Page 8 of Dating After the End of the World
“What about your dad’s place? Didn’t you say he—”
“No,” I cut him off before he even begins down that path.
“But you said he has like a compound, some sort of bunker. You two prepped for something like this.”
I regret telling Nate about my dad and his compound. It was day twenty of us being locked in silent isolation. I was going stir crazy, and I’d gotten into a bottle of whiskey—well, more than gotten into it. And then I told Nate everything, everything I had been hiding from him about mypast and my upbringing. He hasn’t dropped it since I brought it up. For him, it’s salvation. For me ... I don’t know what it is. I’m not even sure my dad is still alive and well. I know he prepared for the end of times, but was he really prepared for whatever this is? I’d call it a zombie apocalypse if it weren’t for the Nomes. Those I can’t make sense of.
“We’re running low on food, and it’s too dangerous here. Your dad will have supplies, right? And you said he lives in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin. Less people means less danger.”
“But it’s not safe to leave,” I say, shaking my head. “And it’s too far away. We don’t know the conditions of the roads or what the outside world is like. We’d probably die trying to get to my dad’s place. Plus, I don’t even know if he made it. You remember how confusing it was when this all started. It’s not worth the risk ... at least not until it’s our last resort.”
“Look around, Casey.” He pulls away and gestures to the dimly lit living room. It looks like we’re just having a quiet night in, but it’s been forty-two days of quiet nights in. “Thisisour last resort. We’re sitting ducks, and eventually someone will find us, someone we don’t want to find us.” Nate lets out a heavy sigh.
He’s right. It’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when. But right now, we have enough supplies to last us three weeks, four if we ration. That’s a long time to survive in an apocalypse. I can’t guarantee we’d survive another day if we ventured outside.
“Casey,” Nate says.
I look up at him, meeting his gaze. I know why he wants to leave. He’s scared. And when you’re scared, you run. Or in my case, you hide.
“We really need to consider leaving.”
“Okay.”
He tilts his head, squinting at me. “‘Okay,’ we’ll leave?”
“No, we’ll consider it.”
The water boils over, sizzling against the hot stove. It’s too loud. Nate dashes to the pot and removes it from the flame, muffling a cry of pain as he drops the pot, the handles having gotten far too hot.
My body tenses up, and I sit still for a moment, listening, making sure the noise didn’t draw any unwanted attention. Satisfied with the quiet, I stand from the couch and tell Nate I’m going to use the restroom, hoping that will table the “let’s leave the city” conversation for the time being. He’s preoccupied with cleaning up the mess, so he doesn’t acknowledge me.
In the bathroom, I reflexively flick the light switch, but nothing turns on. I still haven’t gotten used to that. A flashlight lies on its side, wedged between the wall and the faucet. I click the on button and a beam of light bursts out of it, illuminating most of the room. After peeing, I empty a container of rainwater collected from the rooftop into the toilet tank and yank up on the chain. Gravity forces the urine to flush. Too bad it can’t do the same for what the world has become.
As I stand in front of the mirror, a darkened, strained reflection stares back at me. My long brunette hair is oily from weeks of being unable to wash it properly. My cheekbones are more pronounced with part of my face hollowed out due to sudden weight loss. I can still see the blue of my eyes even in the darkness, but the color is fading, just like every other part of me. The woman in the mirror is becoming less and less familiar—and one day, I fear I won’t recognize her at all.
“Shit!” Nate yells.
I’m already shushing him as I race down the hall, back into the kitchen, where I find him partially bent over, wincing in pain and gripping his hand.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he says in a strained whisper. “I cut myself.”
I want to yell at him for being loud, but instead I grab a towel and wrap it around the nasty cut on his finger.
“Are you okay?”
He nods several times.
I’m still worried about the noise. I’m always worried about the noise. It can attract biters or, worse, the burners. I call them that because all they want to do is see the world burn. They’re the ones I’m scared of.When everything went to shit, some people took it as an opportunity to let the world devolve back into a primal war of winner takes all. At first, I thought they were also infected by the virus. But they weren’t. They had just lost their humanity, or maybe they never had it to begin with. Without law and order or societal norms, there’s nothing they fear and nothing that’s stopping them from doing whatever the hell they want. They’re fueled by greed and desire. Over the past six weeks, I’ve seen them use Nomes as bait to draw out biters or people like me and Nate, people just trying to survive. And God knows what else the burners are using them for. It’s like hell showed up on earth, and they decided someone needed to be the devil, so it may as well be them.
“Can you get the first aid kit?” Nate whispers.
Before I can respond, three loud knocks pound against the front door. My blood runs cold. This is why I’m always worried about the noise.
Chapter 4
There’s a tightness in my chest as my heart sprints and panic sets in. Nate’s unmoving, and his face has paled to the color of snow.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
