Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Don’t remind me.”
“You know, you’re doing great with her so far,” I say. “I think patient, calm, and steady are exactly what she needs right now.”
He grunts.
“How do you feel about having kids?” I ask. “Just out of interest?”
He sighs. “You mean back before fate forced the choice on me?”
“Mm.”
“I don’t know…maybe. What about you?”
“About the same.” I give him side-eye. “I was half expecting you to give me some bullshit about the world needing us to help repopulate. To breed for the good of humankind or some such.”
“I would if I thought it’d work. Don’t think too highly of me.”
I laugh softly. “No fear of that.”
“The motorcycle won’t fit the three of us. Assuming we’re still alive tomorrow, I’ll start looking for a vehicle. Something older without a lot of electronics. So you might as well get the mugs if you want them.”
“You know much about engines?”
“Hopefully enough to get us by.”
“I know how to check the oil and water and tire pressure, but that’s about it.”
“Something tells me we’re going to be learning a variety of new skills in the next few years,” he says. “That’s if we survive tonight and tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
He picks up the small CB radio and turns the dial, searching through the static for signs of life. Keeping the volume low, of course. Neither of us wants to wake Sophie. The first thing we hear is “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” by R.E.M.
“Last night they were playing ‘The Man Comes Around’ by Johnny Cash,” he says.
We wait for the next song, and it’s “1999” by Prince. Whoever is broadcasting has a theme happening. I, for one, salute them. Bonus points for the gallows humor.
“I think I lack the energy to panic,” I say. “Like I know I should be melting down at the idea of having the virus and dying, but I just can’t be bothered. It seems like a step beyond where we’re at right now.”
“It was a hell of a day.”
“You got shot. That was exciting.”
He grunts.
“Imagine the amount of likes and comments we’d get on social media for surviving a day like today,” I say. “What a waste.”
“Your mind fascinates me.”
I smile. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am well aware that social media was a monster slowly eating itself from the inside out.”
“And yet you took part in it.”
“Of course I did. Don’t act so high and mighty. Like you were too cool to be part of the online community of the time. Above the plebeian marketplace of memes and ideas.”
“Would you friend me if it still existed?”
“Fuck no.” I laugh softly. “Are you kidding me? You kidnapped me, dude.”
He grins for like a millisecond. It’s a flash of a thing.
“Where do you think we go after we die?”
Without a word, he rolls his head once more to the side to stare at me. And then stare at me some more.
“What?” I ask.
“You really want to talk about religion and shit right now?”
“Look who’s grumpy when he gets shot. Take a painkiller and relax already.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s so close to being a smile. “I want to be awake.”
“We’re doing guard duty?”
“I am,” he says. “Yes. Just to be safe.”
“Why don’t I go first while you get some sleep? You lost blood today.”
“Thanks,” he says. “But as you said, I haven’t taught you how to shoot yet.”
“We spent an hour waiting and watching. That was me learning how to keep a lookout for any suspicious activity. My lungs and feet work just fine. I can shout or come wake you if I see something or get nervous.”
He hesitates so hard.
I rise from the lounge. “Get some sleep and stop being such a big baby. I’ll make a cup of coffee and go stand near the front door to keep lookout.”
“Keep the lights off. You need your night eyes. Make sure you listen as well. And wake me in a couple of hours.”
I am probably not going to wake him for at least twice that, so yeah. It’s not a lie if you just don’t answer.
“And thank you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEDNESDAY
Sunlight and soft voices wake me. Sophie is reading aloud from a book about wabi-sabi. The Japanese philosophy of finding value in broken or imperfect things. Dean nods and makes occasional comments, such as “interesting” and “okay.” Guess literature choices are limited in the home goods store. But she is loving the attention, and he seems happy to be giving it. Which is nice.
No one is coughing or sneezing. Thank fuck. You would have thought our luck would be running out by now. However, here we are, still alive. Religion isn’t my thing, though I’m starting to think someone is on our side. We might just live long enough for us to figure out how to raise a tween together, build a community, and become friends. Stranger things have happened.