Day 20
Him
The girl blinks at me with the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve seen. “W-what?” she stammers, her voice hoarse, like she hasn’t spoken for a while.
I stand up, keeping the tip of my rifle pressed against the soft column of her neck the whole time.
My eyes rake over her form, taking in the Doc Martens, the black leggings, and the oversized varsity crewneck.
It’s definitely not her size, so she must have taken it from someone; a boyfriend, maybe?
She sticks her large knife in my direction as she pushes to her feet as well, the sharp blade pressing into my neck, mirroring our positions. “Stay back,” she tries, but she’s shaking like a leaf in her heavy boots.
“As if you’ll actually use it,” I mock, my voice gruff from disuse. She just jabs the tip harder, but it’s still barely a nip into my skin and I hardly feel the blood that starts to slowly seep from the cut. “You know I could kill you before you even put that to use.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t go down without a fight,” she sneers, stiffening her pouty lips.
I fight the slight smile that threatens to climb. She’s feisty.
“Who’s with you?” I gesture to her car. “How many are there?”
“No one,” she blurts the truth before she bites her lip, and I can tell she’s berating herself for revealing it. Her emotions are as clear as the dimming sky above us. “There isn’t anyone. You—” Her grip on the knife weakens. “You’re the first person I’ve seen.”
My M16 is still digging into the soft spot beneath her chin, but my heart skips a beat at that. “For the last twenty days?”
“Yes.” She’s much less discreet with her astonishment, breath leaving her in short, flat bursts. Her voice is a soft whisper when she adds, “I—I thought I was the only one.”
After a long moment of staring into my eyes, she lowers her knife.
If this girl was smart, she would have waited for me to lower my rifle first, but I accept her surrender, doing the same.
My mind runs wild piecing together her presence, her appearance.
I was convinced that this was all a drill, that my commanders are trying to pull a bit, maybe.
But this girl is clearly not a soldier—and if she is, she’s the world’s best actress, but the way her bottom lip is quivering looks pretty real to me.
“What’s your name? I’m—”
“No names,” I harshly silence her. “Just because I’ve decided not to kill you, doesn’t mean I trust you.” I ripped off my name tape at around Day Ten. She won’t even be getting a last name from me.
Her mouth snaps shut and her jaw clenches. It’s clear she doesn’t like my answer. “I didn’t know that sharing names was an act of trust.”
“Sharing anything is an act of trust.” I focus my gaze on her car. “Have you been driving that for twenty days?”
“What’s wrong with my car?”
I snort. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but why would you keep it?”
She crosses her arms. Her sweatshirt is so big, her sleeves dangle over her fingers. “And where’s your ride, since you’re so critical of mine?”
“Look around.” I spread out my arms. “Everything’s my ride.”
It takes her a moment to understand, but her blue eyes widen with astonishment, her mouth dropping open before shutting again. “Well—yeah, I guess.”
“How much distance have you managed to cover in that thing?” I don’t waste time on more small talk. Always use whatever resources you have at your disposal to their fullest. This girl just changed the playing field, giving me something invaluable: knowledge.
“I came all the way from the East C—” She cuts herself off, biting her tongue.
“East Coast. Got it.”
“Why the hell should I trust you?” She crosses her arms again. She’s so easy to rile up that I’d smile if I wasn’t so on edge. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you anything.”
“The mere fact that you’re here already tells me all that I need to know.” I try not to roll my eyes at her. I turn away, lifting my backpack and starting to walk back to where I parked my current means of transportation.
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Of course she’s following me.
I sigh. “Number one, I’m not the only one left. If you’re here, someone else has gotta be, too.”
She doesn’t reply, and when I throw her a look over my shoulder, she’s still following, but her jaw is clenched shut. Huh. There’s something else she’s holding in.
“Number two,” I continue, unusually talkative. “As you kindly shared, you came from the East Coast. You’ve covered a different area to me. Saves me the drive.”
“Is there a number three?” She’s pissed, that much is clear, but it’s not like it’s my fault she’s so easy to read.
“Maybe.” I don’t offer anything else.
“Look—” she would have said my name, if she knew it, and the vacant weight of it is audible in her voice. “I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me, too, okay?”
“Did you not hear a word I said? You already told me.”
“Not everything.”
I pause, finally turning to her.
“We should at least compare… notes,” she phrases awkwardly. “You know. Experiences. Maybe we stand a chance of figuring out what the hell happened here if we work together.”
“Work together?” My brows shoot up and I chuckle. “Why the hell would I want that?”
“Okay, rude.” She glares at me. “You’re the first person I’ve met in twenty days, you ass. I’m not going to just let you leave me all alone again.” She quiets down when her voice cracks, avoiding my eyes altogether.
I don’t stop looking at her, though, finally letting myself fully take her in.
She looks a little like a porcelain doll, with her dark lashes and full, pink lips.
Her delicate features make her anger look a little ridiculous.
She’s pale, her hair an inky shade of black, and she’s not wearing any makeup—none that I can see, at least—but she doesn’t need it.
She’s pretty, I can give her that. There could be worse people to be stranded with.
Her being pretty isn’t going to be of much help in our current predicament, though.
“Let’s say I entertain the idea of us teaming up.” I decide to indulge her. “I have weapons, and I know how to use them. I can hunt, build a fire. First aid, too. What do you bring to the table?”
She opens her mouth and then closes it, hurt flaring on her face. “Maybe I don’t have survival skills—” she begins.
“If you can’t take care of yourself, you’re not a teammate. You’re a liability.” I don’t care how harsh I sound. This new world is harsh. We both have to be, too, if we want to figure out what’s going on here.
“Well, sorry, Mr. Survivor,” the girl’s hurt quickly makes way to anger, “but building a fire and hunting is unnecessary. The world is empty, not reset. Central heating and frozen chicken nuggets still exist. I can do just fine without you, too.”
“Exactly,” I concede dryly. “Later, Chicken Nuggets.”
“You are not nicknaming me Chicken Nuggets,” she seethes behind my back as I resume walking away.
“You’re right. I’d only be doing that if I was planning to keep you around.”
“You’re such a dick!”
“And you caught me on a good day.”
“Fine,” she calls out angrily. “Enjoy going crazy all alone.”
I don’t mean to pause, but my steps falter. It’s only a millisecond of hesitation, but her soft intake of breath behind me informs me she noticed it.
“What’s wrong, Soldier Boy? I thought you were fine all by yourself. Second thoughts?”
“Not even a little.” I readjust the rifle on my shoulder. “Find someone else to pester.”
“There isn’t anyone else, you stupid, arrogant jerk!
” she shouts, and the names might be silly, but she’s so enraged that I turn to look at her.
Something bigger than annoyance lingers on her face.
Something with a magnitude that scares me.
“I’ve spent the last twenty days going from city to city, state to state.
I’ve checked everywhere. There isn’t anyone else. ”
For what might be the first time in my life, I don’t have a stinging reply. Because I’ve been doing the same thing, after all, and I’ve been met with the same results.
There isn’t anyone else.
What if it really is just the two of us?
“I don’t know you.” She speaks as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking about. “And I’m not exactly ecstatic about teaming up with a stranger, either, okay? But I’ve spent enough time alone to last me a lifetime. Let’s just—” She sighs. “I don’t know, give it a try.”
There’s something, somewhere inside me, that recognizes the pain in her voice. That realizes we’re not as different as I first thought. And that something is clearly really fucking lonely, because it makes me huff out a breath. “Fine.”
Her blue eyes widen.
“But if you can’t keep up, I’m leaving you behind,” I add sternly, resuming my walk.
“Same,” she counters as she brushes past me. “So, are you planning to hike through those woods to the nearest vehicle?” She lifts up her palm, her keys dangling from her finger. “Or are you willing to get into my car?”
I grit my teeth. I’m regretting this partnership before it’s even started.
Her ancient, tin can car gets us all the way to the nearest motel—she has reservations about sleeping in people’s homes, even though I think it’s clear they’re not around to mind—and when she follows me into a room, I try not to let out a snarky remark.
The man I was before this whole shitshow definitely would have teased her, but I’m too focused on surviving to comment on the fact that there are plenty of other rooms available.
“So we’ll sleep through the night and head out tomorrow, right?
” she asks as though we haven’t already gone over the plan multiple times on the drive here.
“Do you want to wake up at a specific time? I’m a night shower type of girl,” she adds.
“So you can have it all to yourself tomorrow, if you want.”
“I really don’t care what time of day I shower,” I say dryly. “I can just go to another room, anyway.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “But it’ll be easier to get along if we learn each other’s habits, don’t you think?” She throws me a look over her shoulder, while she places a few toiletries on the nightstand. “For example, you strike me as a morning person, but I’m—”
“If we’re gonna do this,” I interject, “maybe it’s best to set some ground rules.”
Her mouth thins. “Like maybe not talking over each other?”
I grace her with a rare grin. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I take a swig from my water bottle. “First rule: no names.”
“You must have a really embarrassing one, huh?” She squints at me. “What is it? Cinnamon? Glitter?”
“I’m not a goddamn stripper,” I groan. “Second rule: don’t try to get to know me. We’re a team because we have to be, not because we’re friends.”
“Jeez, I hope I can follow that one,” she mutters dryly. “I mean, you’ve been such a pleasure to be around.”
“Which leads me to rule number three.” I ignore her and promptly continue. “The moment we find other people, either one of us is free to join them. This”—I gesture to the space between us—“is temporary.”
“So until we find someone, we’re sticking together?” She tilts her head to the side. She seems less irritable than before; I wonder if that’s because she’s getting used to me. Or maybe she just clocked how much fun I have riling her up. Her calm successfully upsets me.
“Rule number four,” I add through clenched teeth. “There’s no ‘sticking together’. We split up whenever we decide to.”
“We, as in a mutual decision?” There’s amusement in her voice which I’m not liking in the slightest.
“As in, I can ditch your ass whenever, wherever, and however I want.”
“Not if I ditch yours first.” The snark in her words is like venom.
“Awesome.” I slouch into a sprawl, leaning my head against my backpack. “Glad we’ve settled that.”
“Happy apocalypse to you, too,” she mumbles under her breath, flipping to her stomach and taking out a notebook from her bag.
I avert my eyes before I get curious about the contents of it. The less I know, the better.