by Summer Lane
“I hope there aren’t any creeps hanging around here,” I murmur.
“They won’t live long,” Chris replies.
I wait for him to smile, but apparently he’s not joking. I decide to blame it on exhaustion as we approach the chain link fence surrounding the property. It’s falling apart in some places so we’re able to squeeze between gaps in between the metal. The trailer park is dotted with trees and picnic benches. Useless cars are parked near most of the houses, and by the looks of the broken blinds in some of the windows – and the condition of some of the trailers – it’s hard to tell if everything’s been vandalized since the EMP or if this was just a bad area.
There are no voices, no sounds. But it’s early and most people, if there’s anybody here, will be sleeping at this hour. Chris waves me forward as we creep between the trailers, pausing beneath windows or doors, listening for sounds. How are we supposed to tell if anybody is inside? I whisper this question into Chris’s ear. He shrugs. “Look through the window.”
“Are you kidding? All of your tactical knowledge and expertise comes down to sticking my head through a window?”
“Look, I’m tired,” he says, stifling a yawn. “I checked this place out earlier.”
“What? When?”
“When you fell asleep last night...when you were supposed to be keeping watch.”
“Ah. Right.” I cough. “Sorry.”
“Go ahead,” he says, apparently challenging me. “Look.”
I sigh, hating when he makes me do things just to keep my confidence levels up. Must be a military thing. I creep underneath a trailer window without curtains or blinds, slowly bringing my eyes over the windowsill. I peer through the dirty glass, seeing nothing but an empty living room.
“Looks safe,” I say, giving him a thumbs up.
Chris nods.
“It is.” He stands up and strolls up to the front door, working with the doorknob for a few seconds before popping the lock. “After you.”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
He finally laughs.
“Cassie, I was here earlier. I wouldn’t send you into a trailer cold turkey, would I? I’m just messing with you.”
I raise an eyebrow. He chuckles again, swinging the door open and taking the first few steps into the trailer. I wait at the threshold, listening for any suspicious sounds. I stifle a scream when Chris jumps out of the shadows, grabbing my shoulders. “Gotcha.”
I rake my hands through my hair, heart racing.
“That was not funny,” I say, feeling sick. “I really didn’t need that.”
“Yeah, you did. Don’t let your guard down for a second. Remember that.”
“Sure, sure.”
Chris slides two fingers under my chin, tilting my head up.
“I’m just trying to help you,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
I lick my lips, wondering how a guy so logical can get so much enjoyment out of scaring the crap out of me. Only a man.
“Dusty,” I remark, wrinkling my nose and closing the door behind me. The trailer home looks about thirty years old, complete with wallpaper from the 80s. There’s a tiny kitchen, a living room with puke green carpet and a hallway in the back of the house. “I’m guessing this place hasn’t been cleaned since it was built.”
“Probably an accurate assumption,” Chris replies, dropping his gear on an ancient couch. “Whoever was living here is long gone.”
“What about food and water?”
“Let’s check it out.” Chris shrugs his jacket off, keeping his favorite knife sheathed in a strap around his thigh. “Here.” He helps me remove my backpack, rubbing my sore shoulders for a few minutes. I lean against his chest, finding myself wrapped into a warm hug.
“You don’t hug me enough,” I sigh.
Totally embarrassing. But hey, it’s the truth.
I feel his mouth turn up into a smile against my forehead. He draws his hands up my arms, pausing to assess me from head to toe. “You’re right,” he says at last, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “I don’t.”
I laugh.
“Come on. Let’s get some dinner.”
Chris looks extremely disappointed when I slip out of his embrace and walk into the kitchen. Everything smells stale and pungent. A few dirty coffee mugs are sitting in a sink that dried up long ago. Post-it notes and magnets are stuck all over a dead fridge.
“I wonder who lived here,” I whisper, struck by the weirdness of standing in somebody else’s home without permission. “I wonder how old they were.”
Chris shrugs, leaning against the doorframe, watching me carefully. I bend down and open up some of the oak cabinets, finding dishes and junk. There’s nothing in the fridge that’s not already rotten, but in a cupboard above the dishwasher, Chris finds some canned goods.
“What have we here?” he muses, tossing me a can.
“Pears!” I exclaim, practically drooling all over my shirt. “And beans. Okay, wait. Pears, beans and soup.”
“But what kind of soup? That’s the question.”
“Corn chowder. It’s still good.”
“Let’s get cooking then.”
So we do. As strange as it is to camp inside somebody’s old trailer home, I adjust quickly. Anything’s better than sleeping outdoors again. The winter has been pretty brutal – lots of rain, snow and fog. Being able to take my shoes off and walk around on the carpet feels great. No mud, no ice, and no bugs.
Chris is in an unusually good mood, which means he finds plenty of reasons to tease me about my non-existent cooking skills. But let’s face it. There’s not a lot you can do with canned food during an apocalypse.
“Smells good,” Chris says, studying a heavy mirror in the living room. “Hey, Cassidy...?”
I recognize a level of sneakiness in his voice, so I turn around.
“What?”
“Ever leave a secret message in a mirror?”
“Please. That’s a Boy Scout trick.”
“Boy Scout?” Chris feigns an offended expression. “Honey, I was an Eagle Scout. It’s not just a simple trick.” He leans against the wall. “I left a lot of messages for my mom on the bathroom mirror...” he trails off, swallowing.
Silence fills the room. I know what he’s thinking. Is his mother even alive?
I blink back tears and get back to cooking. I can’t think about that right now. There’s no electricity, obviously, but the gas line to the house is still good so all I have to do is open the burner and light the stove with a match. I’m cooking the beans and soup in one of the pots I found above the sink.
“Hand me those bowls, will you?” I ask, gesturing to a stack of plastic mixing bowls I dug out of the cupboards. “We’ll split everything.”
I give a bowl of soup and beans to Chris, and I take what’s left of it.
“Gourmet food,” I say, raising my bowl in a toast. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Chris can’t find any silverware so we just tip the bowls back and sip the hot food. It’s delicious, and it trumps eating a field rodent or some random plant any day.
“So what now?” I ask, the two of us lounging on the beat up sofa in the living room. “Are we going to live the rest of our lives in an abandoned trailer park?”
“Not a bad idea, actually,” Chris smiles. “I can think of worse things than being trapped in a confined space with you.”
“Your attempts at flirting are falling flat,” I say, sticking my tongue out. But I’m lying. I love it when he flirts with me. “I’m serious. What’s our next move?”
“There’s not a lot we can do.” Chris finishes up the rest of his soup, rubbing his chin. “We don’t know where they are. We don’t even know if they’re -”
“-Don’t,” I interrupt, nausea spreading in my chest. “They’re alive.”
Chris says nothing, just picks up our empty bowls and walk into the kitchen. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach every time we bring this up, bu
t we can’t wander aimlessly in the wilderness for all eternity. We have to have a plan. We need to at least find someplace to live so we don’t freeze to death when winter comes around again.
“What if they took them to Los Angeles?” I say.
“What if they took them to San Jose? Or San Bernardino? Or San Francisco?” Chris stalks out of the kitchen, clearly not in the mood to discuss the loss of our families. “They could be anywhere. We don’t have a choice but to stay here and be smart, Cassidy. Impulsive action will get us killed. We have to be patient and thoughtful. We can’t rush into anything.”
I fold my arms around my knees, pressing my face into my legs. Over the past couple of months, I’ve stopped crying about losing dad and the Young family. I’ve become almost numb to the entire idea of being alone. It’s amazing how fast I’ve adjusted to living in a post-apocalyptic world. It makes me wonder if I spent way too much time reading fiction when I was in high school – reality just doesn’t freak me out anymore.
“Cassie?” Chris gently slides his hands through my hair, pushing back the scarf tied around my forehead for warmth. “We can’t go looking for people who’ve completely vanished. Our focus right now is surviving. If we put ourselves in unnecessary danger, we’ll get killed.”
“Is that what they taught you in the Navy?” I ask.
“Yes.” He pauses. “I’m sizing up the odds, Cassie. They’re not in our favor.”
“But -”
“-They’re not in our favor yet. Don’t give up. We’re alive, right?”
“Yeah. Big whoop.”
He frowns. “It is. A lot of people would love to be us.”
I crawl forward and lay my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. It’s kind of a summary of who Chris is as a person: Steady. Reliable. Confident.
Logical.
“What do we do until then?” I whisper.
“We stay alive,” he replies, wrapping his arms around me, tracing his fingers down the curve of my back. “Deal?”
I nod.
“Deal.”
I get a temporary feeling of security with those words. Granted, I don’t really believe that everything’s going to be all rainbows and lollipops if we start thinking positively, but we need to focus on one thing at a time.
I fall asleep snuggled into Chris’s warmth, lulled to sleep by his breathing and the sound of a strong wind slapping tree branches against the trailer roof. At around four in the morning, Chris stirs, stretching one arm behind his head. “Could be another storm,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep. “You warm enough?”
I shrug.
He gets off the couch, walking into the hallway. Out of respect – and maybe a little bit of superstition – I haven’t ventured into the bedrooms of the house yet. It seemed wrong, somehow.
“Where are you going?” I demand, missing my personal space heater.
“Getting blankets,” he calls back, and I hear him moving stuff around. Curiosity gets the better of me and I walk across the living room, still sleepy. I poke my head into the first bedroom. There’s a king size bed and a matching dresser. Pictures have been taken off the wall, but besides that, it looks like most of the belongings of the couple that lived here are still intact.
“What I’d give to sleep in a bed,” I remark.
“So do it.” Chris kicks his boots off, rolling onto the mattress. “I forgot what it was like to sleep on a bed. Get over here, Cassidy.”
“I’m not sleeping on a bed with you.”
“In a bed with me.” He pulls back the covers, waving me over. “It’s warm.”
I roll my eyes, looking over the contents of the dresser. A string of faux pearls is hanging on a jewelry tower. A half-empty perfume bottle is tilted sideways against a wooden box full of earplugs and defunct hearing aids. Apparently whoever lived here was on the older side.
“I wonder where they went,” I say. “If they took all their stuff, maybe they had a working car.”
“Probably.” Chris spreads his arms across the pillows. “Cassidy?”
“Hmm?”
“Come here.”
My hand hovers over a stainless steel bracelet etched with the name Annalisa. I slip it over my wrist, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve worn any jewelry. Well, besides the necklace Chris gave me...and I put it back. I can’t bring myself to take anything out of this house. It’s just not right.
I walk over to Chris. He’s conveniently propped up on his side, waiting for me to crawl in bed. “Trying to seduce me or something?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Obviously.” Chris offers a handsome smile, hooking his thumbs around my belt loops, pulling me forward. “What are you so afraid of?”
I swallow, suddenly feeling very warm. I brace myself against his shoulders, Chris leaning up and kissing the bottom of my chin. I close my eyes, relaxing into him, just as he presses his lips against mine. The heat of the kiss is intense – different than when I kissed him earlier – as he pulls me closer, tighter. I link my hands together behind his neck, Chris rubbing comforting circles into my arms.
“Chris,” I say, breaking the embrace.
“Mmm?” He strokes the side of my face with his finger.
“I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“Are you kidding?” He grins, sitting up, holding me in his lap. “And miss out on all this?”
“Exactly,” I breathe, hot. “I just...I’m tired. Okay?”
“Really?” Chris looks amused. “Come on. Stay.”
“No.”
He presses the tip of his nose against mine, closing his eyes.
“I’ve been sleeping beside you for months,” he says. “Whether it’s in the snow or on a bed doesn’t really make a difference, does it?”
I take a shaky breath, my hormones going wild.
“This is different,” I insist.
And it is. If there’s one thing I know about Chris, he does things all the way. He doesn’t stop. He’s the logical, steady man when it comes to any situation except...well, this. I may – possibly (probably) – be in love with the man, but I’m only nineteen. He’s twenty-eight, he’s ready for this kind of thing. And I’m not.
Not yet.
“Sorry,” I say, kissing his forehead. “But it’s the couch for me.”
“Cassie,” he replies, laughter rumbling in his chest. “I’m not going to-”
“-Don’t even say it!” I cut in. “Please.”
“Say what?”
Thank God it’s dark in here. I’m blushing fire engine red.
“I’m not talking about that with you,” I say, shifting back.
“You’re too easy to read, Cassie.” He grins again. “Extremely easy.”
“Not that easy.” I swing my legs around and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m just saying...I don’t...” I rub my temples. “Never mind. Goodnight.”
Unperturbed, Chris keeps his arms around my waist.
“Trust me,” he says.
I turn around to face him, his voice getting soft. He’s making it hard to say no to him. “Fine,” I reply, squeezing his hand. “I trust you.”
I slip under the heavy quilt of the bed – having a blanket is almost better than having hot food – and Chris lays his arm across the pillow. I rest my head against his bicep, comfortable just lying close enough to take in his scent of spice and coffee.
“Goodnight, Cassidy,” he says, his voice teasing. Fingering my shirt.
“Goodnight.”
As I fall asleep, all I can think is,
One of these days I’m going to get the hang of this love thing.
The next morning I wake up alone in bed. Groggy, I sit up and make a note of the fact that it’s gray and foggy outside. For the fifty-millionth time. “Chris?” I slip out of the covers and place my feet on the floor, yawning. I glimpse my reflection in the dresser mirror. Bad hair day.
Bad hair month.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping into the liv
ing room. Chris is dressed in his jacket and boots, checking his weapons – or as I like to call them, his “arsenal of awesome.”
“Hello?” I fold my arms over my chest, glancing at his face. “What’s wrong? Are we in trouble?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Cassie,” he grins. “Relax.”
“Then what’s up with all the weaponry?”
“I’m hungry.” He gestures towards the kitchen. “I need more than veggies and soup to keep alive. I’m going hunting. You stay here, okay?”
“Are you kidding? You could be gone for hours.”
“Most likely.”
He slings his gun over his back, picking up a few more, leaving me with a couple of knives and a rifle that’s about twice my size. “Go back to bed. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Can’t I come?”
Chris shakes his head, fighting a smile.
“No. You’re a little too impatient for hunting.” He moves in to press a kiss against my cheek. “See you later. Do not leave the trailer. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’ll be back by sundown.”
“And if you’re not?”
“You stay here and wait for me until I show up. Period.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Stick to the plan.”
“Be careful,” I warn.
“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a Boy Scout salute before heading out the door. I lock it behind him, uncomfortable being alone in an abandoned house by myself. So I start digging around in the kitchen, searching for the rest of the canned goods.
Bavarian sauerkraut
Okay. Not exactly an appetizing name.
I set the can aside and decide that I’ll only be eating the contents if it’s the only food I can find in the kitchen. Thankfully, I come across some cans of fruit and vegetables in one of the cupboards, sparing me the misery of eating the sauerkraut. I eat it cold, feeling a rush of energy come with the sugar.
The day is long and boring without Chris around. I’ve got nobody to talk to besides myself - which makes me feel like I’ve gone crazy- so I resort to reading some of the books laying around the home. Whoever lived here had really dull taste in books. Nothing but poetry about forgotten love and a framed magazine article from Reader’s Digest. Inspirational stuff.
