Day 24
Him
Isomehow manage to outsleep her, and my surprise quickly makes way for concern when I take in her empty bed and the silence in the room.
It’s only been a few days, but I realize her presence is… not unwelcome. At the very least, I think I’ve gotten used to it.
A movement from the balcony catches my eye, and I ease up when I spot her long black hair dancing in the wind. I make sure to clatter around in the bathroom, just enough so she’ll hear me, but she’s still motionless when I step outside and stop beside her.
She’s silent as she watches the sunrise. It’s a beautiful sight, I guess, but it’s mostly depressing now, knowing that a new day is dawning and there’s still the same emptiness all around us.
“We should head out soon.” I finally cave and speak, after she does nothing but continue to stare at the rising sun, painting the city below us in pale light.
“This could be the last sunrise and no one would ever know,” she mumbles.
No one but us, but I don’t say that.
“Maybe it’s for the best if it is.” She’s not bitter when she mutters it, not even sad. She’s completely indifferent.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She sighs, getting to her feet.
I keep quiet, but in the silence that follows, I read into her meaning loud and clear. It’s obvious I’m not living up to the expectations she had when we first met.
She thought she’d be getting an ally, and instead, she got me. And she hates that reality so much she’d rather the world just ended for good. She thinks I’m a conceited, heartless prick.
She’s right, of course, but it still stings.
I don’t fully understand her bleakness until we reach our next stop.
We don’t speak as we drive through the abandoned city. There’s no sound, no music from our speakers, nothing but the occasional gust of wind.
I get how she feels, now. This nothingness, it’s all consuming. Like a black hole that takes and takes until we, too, will be swallowed whole.
It’s so quiet I’m starting to unravel. I need to hear something if I want to stay sane.
“Maybe we should change our approach.” Her voice is like a ray of light through the silence.
“I’m listening.” Please keep talking.
“It’s obvious the larger cities are empty.
” She kicks a small rock with her foot. Maybe she, too, can’t stand the silence.
The rattle of it across the sidewalk is music to my ears.
“I know we drove past a few small towns, and they seemed pretty empty too, but…” she trails off with a sigh.
“Maybe the people that are left are… hiding from something? Maybe something drove them out of the cities and towns?”
“Something like what?” I question. “A plague? Which somehow only we are immune to?”
“I’m not pretending to know what the hell happened, but everything we’ve been doing until now clearly isn’t working.”
I mull over her words. “So, what? You’re saying we should take a stab at the wilderness?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Not only to find people. We need to figure out if there are animals left.” She looks almost embarrassed as she adds, “We can’t rely on frozen food forever—”
I gasp. “But the chicken nuggets!”
“And we should just, you know, be aware of our options.” I think she’s fighting a smile, but her glance around us buries it for good. “We can survive on a vegetarian diet, but our bodies will have to gradually adjust to it. We’ll have to stock up on supplements, too.”
I narrow my eyes at her practical tone, but I don’t comment on her observations; I don’t want her being right to go to her head.
“We’ll also need some other essentials.” I take out our map, spreading it over the nearest storefront. “Let’s say we’re still heading east toward Arkansas…”
We spend the next few hours planning. A raid of the camping section in a department store supplies us with everything I determine we might need; a tent, sleeping bags, and thermal clothing.
The forest might get cold at night, so I add a few extra coats, just to make sure.
The neon colors of the fabrics are like an attack on my eyes, too bright under the fluorescent lights, and I’m thankful when she only tosses dark, inconspicuous items into the cart.
I insist she takes some proper shoes as well, and when we head outside, another section catches my eye.
“You might want to grab one of those, too.”
She looks at the swimwear and then back at me. “Why?”
“There will be lakes and rivers along the way.” I put the pile in my arms down near the register, quickly figuring out how to detach the buzzers. “After a few days of walking, I imagine we might want to freshen up.”
“Wait.” Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, walking? What about the car?”
“There’s only so far we can get with it.” I quirk a brow. “What did you think the tent was for? Giving you the full wilderness experience?”
“But—” She seems shaken. “Our equipment. We can’t just carry it all on our backs.”
“We’ll leave it in the car and come back to it.” Her anxiety piques my interest. “Why? What’s in that suitcase that’s so important?”
“It’s nothing,” she lies. “I just don’t want to lose our stuff.”
“Right.”
Not friends. Whatever’s making her so alarmed is none of your business.
“So, what? We’ll take a circular route?” she tries to deflect.
“That’d be the smartest choice, yeah.” I scour the stands near the registers, adding a few more items. Sunscreen. Lighters and lighter fluid. Flashlights. Power banks to charge our phones.
I try telling myself that someone still might call.
“Right.” She seems like she’s mulling over the meaning of it in her head.
“You should grab stuff from the pharmacy in case you need it,” I offer. “You know, girl stuff.”
That snaps her right back to her usual self, and she snorts. “You mean period stuff? I finished it already.”
“I don’t know what girls need for a week in nature.” I lift my hands defensively. “Just saying. We should be well equipped before we head in there.”
“A week?” She frowns as she heads to the swimwear section. “That sounds awfully long.”
“We’ll take a closer look at the possible trails before we fully decide.” I rummage through a display of pocket knives. “But the point isn’t to be done with it as soon as possible, right? We need to really look around. Try to find people.”
“I guess.” Her voice comes from the aisle, and then her hand rises up, lifting a hanger. “Look, your favorite.”
It’s a camouflage patterned bikini, and I crack a grin.
“Didn’t think you’d be so daring,” I comment, wishing I could see her face right now. “It has more strings than fabric.”
I expect a scoff accompanied with an eye roll or a snappy reply, but there’s only deviousness in her voice when she says, “Now’s a good time to remind you”—she appears from behind the shelves—“you know nothing about me.”
There’s more than one swimsuit in her arms, and I think I see more camo.
I snap my head back to the knives before I picture her wearing them.