I’ll come with you.”
“What? No way.” I stand up before I remember I’m not wearing any pants. Just my tank and underwear. Micah’s eyes run up and down my body urgently before I can reach for my jeans and pull them up. “You’re in no shape to walk miles and miles.”
“Sure I am. Be good to stretch my legs.”
“It’s not a leisurely hike, Micah. You’ll blow a hole in your recovery.”
“No, I won’t. I feel pretty good today. And I’m not gonna sit around on my ass while you’re out there restocking ’cause I ate half your food.”
This makes me choke on a laugh. “You ate more than half.”
“See? What you had woulda lasted you two weeks if I hadn’t been here. I’m comin’ with you.”
I roll my eyes as I pull on my sweatshirt. “Whatever. I can’t stop you, but I’m not going to wait for you either. You fall behind, you’re on your own.”
“Fair deal.”
I should have known to expect it, but Micah doesn’t fall behind. Maybe he really is that recovered, or maybe he’s toughing it out to prove a point. But he keeps pace with me on the whole hike to the cave where I store the salvaged items.
Because he’s with me and I’m worried he’ll overdo it, I don’t take the time to search for more goods to trade.
I pick out some soap for sensitive skin and a box of sugar packets and put them in my backpack for trade.
Then I dig around in a tub where I’ve kept smaller items and pull out a bottle of Tylenol and some antiseptic salve.
I put it in my wagon with an extra blanket to replenish what I used on Micah over the past few days.
“There’s coffee in here!” Micah has been leaning over, rifling through one of the crates.
“I know.”
“We should take some. I’d kill for a good cup of coffee.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s one of the most valuable things I’ve got. I’m not going to waste it by using it myself.”
“Why would it be wasted if you use it yourself?”
“Because I can get a lot more from it for trade.” He’s frowning at me, so I add, “We’ve been fine without coffee for a long time. We’ll be fine without it now.”
“But look at it all warm and toasty and delicious.”
I giggle because now he’s just teasing, gazing lustfully at the image under the familiar brand logo on the vacuum-sealed pack of coffee. He carefully puts it back in the crate. His features tighten as he straightens.
He catches my told-you look but only grins endearingly. “I’m doin’ just fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So we headin’ to Cleverly now?”
“Yeah. You need to rest?”
“Nope.”
We’re about halfway to Cleverly when someone approaches on the trail from the opposite direction.
It’s so empty in this area of the Wild that a chill of warning runs down my spine. I slow down. Pull my pistol out of its holster.
Micah didn’t bring his shotgun, but he pulls out his handgun too. He puts his free hand on the small of my back as we walk as if he’s preparing to grab for me.
I’m not used to it. Having someone else with me when I face danger.
The group approaching is three men—another warning sign. Men with women aren’t safe, but they’re safer than men alone. And men in a group are undoubtedly the worst.
I’m pulling my small wagon behind us. It’s going to get in the way if this comes to a fight, and I don’t want to lose these supplies.
So I push the wagon into a small gap in the trees.
Micah evidently reads my mind because he moves with me.
We stand with our backs to the wagon, guns out, as we wait for the approaching men to pass.
“Howdy,” one calls out in an unconvincingly friendly voice.
“Hi,” Micah says.
“We’re not gonna try anything,” the same one says.
“Not sayin’ you will. Just lettin’ y’all pass.”
There’s a strange relief in letting Micah deal with this situation. I haven’t felt that in a very long time.
The men eye me in a familiar way as they get closer. The greedy, objectifying way it’s impossible not to recognize. I’ve always hated it, but I’ve learned to brush it off. They can think what they want as long as they don’t touch me.
“Eyes off,” Micah growls. I’ve never once heard him sound mean before, but he sure does now.
I never would have been so confrontational for fear they’d respond aggressively, but Micah must know what he’s doing. He must know men like these.
The first guy puts his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Hey, hey, hey, just admirin’ your lady. Not all of us got so lucky.”
If he’d said or done anything else hostile, I’m absolutely positive the three men would have tried their luck and attacked. But Micah immediately breaks the tension by saying in a congenial tone, “Hey, I get it. Don’t blame you. Just lookin’ out for what’s mine.”
The men all chortle as if he made a brilliant joke and walk past us.
Neither Micah nor I move until they’re out of sight.
Then we look at each other.
“That felt close,” I say softly.
“It was close. And we coulda taken ’em, but I really didn’t want to start this recovery all over again.”
“Yeah. That would have sucked.”
“Y’okay?” He’s peering at my face searchingly.
“I’m fine. I’m always fine. Remember?”
His mouth twitches up on one side. “Oh, I remember.”
I don’t actually think I’m fine right now. I’m shaky for no good reason.
But it’s weird. Having someone face this stuff with me. Even with Jesse, it felt like I was always the responsible one.
But with Micah it’s not all on me.