Page 37 of The Last Man on Earth
“Damn,” I say, snapping my fingers. “The one time I forget to pack my toolbox.”
“Shut up.” She thinks for a minute. “Maybe I could pull it loose with the edge of the axe blade.”
“Might damage it.”
“Yeah. True.”
The last place I wanna go to is the back of that metal coffin where my friends and family are burnt to ash. The thought of it makes my chest hurt.
As if she read my mind, Ari says, “I don’t mind doing it.” Her voice is softer now. “I just need to figure out how to get it unbolted.”
“Nah. I’ll take care of it.”
Her brows furrow. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to make sense of me. “Well since you’re in the mood to do stuff, can you also help me take out my sew-in?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’d rather go camping in the back of that plane than do your hair.”
She snickers, shaking her head in exasperation. She thinks I’m funny, and probably a little annoying, which I kinda like. It adds a little playfulness to our…friendship? Relationship?
Whatever the fuck this is.
She glances upward, and her body stiffens.
I follow her gaze to the sky, way off in the other direction, where grey clouds are rolling in like high tide. “It’s gonna storm,” I say.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” She looks around our little spot. “How are we supposed to stay dry?”
“I mean…get under them leaves at the house—“
“It’s not a house, Villain!”
“You know what I mean. The leaves should help, but it ain’t no way to stay completely dry out here.”
That’s all it takes. She starts breathing all hard, her hands start shaking, her eyes darting all over the place. “We need to protect everything! Our clothes, our blankets. Our food. The little we have left. If our stuff gets wet…” she trails off as her voice breaks. Now she’s crying, and I’m staring at her wondering why she’s freaking the fuck out over some raindrops.
Still pretty, though, even when she ugly cries. Prettier, actually. All that emotion is putting color in her cheeks.
“Hey. Ari. Look at me.” I crouch down, but she won’t meet my eyes. “It’s gon’ be okay.”
She shakes her head.
I stand and move over to the luggage, rifling through each bag until I strike gold: two clear plastic rain ponchos balled up in the bottom of Ms. K’s suitcase.
“Here we go.”
Her sobs quiet just enough for me to concentrate. Moving fast, I wrap our clothes and shoes in one poncho, cinch it tight, then bundle the blankets, food, and toiletries in the other. Each poncho goes into an empty suitcase, then I wedge them under the platform where we sleep. I’m racing the storm, and I’m winning.
By the time I finish, the first drops are falling.
“Go,” I tell Ari. She was sitting there watching me. “Now. Go get in the house.”
She scrambles over there while I hack at fresh leaves with my axe. It’s pouring by the time I’m done, coming down in sheets, battering everything around me.
It’s too late for me to fortify the canopy, so I drop the leaves and make my way over to Ari. She’s sitting there hugging her knees, her shoulders shaking. Rain is already dripping through the roof—not nearly as much as outside, but enough to get us wet.
