Page 10 of Last Light

“Oh. Maybe so. Well, let’s get going. How much gas do you have?”

“’Bout a quarter tank. Won’t take us far.”

“Then we’ll try to find more. There’s got to be some abandoned towns along the way.”

“Yeah.” Travis shuts the tailgate of the Jeep, and then he reaches out toward me, making me gasp and jerk back.

He drops his hand quickly without touching me. “Sorry. Your arm is bleedin’. You said you weren’t hurt.”

I look down at myself in surprise. “I wasn’t. Not by the guys. I must have gotten cut when I was leaning into the bed of the truck. Didn’t even realize it.”

I take off my overshirt, which now has one torn sleeve, and use the wet wipe he offers me to clean up the blood from the back of my upper arm. Then I turn my body slightly so he can put a bandage over the cut.

I notice his eyes on my tank top, the damp fabric clinging to my breasts, and feel strangely self-conscious as I put back on my overshirt. I stopped wearing a bra a couple of years ago when the underwire on my last one broke. My breasts jiggle as I move, and my nipples are clearly visible through the worn fabric. “Thanks.”

He grunts. Then he picks up a bottle of water and hands it to me. “Drink this. You look like you’re gonna keel over.”

“Thanks a lot,” I mutter dryly, the sarcasm more habit than anything else. Then I pause and say more sincerely, “Thank you. For stopping to help, I mean. I was okay, but I might not have been. So thanks.”

He’s looking down at the ground now, almost like I’ve embarrassed him. But he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would get embarrassed, so I’m not sure what he’s feeling. “Anyone would.”

“No. They wouldn’t. Not anymore. Hardly anyone would. So thank you.”

He nods and mumbles something incoherent. Then he says in a different tone, “We should get going unless you have more to put in here.”

I stick my hand in my bag to make sure there’s nothing else I should store with the supplies, but everything left is personal items or things I want to have with me all the time. “No. That’s it.”

“Then hop in.”

I’m too tired to do any sort of hopping, but I slowly climb back into the passenger seat.

He looks at me like he’s waiting for something.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Drink the water. I’m not gonna watch you pass out.”

I’m used to conserving water as much as possible, so it feels indulgent to start chugging down a brand-new bottle. But he’s waiting for me, so I unscrew the cap and take a couple of swigs.

He nods, still watching me. Then he puts the vehicle into gear but keeps his foot on the brake.

“Why aren’t you drinkin’?” he asks, sounding unnecessarily grumpy when I lower the bottle and take a few deep breaths.

I give him as much of a scowl as I can muster. “I am drinking. I don’t want to drink too fast and puke again. And I don’t need to be bossed around quite so much.”

“Kinda seems like you do.”

I peer at him in the dim light. It’s only late afternoon, but the perpetual haze of dust and ash causes the last light of the sun to fade far earlier than it should.

I really can’t tell if the man is serious right now or not.

Since there’s not even a hint of a smile, I decide he’s not teasing and my frown deepens.

He makes a soft, snorting noise I don’t understand and glances down to where my bag has slipped to the floor of the vehicle. I left the bag open, and my book is peeking out.

I see what he’s focused on, and I quickly lean over to slide the book back inside my bag and then zip it up.

“Poems?” he asks in exactly the same skeptical way he asked it earlier today.

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