Page 25 of The Last Man on Earth
Ariana hands me a smaller stick. She’s been doing that almost every time I need one. It lowkey feels like she can read my mind.
She still can’t put all her weight on her hurt leg, but every now and then, she’ll stand and try to help me. She’s good at pushing leaves into a pile, brushing dirt out the way, and holding branches steady while I tie strips of cloth around them—which she cut from some of the clothes she took out of suitcases. I’m doing a shit job of blocking out who the clothes belonged to, but I got bigger fish to fry right now.
This shit is starting to take shape. The branches are sloping like I want them to. The big ass leaves I layered across the top are looking like shade. I’m weaving them together as best I can. We’re fucked if rains, but at least we’ll be out of the sun.
I take a step back and look at our shelter. It’s got a roof and some sides, and the open front sayscome on in.
Yeah.
I did that shit.
I wanna tell Ariana to go lay down in it and take a nap, but it’s missing something.
When I look over at her, she’s studying it with her head tilted to the side.
“Okay, then,” she says softly. “I’m impressed.”
I grin, wiping my neck with my shirt. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Did you learn how to do that somewhere, or were you just winging it?”
“Definitely wingin’ it.”
Her laugh is light and her smile is genuine, catching me off guard before she says, “Good job.”
“’Preciate it.” I stare at my handiwork. “It needs something, though.”
“A door?” she says, her smile teasing.
“Nah…” I rub my chin, surprised by how much more hair is already there. “A floor. We ain’t sleepin’ on the dirt again.”
Her eyebrows lift a little like she wasn’t expecting me to think of that.
I grab more branches from the pile, medium ones that are long enough to stretch across the two logs on the side. One by one, I slam them into place until a crude platform starts to take shape. I crouch down, adjusting shit and wedging pieces tighter together, then test the strength by putting my weight on it. It creaks, but it holds.
Ariana leans forward, her eyes following my every move. “Are you trying to build a bed?”
I ignore the doubt in her tone and pretend I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing.
“Yep.”
I grab a pile of them big ass palm leaves and weave them through the branches to cover the gaps. I have to go deeper into the trees several times to get more until I think I finally have enough. My fingers hurt, sweat drips down my chest, my eyes are stinging. Eventually, I take off my drenched t-shirt and toss it aside, working bare-chested under the hot ass sun like a fuckin’ sharecropper or some shit. If I was home, I’d be paying somebody to do this for me.
When I glance at Ariana, she looks away fast, pretending she wasn’t staring at my chest. That just makes me go harder and move faster, thinking maybe if I impress her, she’ll forget how bad shit is for us right now.
And maybe she’ll be a little friendlier.
Finally, I’m satisfied with it. I wipe my hands down my jeans, breathing hard as I look over at her. “Come here.”
She slowly gets up and eases over, resting her hand on the edge of the platform. She presses down, testing it like she’s in a mattress showroom. She sits carefully, and I brace myself, surprised when the palms bend but don’t break. Her lips part slightly. For the first time, I see relief on her face.
“I can’t believe you pulled it off.”
I shrug. “I got hidden talents.”
“Yeah, apparently they were hidden to you, too.”
I hide my smile. “You like teasing me, huh?”
