Page 63 of The Last Man on Earth
Ari
I wake up toa pounding behind my eyes, like my skull is a drum someone’s been beating all night.
My mouth feels like sandpaper. Throat scratchy. Tongue thick and sticky.
I roll over and see Vincent sitting up, rubbing his temples, his eyes half open. When he feels my movement, he looks back at me, but neither of us speaks.
The air feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on us instead of whirling around us.
“Hey,” he finally mutters, his voice hoarse.
“Hey,” I croak back just before my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth like I’ve been eating peanut butter.
We move through the motions we’ve gotten used to—checking the fire pit, setting out breakfast, brushing our teeth—but everything feels slower. Sluggish. My body feels like it’s rebelling. Every step makes my head spin.
When I open my compact, my reflection startles me. My lips are cracked. The skin around my mouth is flaking. My cheeksand undereyes look hollow. I press my fingers to the side of my face, bristling at the dry roughness.
“Vincent,” I say quietly. “We need water.”
He looks over at me, squinting against the sun. “I know. I’ma go out in a minute to see what I can find.”
“In a minute?” I whisper, because that’s all I have the energy for. I need him to gonow. “It’s been almost a whole day.”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
As if we have one mind, we both look up at the bright, brilliant, cloudless blue sky. Not a hint of grey, not even the slightest promise of rain. It’s beautiful in a cruel sort of way.
“I’m gonna lay down for a minute.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “You need your rest.”
I crawl back inside the shelter, careful not to fall in and mess up the platform. I stretch out on my back and stare up at the leaves above me until my vision blurs.
Vincent sits a few feet away, cutting a t-shirt into strips. I know there’s a reason for that…I remember there being a reason…but I can’t remember it, and I don’t feel like asking. He’s always making something, rigging something, planning something. I trust that he knows what he’s doing.
I close my eyes and think of home. My mama’s kitchen. The smell of coffee first thing in the morning. Coffee and those cheese danishes she would buy from the store and heat ever so slightly in her toaster oven. My daddy coming inside, smelling like outside, having just manicured the lawn, trying to pretend he’s not tired. My sister texting me stupid memes. Luca.
Such a goodlooking man. His fortieth birthday is coming up. He probably thinks I’m dead. What a hell of a birthday present.
We met on a dating app. He’s kind of nerdy, which has always been my type. He does something with computers, but I couldn’t begin to say what it is. The important thing is that we had fouramazing dates before he kissed me. He moves at my pace. He lets me set the tempo.
And now, I’m dead.
I wonder what the newspapers say. Obviously, Villain is getting all the press, but I’m sure my name is in there somewhere with the pilots. Probably underneath a tiny black and white photo of my face. My work picture. I loved my makeup in that one.
I remember when Xandra Nicole, that socialite girl, took my flight to Paris for fashion week a few years ago. She took a selfie with me on the plane because she thought I was beautiful. It went viral.
Good times.
Maybe that pic will pop back up now that I’m dead.
“Ari?” Vincent’s voice drifts in, soft and weak.
“Hmm?”
“I’m heading out.”
I lift a hand and wave. It’s all I can do.”
