Page 32 of The Last Man on Earth
I know why.
I wanted to present the box to Villain when he comes back from wherever he is. Maybe to prove I was strong and capable enough to get it on my own. Or maybe to be nice. To show him I listened to him, even though I don’t really believe the location of the box matters.
To make him smile.
Just as I step into the clearing, Villain appears from the opposite side, grinning wide, dirt smudged on his arms.
“I did it,” he says. “I found the ocean for you.”
My smile answers his, and without a word or hesitation, I commence to grabbing my things.
We move through the trees, following the trail of shirt scraps he tied onto branches.
“I’ma find us some fresh water next,” he says, quickly adding, “but we probably won’t need it. We’ll be rescued by then.”
I don’t answer.
The walk seems to stretch on forever. I’m so tired, I almost tell him I’m turning back, but then I hear it—the roar of waves, deep and powerful and ferocious. Then the light brightens through the trees and we break through.
The sight knocks the breath out of me. White sand so blinding, it makes me squint. Vast blue horizon, rolling endlessly in front of us.
Water.
Before I can think, I’m running, my bad leg forgotten. Villain is right on my heels, laughing, chasing, and just for a second, it feels fun. Damn near normal. I stop at the water’s edge and drop my stuff on the sand, turning my face up to God and his circular light.
“I’ma leave you to it.”
I snap out of my stupor and look at Villain.
“I’ma go looking for seaweed so I can spell out a message.”
“How far are you going?”
He makes an awning of his palm, shielding his eyes. “Not too far, but far enough that I won’t be looking. Don’t worry.”
I nod, watching his back as he retreats down the beach. In either direction, there’s nobody else. If this were Miami or St. Tropez or Jamaica, there would be people and chairs and movement. But not here. Here, I only see more sand, and off in the distance, mountainous lumps of green.
No telling where we are.
Villain is a dot by the time my fingers fumble with my dress. Then it’s over my head, bra unclasped, panties peeled away. I squeeze a quarter-sized amount of body wash into my palm—my favorite scent. Pink Pistachio.
I step into the water, gasping as the cold waves wash over my ankles. I thought it would be warm, at least, but I can handle this. Further and further, I wade out until the water laps at my belly button. I dip a few times, wetting my tired back, shoulders, and neck.
The body wash lathers in my hands, but once it hits the salt on my skin, the suds evaporate, leaving it slick. No matter. I wash, baptizing myself in the Atlantic, smiling at the feeling of cool silk against my skin. The sky above is so blue, if I didn’t know God was real before, I certainly know it now.
I forget everything.
I smile.
I bask.
My fingers are pruned by the time I drag myself onto the sand. I air dry for a bit, then use Villain’s t-shirt to dry myself off completely. I slather myself in Pink Pistachio lotion, then I slip into fresh panties, stare at my bra for a minute before deciding I won’t be needing it, and pull on a pink sundress that floats in the breeze.
I feel human again.
I see him coming now, walking slow, but assured. I stare at him from my seat in the sand, noticing for the first time how tall he is and how much he swaggers when he walks. I don’t know how I missed it before.
I stand and turn toward him, my body shivering slightly when his eyes fix on me. Up and down, his gaze moves, pinning me in place.
