Page 73 of The Last Man on Earth
I reach for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “It’ll stop soon.”
But as the hours drag on and the rain keeps pounding the island, I start to wonder how true that is.
Chapter 34
Ari
I wake up toa cracking sound.
I barely get my eyes open before the entire canopy falls on top of me.
I gasp as it hits my face, the weight pressing down like the whole sky just fell on us.
“Vincent!” I call out for him, not even sure he’s in here with me. Then I see his hands and hear his voice.
“Hang on,” he growls, already pushing up. He grips the edges and heaves the canopy off, flinging it to the side with a grunt. His breath comes hard and fast as water streams down his face.
I sit up, shivering as rain pounds me. Vincent stares at me. His nostrils are flared. His body rigid. There’s something in his expression that scares me.
He looks…broken.
He turns and walks toward the tree line, prompting me to follow him out.
“Vincent!” I call out to him, but he keeps going, shoulders hunched against the downpour.
I’m soaked through to my bones right now, but I’m worried about him. I stumble barefoot through the mud, the ground squelching soft and moist beneath my feet. My hair sticks to my cheeks. My clothes are plastered to my skin. When I finally catch up with him, he’s at the edge of the tree line staring into the daylight. I reach for his hand, but he doesn’t look at me. His fingers curl weakly around mine, and he walks, bringing me along with him.
We’re on the beach now. Everything looks the same shade of grey in the downpour—the sand, the sky, even the sea. An endless curtain of grey. The waves break hard and the wind pushes the rain sideways in sheets.
But we keep walking.
He drops my hand and finally stops at the water’s edge. He just stands there, rain pounding his body, his arms hanging limply at his sides.
“Talk to me,” I plead, wondering if this all ends with him walking into the water.
He just stares.
I step in front of him, my hands moving to his chest. His eyes are tired and hollow, a man hanging by a thread.
I move closer.
He doesn’t say a word, but his hands speak for him. They catch me around the waist and pull me closer. I rest my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat over the rain. He moves us, swaying back and forth, slow and rhythmic. It’s not really dancing, although I suppose the sound of the rain could be music. This is something sadder. This is two exhausted people finding the only comfort they can. We’re trying to forget, just for a minute, that we’re barely holding on.
My feet sink into the wet sand. My shoulders sting as the rain beats against them.
I close my eyes.
We move together, bodies in sync. He rests his chin on the top of my head. My fingers clutch his wet shirt. His hands are tight around my waist, gripping possessively.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but when I finally pull back and look at him, it’s not just rain dripping down his cheeks.
He presses his forehead to mine, and we stay right there, two lost souls swaying at the ends of our rope, finding what little peace we can in this moment.
Because after this? After everything, after our home was just destroyed, we have to decide what’s worth living for.
We have each other, yes, but…
We need to decide if that’s enough.
