What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Like a lot of things current end of the world, time always seems to be on the go – and seven days rush by in a blur and whirl of colour. Seven days was all I was going to give Nate to heal from his gunshot wound until we moved on to god knows where. He sleeps for most of it, waking for a few hours during the late afternoon before drifting back to sleep.

I guess this is the safest – or as close to – he's gotten, because I know he's constantly looking out for Emmi and sleep is next to minimal when you're in charge and you've got someone to look after. But I think he's slightly out of his mind, because he gave me back my Colt Defender, and he gave me his rifle.

By the end of the seventh day, which I think is a Wednesday – god, what day is it? – I've had enough. I'm restless, and I'm ready to get a move on.

Night falls like a heavy blanket as I head back to the farmhouse, my flashlight the only thing that prevents me from tripping over a hidden hole or slipping on the grass. I have Nate's rifle slung over my shoulder, and Dog's leash in my opposite hand, him leading the way back. He snuffles the ground, the little noises he makes proving to be too loud amongst the quiet.

But despite it all, I'm not too apprehensive about the noises he makes. We're within sight of the farmhouse, and after checking the perimeter for the past hour or so, I know nothing's out here.

Every time I've gone out this week, regardless of the time of day, I made sure Emmi memorised the rhythm I'd tap against the door to let her know it was me, and I made her promise to lock the door each and every time. Should she get into trouble, she had to wake up her dad, no matter what.

And as I climb the porch stairs, I see that she's paid attention yet again, and I can't help but smile. The house is completely dark, not a candle, not a flashlight in sight. No attracting moths to a flame.

I rap my knuckles against the front door, I knock, two knocks, then one, then three. I wait thirty seconds, repeat the pattern, and wait again.

Emmi answers a little too quickly, but considering how good she's been, I let her off this time. I hear the bolt slide back, the handle unlock, and within the glow of the flashlight, I watch the door swing inward to reveal the blonde hair and the blue eyes. She's ready for bed, dressed in an over-sized shirt which must be one of Nate's. It reaches down past her knees.

Dog immediately attacks her ankles and toes with his tongue, and she tries to squirm out of his way. "No!" she squeals, and in response I scoop Dog up into my arms, which only puts him at her face level.

I never tell Emmi about what I see or what I think may be out there, because I'm not quite sure what Nate's told her. So I tell her all about the things Dog finds, or if I come across the odd animal.

"Did you find anything?" Emmi asks eagerly.

"Not this time," I say. "Except Dog found a stick so big that he tripped over it."

Emmi giggles. "Silly puppy," she says, reaching out to stroke his ear. "Is he allowed to sleep with me tonight?"

"Only if you go upstairs so I can talk to Nate."

"Is he awake?"

No, but he will be. "Yeah. He said he'll be awake when I get back."

I hate lying to her, even little white lies. But it creates the effect I want: Emmi runs upstairs, and I've never seen someone so excited to go to bed in my life.

Once she's out of sight, I put Dog on the floor, remove his leash, then stride into the master bedroom without so much as a knock. I haven't spoken a single word to Nate since I stitched him up, after he pushed me aside like I was nothing.