Page 32 of Last Light

His face twists. He’s clearly annoyed.

“I mean it,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let you risk your life for a fucking bottle of aspirin.”

I see the resignation on his face. “Damn, you’re stubborn.” There isn’t any heat in his tone, however, so I know he’s not upset with me. “Looks safe enough, I guess. Come on then.”

I follow him through the entrance, relieved that the building doesn’t appear like it’s going to collapse on top of us. Most of the shelves have been knocked over, the goods spilled out in piles all over the floor.

But there’s stuff.

All kinds of stuff.

“Oh my God! Look at this!” I’m rifling through scattered over-the-counter medication.

“Find some stuff we need, but don’t take too much. We don’t have room.”

I’m happy as a clam, gathering up stomach medication, cough syrup, more ibuprofen, and first aid supplies. Travis is pulling up shelves and pieces of wall at the very back of the building.

“Can’t really get into the pharmacy section,” he says. “Guess we don’t really need prescription medicine anyway.”

“Not that I can think of. Just leave that. If someone comes along who’s desperate, they can try to dig it out.”

He moves to the other side of the store, looking through more toppled shelves and occasionally bending over to pick something up.

“Got soap,” he calls out. A minute later he adds, “And more sunblock.”

I giggle as I lean over to grab a pack of lip balm.

“Uh, you need any of this stuff?”

I straighten up and peer over to see what Travis is holding.

A box of tampons.

He’s not meeting my eyes.

“I don’t know,” I tell him as I walk over to where he’s standing. “I haven’t had my period in months. Because of bad nutrition and everything, I assume. But if there’s a small pack, I could take it just in case.” I see a small box of tampons and reach for it.

I get another look at Travis’s face and take pity on him. “I saw some tools and household supplies over there. You might check them out.”

I secretly smile as he drops the box of tampons like it might bite him and strides toward the middle of the store.

He’s quite adorably shy about certain things in a way I never would have expected.

“You didn’t see any deodorant, did you?” I call out.

He grunts.

I look over. “Was that a yes grunt or a no grunt?”

“No. Haven’t seen any.” He scowls. “I’ll wash up again next time we find water.”

I stare blankly.

“So I don’t stink so much. Apparently you can smell me from miles away.”

“Oh!” I laugh softly. “Not miles. And I wasn’t talking about for you. I was talking about for me.”

His scowl turns into a confused frown. “You don’t need no deodorant.”

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