Page 24 of Hero

I have no idea what either one of us could say.

4

I wakeup early the following morning, nervous and restless, and I decide it’s time for another scavenging trip.

It’s usually anxiety that pushes me into such outings, but today’s is a different kind. It’s not the normal fear for our safety or worries about food and supplies that’s forcing me into action.

Zed and I fucked again last night, and it’s not feeling right. My stomach is a tight knot, and I’m washed with continual waves of hot and cold.

Why the hell did I do that? What was I even thinking? It’s no longer possible to explain it away as a onetime fluke. Sex has entered our relationship now, and nothing will be the same.

So I lie in bed in the dark for about fifteen minutes, unable to bring any sort of settled order to the tangle in my head, and I decide to go on a supply run today.

I might as well leave at first light, so I get up and pull on my jeans, a fitted T-shirt, and a hoodie since it will be chilly this morning.

Rina is still sleeping. I leave her undisturbed and walk into the main room of the cabin.

Zed must have just woken up himself. He’s sitting on the side of his bed, and he’s turned on the lantern so the room is filled with dim artificial light. His covers are rumpled, and the sight makes my stomach churn even more.

He was sleeping in that bed all night. Yesterday evening he was fucking me hard against the door.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his face and his scalp with both hands.

“Hi.” I try to think of something else to say, but I can’t, so I head outside to go to the bathroom.

There is a regular bathroom in the cabin, but there was no way to keep the septic tank running long-term without maintenance and chemicals, so my stepdad built a simple outhouse in the backyard. In the middle of the night, we use a pot in the corner of the room, and during the day we use the outhouse.

It’s one of the many inconveniences of daily life now.

When I’m done, I wash my face and hands with water from one of the rain barrels. I washed my hair yesterday afternoon and braided it tightly into two long french braids. It’s still neat enough and out of my face, so I leave it be.

Zed has been pumping water from the well, but he sets down the container and comes over to me. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Thought I’d hit another town and do some scavenging.”

“We don’t need anything right now.”

“I know that, but I’ve got nothing better to do. We should stock up as much as we can for winter anyway.”

“If it’s another bad winter, there’s no way we’ll have enough.” He says the bleak words matter-of-factly. A simple statement of fact. Two years ago, we were trapped inside the cabin from a monthlong ice storm and barely survived. Zed, his father, and I gave most of our food to Rina. Zed and I were sick for weeks afterward as we tried to recover from the deprivation, and his father died.

It still feels like a nightmare. Like it didn’t really happen to us.

“I know, but we need to at least try. I’ve got nothing to do today, so I might as well do something useful.”

He’s eyeing me closely. “Why today?”

“Why not?”

“Are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You look upset.”

“I’m not upset.” I grit the words out this time because I am, in fact, getting annoyed now. Why can’t he leave things alone like he normally does?

“Running away isn’t going to help—”

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