Page 23 of Last Light

I settle myself on the rock again, and one of his hands reaches out toward my foot. His fingers wrap lightly around my ankle.

I check his face, but he’s still asleep.

I don’t pull my foot away. He holds on to my ankle for the rest of the night.

***

THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASSin a haze of uncomfortable monotony. We manage to get off the trail and back on the road, but then we spend the rest of the day searching for gas.

We eventually find a couple of gallons in an old pickup parked next to an isolated cabin, and we end up spending the night there, taking turns sleeping on the one small cot since Travis doesn’t think the cabin is secure enough.

The next day we run into more guarded towns, so we’re forced to leave the road again. We camp outside that night, but it’s not as companionable as the first evening.

Travis has withdrawn back to grunts and silent stares. It feels like that first night in the twin beds. Not like that long evening by the creek.

He’s locked up tight again.

It’s ridiculous, but I miss him.

We finally cross into Kentucky on the morning of the fifth day.

Since we’re running short on gas again, we check the map and head to a small town not far off the road. To our relief, it’s abandoned. The main street has been thoroughly looted, but we search the neighborhoods on the outskirts where the houses are in better condition.

We find one that doesn’t look like it’s been broken into and peer into the detached garage to see a car.

“Yes!” I’m smiling as I step back. “Surely there’s gas in that tank.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Travis kicks open the side door. There is gas in the car. We fill the Jeep and find a gas canister on a shelf in the garage, so we fill up that as well to take with us.

“Might as well check the house while we’re here,” I say, and Travis nods his agreement.

He kicks in the back door. It’s neat inside. No broken windows.

I’m holding my breath as we stand side by side in the kitchen and open the cupboard doors.

The shelves are full of food.

A lot of it went bad long ago—all the bread and crackers and granola bars and cookies—but there are cans.

Shelves of cans.

“Oh my God!” I breathe, pulling out two cans of green beans and seeing a row of canned soup behind them. “Oh my God, look at all this!”

Travis grunts.

I’m not sure why I would expect anything else.

I find some old plastic grocery bags wadded up under the sink, and I start filling them with the cans. Travis takes another bag and fills it up with salt, pepper, hot sauce, and cans of Spam and tuna he finds in the next cabinet.

I’m grinning like a fool as we put our bags down near the busted door and start to search the rest of the house.

I find travel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner—the kind you used to get in hotels. Travis finds a gun safe. He can’t get into the safe, but next to it is a drawer full of ammunition, some of which will fit our guns. In the basement are four large jugs of spring water.

And in the master bedroom there are drawers and a closet full of clothes.

I’m giggling as I sift through the underwear drawer, finding a few pairs of newish cotton panties that look like they’ll fit me. I check the bras, but they’re too small for me, and I’m not too keen on wearing bras again anyway.

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