Page 46 of Wildflowers

“Hard to tell,” he says with a frown. “What they’re saying…it’s not really enough to get a feel for the situation.”

“But you don’t trust them. Of course, you don’t actually trust anyone, so that doesn’t necessarily mean much.”

“That’s not true. I trustyou.”

This stops me. “You do?”

“Yes.” And he sounds so certain. But he doesn’t dwell on it. “Someone said the CDC in Atlanta is empty. Everyone there’s dead.”

“Disappointing but not exactly unexpected. Is the end-of-the-world station still playing songs?”

“Last night was Crowded House, ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’. I keep thinking they’ll run out of songs, but no,” he says. “They played one called ‘Clarity’ that I liked. It was about how it takes the end of the world for this guy to realize that all he really cares about is the girl.”

Our eyes meet, and yeah. That’s a big no comment from me.

“I want you to teach me what you’re learning about gardening,” he says. “We’re going to need more than just you working on that side of food production in the future.”

“Okay.”

The parking lot of the behemoth store is mostly empty. Just a few cars here and there, along with some bodies rotting in the sun. Making your way through the world these days is like walking through a graveyard. Though it probably always was to some degree. Bodies were just usually buried before. Things are less neat and tidy now.

Dean parks the pickup alongside the front doors, ready to go in case of trouble. And Naomi and Charlie park alongside us. There’s no sign of smashed glass or forced entry. We might be the first people to stop by here post-apocalypse wise.

There’s a hill hiding the bulk of our view of the town to the west. Though we can see a thin line of smoke trailing up into the air. So there might be some people somewhere in the area. But everything seems quiet.

With a bolt cutter, Dean makes short work of the padlock and chains holding the front doors together. “I don’t like it,” he says. “This security doesn’t look original or official. Maybe we’re not the first ones who’ve checked out this place.”

Inside, however, all is orderly and still reasonably well stocked from what we can see. And it’s completely deserted.

“Let’s go shopping,” says Naomi, pushing a cart.

Dean gives me a nod before heading off in the opposite direction with Charlie.

The closest aisle has matches, fire starters, cooking grates, and heatproof gloves. Useful stuff for our firepit cooking. But every aisle seems to have something we could use. It isn’t long before I’m jogging back to the front of the store for a second cart. Their range of seeds far exceeds the local hardware store’s, and they have way more fertilizer on hand. Manure and peat moss apparently excite me now. Another change I didn’t see coming.

“How are you and Dean doing?” asks Naomi with a friendly smile.

“None of your business.”

“Fair enough.” She grins. “But don’t you think we’d make a cute couple?”

“You are such a shit-stirrer. Don’t make me hit you. I’d probably miss.”

The woman throws back her head and laughs her ass off. Happy one of us finds the situation amusing. Though Iamsmiling, so…

We load up the back of one of the pickup trucks with our finds while Dean and Charlie do likewise with the other. Everything is happening in a swift and smooth fashion. We could be back in Wolf Creek in time for lunch at this rate. I even found some items in the craft section for Sophie and Hazel. Painting and mosaic sets and such. In this new world, the range of skills they’ll need will be dramatically different from the old. But there’s always room for art. There needs to be. Lose the beauty in your soul and you’ve got nothing.

Dean and Charlie are inside for one more load when a car pulls into the parking lot. It’s a purple classic Camaro. And they waste no time getting over to us, wheels screeching and stereo blaring.

Both Naomi and I move our hands closer to our weapons. This is not good.

Two white men climb out of the car. One rests his arms on the roof of the vehicle, watching us from behind his dark sunglasses. And of course, he’s got a shotgun.

The other wanders much closer than I like. He has short blond hair and is wearing a pair of pistols on his hips. He has one of those smiles you see on people who were told they’re cute one time too many and decided to make it their entire personality.

Neither of them seems sick. But I’d still rather they kept their distance.

“What a lovely surprise,” he says. “How are you doing, girls?”

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