Page 12 of Hero

When my eyes adjust, I can see the shape of Rina’s little bed across the room. The figure under the covers isn’t moving. She’s sleeping. A soft snore alerts me to the fact that Buddy the dog is sound asleep too.

Everything is fine. The cabin is locked up tight. Zed and my stepdad added extra fortification to the windows and door as soon as we all moved here, so the cabin is as safe as we can make it with our current resources. Zed sleeps in the main room, and he wakes up at the slightest sound. Both of us have guns loaded and ready beside our beds.

It wasn’t an active threat that woke me. Every now and then, that low-level anxiety that always rumbles at my core surges into intensity for no particular reason.

I recognize the signs. That’s what’s happening now.

Occasionally I can talk myself out of it, so I try lying back down and breathing deeply, reminding myself that everything is okay. Rina, Zed, and I are safe right now. We have food and clean water and shelter and the ability to protect ourselves.

The world might suck, but we’re okay. For now we’re okay.

But it’s thefor nowthat always trips me up. Because the fish are getting scarce in the river. And we’ve salvaged almost everything to be found out of the nearby towns and communities. And traveling is the most dangerous thing to do in this world, but we’re going to have to do it eventually.

If it was just me—or just me and Zed—I’d accept the risks and get moving. But Rina is only five. We’re all she has.

So many terrible things could happen to her. But if we stay here too long, she could die from malnutrition. I’m teaching her to read as well as I can, but she needs a school. Other kids. As it is, she’s been so isolated that her social skills might be permanently marred.

Over and over again, the thoughts spin in my head until I’m in a full-fledged panic. I can’t stay still any longer. I climb out of bed and walk soundlessly to the door of the room.

The dog lifts his head but doesn’t follow me, clearly not willing to relinquish his cozy spot. Rina doesn’t move.

I close the bedroom door quietly behind me and feel my way over to the small table in the kitchen area. The chair scrapes softly against the floor as I pull it out, and Zed jerks up in his bed across the room. He must reach for his shotgun because I hear the click of him cocking it.

“It’s just me,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. Rina doesn’t usually wake up at night, but there’s no reason to risk disturbing her.

“Y’okay?” He switches on a battery-operated lantern he keeps by his bed. It’s one of those batteries that’s supposed to last forever, and so far it’s held up its part of the bargain.

“Fine. Go back to sleep.”

He ignores me, which is not atypical for him. He carries the lantern over to the table and then goes to the counter where we keep the jug we fill with water from the well every day.

I watch as he pours water into a glass. He’s wearing the white undershirt and plaid flannel pants he usually sleeps in during cooler weather.

When I first knew him, he was in decent shape, but he also liked to laze about, eating and drinking beer, so he had a noticeable belly and his face was fuller. I never thought he was good-looking, although plenty of women evidently did. Like all the rest of us who have survived this long, he’s lost weight from limited food and had to toughen up. His body is still big—it always feels like he takes up too much space—with broad shoulders and thick thighs, but his hips and belly are lean.

I don’t know why I notice it right now as my eyes rest on his back, but I do. His pants are riding low, and I notice the tight curve of his ass. The way his shoulders taper down to his middle.

He brings the glass of water over to the table and sets it in front of me before he sits down in the chair that’s always his.

He doesn’t ask me why I woke up. He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. He doesn’t act particularly concerned or worried about me. We’ve never been friends or even all that close. We had a family connection that’s completely irrelevant now. The only reason we’re in each other’s lives is because we have no one else.

I trust him. Of course I do. But this isn’t a man I ever would have chosen for a companion.

The truth is I can’t even imagine who I would have chosen. I spent my whole childhood and my first year in college focused mostly on studying and preparing for a career as an astronaut. I did have a few friends, but I never had a boyfriend. I don’t think I was ever unattractive, but looks have never been my thing. I’ve got straight brown hair and dark brown eyes and skin that tans easily and regular features and a body that’s medium in every way.

I did sometimes daydream about a great guy falling in love with me, but there was no sign of it ever happening, and it’s pretty much impossible now.

It’s fine. It’s way down on my list of losses—so far down I barely even think about it anymore.

Right now the main thing is survival. And I don’t know how we’re going to manage that for much longer.

The brief distraction of Zed’s presence fades beneath another anxiety spiral. I brace my forearms on the table and stare down at my hands, clenched into fists.

Zed still doesn’t speak. But he pushes the glass of water against one of my hands.

When I jerk my hand away, he pries my fingers apart and wraps them around the glass.

I give him a glare—because he’s being pushy when I’m not in the mood for dealing with it—but the glass of water is in my hand now, so I take several gulps of it.

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