Chapters 1-3 of Moonshine

1

Living on a Prayer

 

No one knows why the lights went out. Except maybe some secret branch of the government. They always know stuff like that, don’t they? I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. Six months after the blackout, they went dark too. Government officials disappeared and with them, government aid.

It was like someone took the seams of the entire nation and started tugging. At first there was only a little pilling; a handful of looters who thought they could get away with stealing—they usually could—and soccer moms fighting over the last package of toilet paper at big box stores. At first, I thought the people stockpiling had to be out of their minds. The power was out. Why bother stocking up on groceries that won’t keep?

One or two months in, I suddenly understood the appeal of buying sixteen cases of canned vegetables. Food was food in the end of the world and those of us without it found ourselves at a disadvantage that could serve to be deadly. On the other hand, those who had it also found themselves facing death by the hands of those without.

I still remember the sickening dread I felt over the first report of someone killed over supplies in the city. It seemed so barbaric, so inhuman. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.

Despite having no lights, no fridge, and no running water, the blackout felt inconsequential during that first month. Moving from my duplex to one of the disaster relief camps was like going to summer camp. Most of my bunk mates were friendly enough and though the food wasn’t amazing, it would keep me going. We even made a game of tossing ideas around, trying to figure out how we’d gotten in this mess.

People at camp said it couldn’t be an EMT—or was it EMP?—because there wasn’t a weapon big enough to knock the whole country off the grid. And plenty of technology still worked. My cellphone had power—though no signal or Wi-Fi—and most older cars ran just fine. It wasn’t like airplanes suddenly fell from the sky. Not that I saw, anyway. We just didn’t have electricity.

There were plenty of other theories; a massive solar storm, rapture, Russians, super intelligent sentient computers, aliens…the list went on. You name an apocalypse movie, and someone believed we were living in it. As for me, I didn’t think the world was ending. I was naïve enough to believe that someone somewhere was taking care of it for me.

That was how I ended up in my current predicament. I didn’t even bother to pack the right shoes when I left for camp. I believed my stay would be temporary. Those trendy low impact, brightly colored barefoot shoes were great right up until you stepped on a pointy rock. Make that six hundred pointy rocks on the gravelly shoulder of a back-country road in middle-of-nowhere Washington State.

Or, as one of my former travel companions charmingly referred to it, Bumfuck, Washington. In my mother’s household that phrase would have earned me a mouth full of soap. That was before though, and as much as I could use the laugh, I needed to keep my mind on track.

And I couldn’t risk the noise. Making too much noise got you killed in the end of the world.

Boots. I needed boots and for the first time in thirty miles, I might have found somewhere to acquire them. Shimmering before me like a beautiful oasis in the desert was a sporting goods store. Alright, fine, it wasn’t shimmering. In fact, the weathered building looked like it had seen better days before the world ended. The yellow sign advertising live bait was practically crushed under the weight of creeping moss that made its way down the roof, threatening to cave the whole thing in.

The second I saw the place I wanted to sprint to the door with tears of joy in my eyes. Experience taught me better. After grocery stores and gas stations, outdoor gear stores were the next to become hotspots for looting. There was that handful of eager people who attacked shopping malls and jewelry outlets but somehow, I doubted they were sitting pretty on a lifetime supply of Twinkies that they traded designer shoes and diamond rings for.

Stuff was useless in the end of the world unless you could eat it, wear it, or defend yourself with it. A shame, really. I loved stuff. I missed throw pillows and fingernail polish and sparkly tops that had no practical purpose. But there was no use lamenting over the past. It could swallow you up like a black hole if you weren’t careful.

It was over three days ago that I last spotted recent human activity and even then, the trail was fairly cold—based on my very lacking knowledge of such things. Still, the store was surrounded by a concrete lot and left me wide open to anyone inside or scouting from the trees. I could wait until night, but my flashlight ran out of batteries and it would take me forever to fumble around in the dark.

Was I going to risk it? I sat in stillness for another minute, listening for any sign that I wasn’t the only one here.

That was the thing about the end of the world. It wasn’t the earth ripping in two or cities consumed by tsunamis. It wasn’t hordes of zombies wandering the streets. Most of the time it was…empty. Quiet. Sometimes just quiet enough to trick you into thinking it was a Sunday morning and everyone was sleeping in and any moment the smell of fresh baked goods would waft down the road from a café like nothing had changed.

            That feeling was a lie. Everything had changed.

And I’d learned the hard way that sometimes, quiet doesn’t mean empty. Quiet doesn’t mean you’re alone. Quiet can be much more dangerous than gun fire and raised voices. Quiet means you’re being watched. As much as I desperately hated being alone, I would rather not have company.

Even if there were others nearby, I wasn’t in any shape to run from them in ripped up shoes. I glanced down at my sneakers with a sigh. There wasn’t really another option.

Looks like it’s now or never, Liv. I thought, feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety constrict my chest.

Up until the world ended, I wasn’t one for prayer. Growing up in the Bible Belt, you’d think I would have been well versed in religion, but my parents weren’t the type to believe in anything that didn’t make them wealthy or make them look wealthy. One man back at camp claimed God had abandoned us and we were what was left after the rapture took the good ones. Maybe that was true. Maybe there was no God, but when it’s just you and the eerie silence of an empty town, you start asking for guidance from anywhere you can get.

Please God, let there be size five and half boots in there. And please God, don’t let there be raiders in this town. Don’t let there be anyone but little old me.

Prayers sent and parking lot scouted, I took off at the fastest pace I could manage, my backpack slinging back and forth as I went. I wasn’t sure if it kept getting heavier or I kept getting skinnier, but the darn thing nearly toppled me. By the time I reached the glass door my heart was pounding so fast that my head felt light. That was happening a lot more often lately and I couldn’t always blame it on fear.

Please God, let there be a box of granola bars in this shop.

Based on the smashed glass, which I hadn’t noticed from a distance, that was unlikely. This store, like many others I’d passed, was already hit by other travelers, maybe raiders if I was especially unlucky. They always trashed what they didn’t take because, hey, why not? If you’re going to stoop so low you attack fellow humans with blunt objects, knocking over mannequins and lighting useful stuff on fire is only to be expected.

Not ready to give up hope and terribly uncomfortable being so exposed, I ducked through the glass-less bottom half of the door. Shards crunched beneath my sneakers and I winced. There were at least three holes in the soles of each shoe and there was no avoiding the glass. I would have to tip toe and hope nothing large embedded in my skin.

There were no windows in the shop, making the broken door the only source of light. I could easily make out a dusty counter with an open and empty register, two shelves of disturbed fishing rods, and a toppled clothing rack that used to hold hunting attire based on the label. The air inside was stuffy and the place had a dull fish smell to it, likely from bait that was not-so-live anymore.

If someone was in here, the glass skittering under my feet would have immediately alerted them. I held still for three breaths, listening intently for any sign that someone was coming to shoot me and take my stuff. Maybe there was a God after all. No one came for me and as my eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, I spotted a sign marked “shoes.”

In my experience, the first thing people went for in sporting goods stores were the guns. This store was a tiny place in a tiny town and didn’t sell firearms but there were several empty shelves that previously held knives. If not seeking out guns, people usually took anything else they could carry. The boots in the back were picked over, obviously visited by more than one person or group in the past.

On the bright side, my shoe size was small enough that most people couldn’t wear it. Unfortunately, that also meant that retailers in nowhere towns didn’t typically carry it. I’d found that a six was doable if I doubled up on socks but currently, I was lacking in the sock department and it didn’t look like there were any left here.

Just behind the furthest shelf was a door marked “employees only.” Feeling more desperate than brave, I twisted the handle and tested the lock. The door opened with a creak. Inside appeared to be storage shelves, most of which were as disturbed as the rest of the store. It was nearly pitch black in the stock room, but I propped the door open and crept inside anyway.

I’ll be honest, I’m afraid of the dark. Of all the things I’d seen in the end of the world, darkness wasn’t all that bad, but for some reason my brain just went haywire every time the lights were out. Five steps in, I started imagining clowns hiding behind the shelves. Not raiders or creepy cannibals that were hungry enough to eat my flesh, but clowns. If I could go back in time and warn my sixteen-year-old self how many nights I’d be spending alone in the dark, I would have skipped every single one of those horror movies.

I barely managed to stifle a scream when the plastic crate I was reaching for fell off the shelf and dumped shoe boxes on top of me. I definitely got a cardboard cut on my forehead and several on my arms but, because God was real and feeling the love for me today, I found brand stinkin’ new boots in size six. The only pair, too.

It took serious guts, but I pushed myself further into the room in search of socks. Bingo! There was half a crate of wool socks hiding under a bunch of the duck toys used for training hunting dogs. It was tempting to take all of them but even if socks were lightweight, I knew I shouldn’t add too much extra bulk to my pack. These days I was lucky if I found more than a picked over blackberry bush or two. The hungrier I got, the harder it was to carry anything besides my own body.

Once back in the relative safety of the shoe section—and once I’d closed the gaping clown hell door—I sat on the floor and hastily exchanged my ripped up tennis shoes for hiking boots. The fit wasn’t perfect, and I was probably going to have blisters for days. Nothing to be done about it.

The longer I stayed inside the store, the antsier I got. With only one obvious entrance, I was trapped. Despite my nerves, I forced myself to check the back shelves for food or any other useful items. I found a collection of books but sadly none of them detailed wild food or how to identify it, which would have come in real handy. There were dozens of discarded beef jerky, protein bar, and snack mix boxes but not a single one had any food left in them.

I would have felt better if I’d never discovered those boxes. Seeing colorful pictures of food brands that I recognized made my stomach rumble painfully and my mouth water. I needed to get out of here and find somewhere to settle down before nightfall. Then I could worry about sustenance.

The new leather boots were rigid around my ankles and toes, but holy cow did it feel good to walk over that glass without worrying about any of it getting through the holes in my shoe. It was about time something went right.

I was less careful coming out of the store as I was coming in because if someone was watching, there was no way I would avoid their gaze. Once out the door, I powerwalked—running risked using up the rest of my energy for the day and I needed to do some serious hiking to get far enough away from this town—to the tree line and located the road I’d been following for the last three days.

Without a compass or frequent road signs it was hard to say exactly where I was. I was fairly certain that I was still going east or at least east-ish. Based on the way the towns were gradually shrinking and the elevation was rising, I was getting closer to the Cascades. Mountain wilderness would be great for avoiding other people but considering what a poor job I’d done of keeping myself fed on wild food, this didn’t bode well for me.

Not to mention, the weather was getting colder. It was subtle right now, but the sunny, dry days were giving way to cooler and cooler nights. Without a tent or proper clothing there was no way I would even make it through autumn in the mountains.

That didn’t leave too many options. Whether or not I headed back west, I would have to deal with winter. While I might be lucky enough to find more supplies, maybe even some canned food, I risked encountering raiders. Thus far I’d seen signs of others heading this way but most of it looked to be from a single person or small groups. Raiders travelled in numbers and they were quickly overtaking urban areas.

From what I’d seen, many of their groups were pre-existing gangs or younger men with no qualms about committing horrible acts of violence. They swept through cities, towns, and camps like knife wielding locusts, taking whatever—and whoever—they wanted. By now Seattle was probably split up into territories, each maintained by one bloodthirsty raider group or another. Returning to the city was less desirable than freezing to death in the mountains.

East-ish it was then. Sooner or later I would have to come upon a town that hadn’t been abandoned or perhaps another FEMA camp that wasn’t ravaged by raiders. I slipped as far into the trees as I dared, noting that the afternoon sun was already beginning to hint at that golden evening glow. I wasn’t going to make it much farther today. That was the struggle of travelling on foot.

When I wasn’t gathering meager amounts of food or sneaking through towns, I was walking. I couldn’t really say what my goal was with all that walking. Maybe I was headed for the fabled camps in eastern Washington, the ones supposedly untouched by raiders and blessed with wind energy. Maybe I thought if I just walked far enough, I would find some normal place that wasn’t affected by the end of the world and be welcomed by kind strangers. Or maybe I simply wanted to survive and so far, the only way I knew to do that was to keep moving.

I didn’t encounter any berry bushes for the remainder of the day. The invasive Himalayan blackberry proved to be an ally on my journey through the wilderness—when I wasn’t getting painfully tangled in it, anyway—but it seemed to grow scarcer as I neared higher elevations. I picked several dandelion plants throughout the afternoon, chewing the bitter leaves and grimacing. That was hardly enough food to fill my mouth, much less my stomach.

By twilight I was wandering aimlessly, barely aware of the road, feeling lightheaded and like my legs were made of pool noodles. That sprint to and from the store took its toll. Once upon a time I was a cardio-bunny, but my days of track and field were long over. Though I struggled to walk, I forced myself on until I found a patch of evergreen bushes tucked around the back of a Douglas fir. It wasn’t the ideal place to sleep but it would conceal me.

Settling between the bushes with my backpack in my lap, I clenched my jaw in an attempt to ignore the painful emptiness in my gut. I didn’t want to consider what my frail state meant. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I didn’t wake up with enough energy to walk tomorrow. It hadn’t been this bad before. I was hungry, sure, but I never stopped.

Darkness gradually closed in around me and my heart tripped with the familiar terror that accompanied the night. Even with my knees tucked to my chest and my location hidden, I never felt safe. It was going to be another restless sleep, waiting for any sign of a hunting predator or a bold group of raiders. Any of the hope I earned from my successful scavenging trip in the sporting goods store was quickly fading and I found myself praying once again.

Please God, don’t let me starve to death.

 

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2

Yellow-Bellied

 

I fell into a deep sleep for short but blissful hours. While I slept, my brain created a glorious dream of a brightly lit restaurant where I sat eating tray after tray of sushi. I don’t think I even like sushi but when you can’t have everyday things, all that stupid stuff you didn’t give a chance becomes appealing. What if I actually do like sushi and now I’ll never know?

The four other people I ended up sharing a tent with back at camp joined me in a daily whine-fest, listing all of the foods they never tried, places they never travelled, and the expensive shoes they wished they’d bought. We actually had competitions to see who could come up with the best first world-problem. We were still living in the first world. We had infrastructure and a big, rich government. We just had to wait it out. The right person would put the right plan in place and boom, no more power outage.

Our naivety was laughable. No one was prepared for the end of the world.

My back was stiff from sleeping in a fetal position and an all too familiar ache in my joints told me I overdid it yesterday. Fortunately, I was able to get up and move around without passing out—always a good sign when you’re low on sustenance—but the telltale shake in my hands made it clear I needed to make food my biggest priority.

Maybe that was how I got lost. Or maybe in my exhausted haze yesterday I wandered further from the road than I thought. Either way, twenty minutes into my search for any kind of edible berry or dandelion—one of the few wild plants I knew I could eat—I realized that I couldn’t see the road. I tried to backtrack to the tree I slept beneath but I must have been wrong about which direction I came from because another twenty minutes had me standing among totally unfamiliar surroundings.

“Don’t panic, Liv.” I ordered my very much panicking self.

The only reason I managed to make it this far without getting totally lost in the wilderness was following the road. I never found much in terms of supplies, but those few bags of potato chips and soggy fig bars were my saving grace. With no road, how was I supposed to get to eastern Washington if I didn’t know which way was east?

“The sun rises in the east, dummy!”

Duh! Oh. Wait. Or was it the west? Darn, where was Google when you needed it?

I instinctively fingered the back pocket of my jeans where my cell phone used to sit. I was mostly certain the sun rose in the east. Scanning the forests, my eyes found a faint glimmer of light. The sun hadn’t yet crested the tops of the trees, but it was clearly visible through the branches.

Okay, my new plan was to follow the sun. If I kept going east I could find a good camping spot and make markers so that I could explore the area until I found the road again. That would also be an excellent way to look for food. Maybe I’d even come upon an empty house with a full pantry.

Yeah, and maybe I’ll find a unicorn that lets me ride on its back all the way to Disneyland.

“Don’t be sour.” I chided myself. “This is a good plan. This is fine. I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.”

Three hours later—or something like that because how do you even measure hours without a clock?—I was totally not fine. My body ached, the spot where a shoebox hit me in the face throbbed, and I was weaker than I’d ever been. Imagine drinking six cups of coffee on an empty stomach then running up twelve flights of stairs. That was what I felt like just walking slowly through the understory. Earlier I’d found one lone dandelion plant growing in an open patch of sunlight and eaten every single visible part of it, right up to the flower.

All that did was make me feel like vomiting.

I was about to give in to my body’s need to rest and lie down wherever I was standing when I spotted train tracks. Train tracks would intersect with the road and maybe even lead me to a town. This close to the mountains the towns might still be inhabited and well stocked. God, maybe I would even find someone to lend me a bed.

At this point sleeping on a rug would be more comfortable than sleeping against a tree trunk.

Taking a bet and hoping my instincts were correct, I took a right and started following the tracks. I walked as far as I possibly could before the lightheadedness came again. A clearing ringed by ferns and bushes appeared fifty feet from the tracks and I knew I’d found that perfect camp spot for the night. Using my very last scrap of strength, I collected a handful of branches to cover a cozy nook at the base of a maple tree. And cleared the spider webs from the bark, of course. Even in the end of the world, a girl doesn’t want to wake up with spiders in her hair.

It wasn’t the most inconspicuous shelter I’d ever made but it was enough. From there I had the perfect vantage point to see the tracks and the opening in the trees where I’d come in.

Unlike the night before, I didn’t dream. Huddled against my tree, I fell into a heavy, dark sleep and when I woke, I was more than a little afraid that was my first taste of death. Was my body on the brink and only the minuscule calories from yesterday’s dandelion plant kept my weak heart beating? I didn’t see any tunnels made of white light or hear the voices of angels but then again, maybe I really was just another bad one left behind by God.

Dying or not, I decided it would boost morale to change my clothes. I hadn’t done that in almost four days and while all of my clothes were dirty, the ones I picked were cleanest.

I’d successfully washed laundry in a creek before but the few trickles of water I encountered lately were barely enough to fill my bottle. It seemed more prudent to worry about hydration rather than hygiene. Who was around to smell me, anyway?

I was almost finished repacking my bag when I caught sight of movement near the train tracks. I froze, holding my breath and watching with dread as two vaguely man-shaped figures wandered along the tree line.

Once upon a time I was a people person. Totally extroverted, I loved talking to strangers and making new friends. The end of the world broke me of that. I learned the hard way what people were capable of when it was every man for himself.

Of all the things that would get me killed, I never imagined it was my favorite color being yellow. My bag was almost full and I was frantically but cautiously repacking when the men spotted me, no doubt because the shirt under my jacket was mustard yellow and caught the rising sun in a gilded show.

They were a good distance away but I could make out their expressions just fine. They were smiling. It was not a friendly, glad-to-see-someone-else-out-here smile. Bestial excitement glittered in deep set sockets on filthy faces. Even before the world ended, I knew that look. I’d simply been too innocent to recognize when I was prey.

The stakes were lower then. I wasn’t happy about a hand shoved down my shirt or an unwanted pinch on the rump but that was nothing compared to what I saw in these men. We were living in lawless times now and there would be no repercussions for their actions. Remembering that was what got me moving. A quick glance over my shoulder showed they’d increased their pace and were jogging my way.

Unlike me, they didn’t have big packs to weigh them down. They seemed to be dressed for hunting, rifles slung over their shoulders and camo jackets to disguise the upper half of their body. Why only jackets? I wasn’t a hunting expert but the effort seemed useless if any passing wildlife could see their denim clad legs.

What was wrong with me? These men were hunting me and I was wasting precious brain power wondering about their jeans.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” One called after me. “We wanna talk to you!”

I didn’t look where I was going, I just ran. I ran until cool air burned the lining of my lungs and my ears were pounding with blood. I ran until the world around me blurred not from my speed but from dizziness. I was too weak to run much further. What remained of my leg muscles were on fire. I stumbled, twisted an ankle, crashed through branches, scraped against tree trunks.

The men gave chase. They reminded me of starving dogs, ravenous at the sight of a rabbit. Even when I couldn’t see them, I could almost feel their breath on my nape. I heard them too, crashing through the brush with much less effort than me. In the beginning I had a good lead but they were rapidly gaining on me.

They were going to catch me. There was no way out of this.

I thought of the bus then, recalled the swarm of men just like these two. Flashes of blood painted my memory. The gore was far more horrifying than any movie I’d seen. Much more surreal too. The wailing pleas of a woman whose name I couldn’t remember resounded in my skull as I replayed those haunting images. No one would remember her name now. No one would remember mine either. I couldn’t go on any longer. Even if I pushed my body, my brain was failing.

It was literally failing. Starved of nutrients and adequate rest, I struggled to maintain consciousness. The exertion from running took the last crumb of energy I had left and my vision was tilting. My thoughts went from panicked overdrive to a sluggish confusion. Why was I even running? I should let them catch me. Maybe they’d be merciful and kill me quickly. I wouldn’t live anyway. If by some miracle I got away I was still doomed to starve to death. A slow death that I would see coming but could do nothing to prevent.

I’d heard that your life flashes before your eyes when you die but I always thought it would be more mystical, all of my best memories floating by like a dreamy river. Instead I was visited by all of the things I shouldn’t have done. Shouldn’t have argued with my mom the last time we spoke, shouldn’t have said no to the million social events I turned down, shouldn’t have avoided fried food because I was scared to gain weight.

There were the “should haves” too. I should have gone to school in Texas so I could go home to my parents during the blackout. I should have packed better gear when I left my house in Seattle. Should have done something when raiders attacked my group instead of running like a coward—like I was now.

I should have become a gosh darn Girl Scout so I knew how to navigate the woods and find my way east. Then I wouldn’t even be in this mess.

I was deliberating my choices—that last ounce of will to live warring with the fatigued desire to give up—when something darted in front of me. My vision was too far gone for me to identify the dark shape. I skidded to a halt, tumbling forward without my momentum. I shoved my hands out but it was as if they moved in slow motion, unable to catch me before I landed face first in the dirt.

Thirty seconds passed before I managed to lift my head. My gaze met a mouthful of sharp teeth. Just above those curled lips and fangs was a shimmering wet nose and a snout carpeted in silky black fur. At first, I thought it was a bear. Then my eyes focused enough for me to realize it was a dog; the biggest dog I’d ever seen. Probably bigger than me.

Men behind me, a dog—maybe dogs—in front of me, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. Dogs could be harmless and sad, looking like some starving, wet mess from an SPCA commercial after their people died or left them. They could also be vicious predators. Packs of dogs roamed the roads and claimed territory near previously inhabited areas. I’d seen them from a distance—even saw a rather gory dog fight once—but had thankfully been able to avoid them.

A dog, much like a person, was a wild card. Would they wag their tail only to bite you when you got too close? Would they surround you and attack you from all sides? Would they eat you? Okay, I was pretty sure people hadn’t devolved into cannibalism—yet—but the same couldn’t be said for dogs.

The canine rumbled a low growl. A gruff sound followed, almost like the noise the dog made but unmistakably human. I raised my gaze past the dog and saw a man looming over me. He was the biggest man I’d ever seen. From my position on the ground he appeared implausibly tall, a dense tree trunk carved into the shape of a person.

Actually, he could have been a walking tree. Unlike my pursuers, this man was dressed head to toe in camouflage. Even the lower half of his face was covered with some tree colored cloth. Inky hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. That was the only human part of him I could make out beside dusky eyes, barely visible under furrowed black brows.

Taking a gamble, I lifted pleading eyes to the monstrous stranger. “Please, help me.” My voice was a raspy croak. It sounded like death.

There were thundering footsteps behind me and two rapid cracking sounds ringing in my ears, a storm coming to climax right above me. Then I was sinking, my head falling to the cool earth, my body becoming oddly weightless. The sensation was confusing, like floating on air and slowly dropping to the bottom of a lake all at once.

Distantly, I wondered if this was what dying felt like. 

 

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3

Axe Man

There were birds singing. In the forest there were almost always birds singing. At one point I thought the sound was beautiful. Eventually, I began to feel as if the birds were mocking me. What was so thrilling that they had to tweet about it all day? The world was ending, a crushing weight that grew heavier and heavier until my body threatened to buckle.

I became conscious of the feel of my body and realized that the weight was gone. I was cozy, all the aches and pains easing as I rested on the softest surface I’d felt in…God, how long had it been since I’d been in a bed?

There was warmth too, gentle and subtle on my face. Now that I was rousing, I could hear the quiet crackling of a fire. That delicious mingling of aromatic smoke with damp summer air invoked nostalgia for a childhood I didn’t have, one spent roasting marshmallows over a campfire and sleeping under the stars. My parents wouldn’t be caught dead in a tent and they hated going anywhere with bugs.

There were other smells, layers of scent that painted a million possible surroundings in my mind. The zesty hint of fresh cut wood danced with cinnamon and a mix of herbs that reminded me of a new age herb shop—the ones that sell incense, crystals, and artsy glass bongs. Beneath that was the delicate aroma of flowers, not sweet and floral like a perfume but earthy like a botanical garden.

I hesitantly pried my eyes open. Dim light danced over dark blurs with fuzzy outlines. I blinked lethargic lids until finally—yes, thank God—my sight sharpened. I was staring at a wall. It held no paintings or windows, only aging grey-brown boards. I shifted my gaze to a cherry wood nightstand. The piece was weathered, like an antique that someone found at a garage sale but hadn’t restored.

I moved my gaze the other direction—at least as far as I could from my resting position. I was too afraid to raise my head yet. It felt heavy enough to snap my neck. And I didn’t know where I was or who I was with. I wasn’t ready to alert them that I was awake.

There was a door on the far side of the wall. It was at the very edge of my peripherals so I only caught a glimpse of it. If not for the worn brass handle I could have mistaken in for another wall panel. Was that the way out? I should probably make note.

I rolled from my side to my back with way more exertion than it should have taken. The ceiling above me, as old and weary as the walls, tapered down from a peak. Firelight flickered across the beams, causing my eyes to lose focus again. I lowered my chin to my chest so I could look at myself instead.

A patchwork quilt covered my legs. The squares were varying shades of fading blue, some decorated with embroidered flowers. Very homey and not what I expected to wake up to after running through the woods to escape raiders. Past my feet was the end of a wooden bedframe. It was crafted out of small logs, one of those furniture accents usually featured in kitschy vacation cabins with deer heads on the wall.

There was nothing kitschy about this space. The rustic appearance felt too real to be intentional. The place seemed like it fell together that way organically. A country home assembled one piece of old wood at a time.

Just beyond the foot of the bed, I noticed him. The low light almost hid the small dining table. It couldn’t hide the man seated in the chair furthest from me. His hulking shape filled the room, drawing my attention not only because of his imposing presence but because he made the table look comically small. The shadows in the room seemed to gravitate toward him, making his unruly head of black hair and matching beard into a shade of midnight. The darkness clung to his already reticent features, painting his face in shadowy mystery.

How long was I unconscious with him staring at me like that? The strained, clumsy ticking in my brain built up into a whirring of anxiety. Anything could have happened while I was blacked out. A hand slipped over my legs and stomach found my clothing intact. That didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t come off at some point but surely there would be some sign of that.

I dragged that same hand up to touch my hair. It was dry. There was a steady drizzle when I ran from the clearing and my hair had been damp for hours before that.

Okay, so I’d been here for more than an hour. I swallowed. My throat was scratchy and dry. Up until the clearing I’d done a good job of staying hydrated. Water kept my energy up and filled my complaining stomach. I was thirsty now but not painfully so. That gave me a window of time that fit within four or five hours. Unless he gave me something to drink and I forgot. Or he gave me something that would make me forget.

Somehow, I doubted a man that big would need to use anything if he wanted to…yeah, not going to complete that thought.

My eyes finally lowered to the contents of my backpack, neatly laid out on the table before him. Even my collection of tampons were sorted into an organized pile with the other bathroom items. Pretty methodical for a guy who looked like he might behead a hiker with an axe.

Apparently, he was waiting for me to wake. At least, that was why I imagined he was staring right at me with unblinking intensity. That or I was wrong about cannibalism and he was deciding if I had enough meat on my bones.

I gulped down my apprehension and did my best to sit up. Even that was enough to make my head spin. The man tensed as if I was about to leap out of bed and attack him. An odd clicking resounded off the wooden floor and then a huge dog rounded the corner of the bed, growling viciously.

“Kuna!” The man growled a warning back at the dog. The rough grate of his voice almost made me jump out of my skin. That dark gaze never left me. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” Fear clawed at my throat, making it feel raw. I was going to lose it if I didn’t chill out.

“Water?”

I gaped at him helplessly before squeaking out another “Yes. Please.”

Now that I wasn’t face first in the dirt, both man and dog weren’t quite as big as I’d initially observed. He rose from his chair to retrieve a cup from a cabinet, proving that not as big was still darn big. Like taller than any man I’d ever met by half a foot with at least fifty pounds more bulk than the bulkiest. And with all that black hair, I’m surprised I hadn’t mistook him for a black bear.

There was a rushing sound when his back was to me, one I hadn’t heard indoors in a year or more. Running water. He had running water! Where was I and who the heck was this guy? I instinctively flinched away when he stalked from the kitchen to place the full glass on the nightstand. His brows pinched in a harsh frown and I flinched again.

“Thanks.” I murmured. He grunted and returned to the kitchen, his hips resting casually against the counter. I took the glass with shaking hands and swallowed as big a sip as I dared.

“When was the last time you ate?” It was more accusation than question, as if I’d been starving myself for the fun of it.

“Oh, I don’t know. Yesterday, maybe.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it trembled as much as my hands. I took another sip of water in an attempt to gain some composure.

“You’re malnourished.”

“I figured.”

“Olivia Sophia Bryant.” I sat up a little more to see he was holding my driver’s license.

It was probably silly to keep it. My wallet and cell phone too. The phone had been dead for over a year and the sixty bucks in cash was worthless. They were little tokens of faith, my hope that someday they might mean something again. I didn’t really care if the money had value or if any of those stupid apps on my phone still worked. It was the security of a future that was like the past I knew.

It wasn’t a perfect life. I didn’t have great friends and there was no boyfriend that might be thinking of me from somewhere far away. My parents probably presumed me dead and had come to terms with it, if they weren’t dead themselves. Still, I liked that life. I was going to make something of it.

That life was gone now. Olivia Bryant was dead. She withered away out in those woods and someone new took her place. I didn’t know this girl yet, had no idea what to expect from her. It’s a wild thing, becoming a new person. I had to be different if I was going to survive the end of the world. And I was going to start by growing a backbone.

“Only my father calls me Olivia and only when I’m in trouble. It’s Liv.” I sat up as straight as I could, shoulders back, fragile chest puffed out.

“Can you get up?” He ignored my response.

“Yes.” I said knowing full well that I probably couldn’t.

He crossed his arms, his raised brows daring me to prove it. His face wasn’t as harsh without that frown. That wasn’t to say he was friendly looking. With a face that square and rigid, it was nearly impossible for him to appear any way other than dour. The thick beard that covered the lower half of his face and stretched down to the top of his Adam’s apple made his jawline seem even broader. Those murky eyes were lighter without the shadow of a scowl, more of a cocoa brown than dark umber.

I heaved myself out of bed with a stifled groan. For a second I wobbled there dizzily before steadying myself. My walk to the table was more of a shamble and I had to brace myself on the wall twice. Just about every part of me hurt. My knees ached, my legs were sore, and my ribs smarted with each subtle shift of my torso. The skin from my collarbone to my sternum was burning but I was too scared to look down and see the damage from my run and the resulting tumble to the ground.

My axe murderer friend studied me as I made my journey into the kitchen, his face showing nothing but unimpressed displeasure. After a treacherous and snail-paced journey to the table, I had to catch my breath before pulling out a shockingly heavy wooden chair. I tried to hide my exhausted panting when I lowered myself into the seat across from him.

Up close, his eyes reminded me of a perfect mug of hot chocolate. How could a man with hot chocolate eyes be frightening? With that lethal scowl, that was how. No amount of melted chocolatey goodness could make up for the hard edge that practically cut the air between us.

It didn’t help that he had so much hair. His collar length black locks made him look wild, almost feral. He reminded me of those rugged men who wander out of the city to spend the rest of their days alone in a cave in the mountains. By the looks of it, he kind of was. Only difference was he lived in a shack instead of cave.

“Your friends are dead.”

I gaped at him, completely clueless as to how to respond to that. “What an awful thing to say to a person. Did you kidnap me just to make me feel bad? What’s next? Are you going to tell me my parents didn’t love me?”

Now he was the one slack jawed. “I didn’t kidnap you.”

“I didn’t think so either but now I’m second guessing myself because you’re glaring at me like a scary murderer and reminding me that most of my friends are probably dead.” I chewed my lip.

“A scary murderer? How fucking old are you?” He shook his head. “You asked for my help.”

“I did but I was half sure you were a walking tree and I was hallucinating. I hadn’t realized you would be so rude.”

“I’m not—” he bared his teeth. Feral man. “Stop changing the subject. You can’t distract me that easily.” Rough fingers scratched a familiar line through his beard. “Were you willing bait? Did they offer you something in return? Food? Shelter? Protection?”

It felt like we were having two different conversations. “Look, Mister…what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Fine. Here’s the thing, beard boy. I have no clue what you’re talking about. Bait? Bait for what? Who are ‘they?’ I’m truly grateful that you helped me, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe you’ve confused me with someone else. Are you sure it wasn’t another starving blonde lady lost in the woods that you’re thinking of? I mean, we can’t be that rare.” What was I saying? Why was I arguing with a potential axe murderer? Part of me felt I should be demurely thanking him and hunching down in the chair, but it seemed pointless. I was trapped in his house, God only knew where. My chances of survival were as good here as they were out there.

“You’re telling me that you didn’t know those men? They just happened to chase you into my woods? And you just happened to run into me while running away from them?”

“Sounds about right.” I nodded. “And for the record, they’re not your woods.”

“My property, my woods.”

“Who’s going to enforce private property laws now?”

He propped a meaty hand on the butt of a gun holstered on his belt. “Me.” That was about as close to a threat as I wanted to get.

“I realize that it does seem highly suspect that our paths crossed in the middle of nowhere while I was trying to escape raiders but I promise you, it’s purely coincidental. If anything, I should be the one suspicious of you. I’ve gone weeks without seeing a single person and suddenly I encounter three men in one instance? How do I know you weren’t working with them to herd me into a trap so you could go all Donner Party on me?”

“I don’t even know what the hell to say to that.” He rested his elbows on the counter behind him, relaxed body language warring with his brusque tone. “First of all, fuck those assholes. Second, is that what you think raiders do? Eat people?” He pursed his lips, considering. “You haven’t actually seen raiders eating people, have you?”

“No. It just seems like something people might do in the end of the world. At my hungriest, I can’t say with absolute certainty I wouldn’t have eaten a fellow traveler.” I wrinkled my nose. “On second thought, I couldn’t do it. Gross.”

“Are you crazy? Did I bring a crazy person into my house?” He seemed like he was asking himself more than me.

I answered anyway. “I think I’m doing pretty swell in the mental health department, all things considered. On a scale of chill to psycho, I fall right about at the hungry squirrel mark.”

Silence thickened the air around him like fog, not just uncomfortable but a bit suffocating too. Dark eyes were shadowed by even darker brows, making his brown irises into black wells. They were terrifying and mesmerizing. It was only when the expression turned from scrutinizing to menacing that I realized I was staring at him. Staring at him staring at me.

“Okay, Squirrel.” I jumped when he spoke. “What story do you expect me to believe?”

My nerves returned with trembling hands. What happened if he didn’t believe me? “What part of the story do you want? It’s a long one.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“You brought me here.”

“What were you doing in my woods?” He was quickly losing his patience, I could tell. For some reason that only made me want to prod more.

“Maybe you should consider putting up a sign, since you’re so sensitive about the whole woods thing.” When he growled like his dog, I decided to not to push my luck and answered. “I was following the railroad tracks. Figured they might take me near a town where I could get some food.”

“Nothing left around here. If there is, you’ll have to fight off raiders to get to it. Don’t seem like you’re in any shape for fighting.” His next stretch of silence was contemplative, but it didn’t make me any less uncomfortable.

I did my best to smile. “So, I’m Liv. What’s your name?”

“Were you with anyone?” He ignored me again.

“No, I’m single. I played the field but I guess I just never found the one.” Since when was I so snarky?

“Other people. A group. Were you traveling with anyone?” His volume rose. I had to flex my weak muscles to keep from ducking away from the roughness of his words.

“No. I was alone.” I shrugged. “You going to tell me your name yet?”

“Why do you care?” The creases on his forehead sunk deeper, almost completely obscuring his eyes.

“I’d like to know the name of the man that saved my life.” I swear he recoiled at the sentence.

He considered, jaw flexing and shoulders tense. I’d never met anyone that felt threatened by pleasantries before. “Joshua.” It was more grunt than word.

“Nice to meet you, Joshua.” If saying that he saved my life made him uncomfortable, hearing his name on my tongue was downright painful.

“This all you got? You got a camp somewhere?” And we were back to the interrogation.

I waved my hands with a flourish, putting on my best game show host voice. “This is all of my worldly possessions.”

My enthusiasm fell flat when I actually looked at the contents of my pack strewn before me. I was more prepared for a weekend getaway than surviving in the wilderness. There was a stainless steel water bottle, a beach towel, colorful leggings, flowy yoga pants with some tribal pattern, a collection of t-shirts, many of which were pink and yellow, a purple and white striped bikini, piles of underwear, a new package of hair bands, a handful of tampons, two tubes of sunscreen, and four pairs of sunglasses.

Both of us stopped on the sunglasses at the same time. I shrugged and explained, “Sunglasses break easily and they were the least picked over item in gas stations.”

None of the items were useless but few of them had proven to be particularly useful either. The tampons were quickly becoming a precious resource but I hadn’t gotten my period in…shoot, I couldn’t even remember. Otherwise, I hadn’t used much else recently. Bathing took too much energy and walking in the trees, I didn’t usually need sunscreen or glasses. The leggings and shirts only served as layers and they were poor layers at that.

I was doing this survival thing all wrong.

“This your only weapon?” He raised one hand above the table and waggled my folding knife. I hadn’t even noticed it was missing from my pocket.

“Other than my samurai sword? Yup.” I tapped my pointer finger on the table. “I’d hardly call that a weapon, though.”

“It could be if you had the skills to use it.”   

“I didn’t exactly have time to teach myself knife fighting. I was kind of busy trying to survive.”

“You weren’t doing a very good job.”

“Did you rescue me just to insult me?”

“You need to eat.” He ignored me—again—and gave me his back. It was only when he yanked open the door to a tiny fridge that I realized what it was. Running water and a fridge? A working fridge?

“How do you have electricity?”

“Same way I’ve always had electricity.”

I waited but he didn’t give me anything more than that sarcastic quip. Since he was preoccupied and apparently not concerned with what I was doing, I took the time to repack my bag.

Joshua watched me in his peripherals as he added something to a hefty cast iron skillet and clanged it onto a stove by the sink. The stove was black and metallic and took up a quarter of the kitchen. Just like the nightstand by the bed, it looked like some antique thing that desperately needed a polishing. How did it even work? I understood when he opened a groaning hatch beneath the burners and added a handful of wood strips. It was a wood burning stove. I didn’t know anyone still used those.

Was I rescued by a pioneer? He lived in a wooden shack—probably built by hand—and cooked his food over a fire. I didn’t realize people like him were real. Except for maybe Amish people. Joshua didn’t look Amish. He was wearing Levi’s and a grey flannel and he had a hunting knife strapped to his belt.

And a gun.

Somehow, I doubted Amish people carried guns. Oh, and duh, they didn’t use electricity. Then again, no one used electricity these days. No one but Joshua. He was growing more mysterious by the minute.

He didn’t say a single word when he was finished questioning me, which left me to stare at him in as he cooked. He didn’t come across as a kindhearted stranger but so far, he hadn’t leered at me either. On the creepy scale he was more “murder you because you’re disturbing his peace and quiet” than “follow you home at night and climb through your window.”

Not exactly the most reassuring assessment.

“You’re too skinny.” I couldn’t say what kind of man Joshua was just yet, but he was definitely a pro at breaking quiet spells with rude comments.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

A familiar smell wafted from the stove to hang in the air. Though I hadn’t eaten a significant meal in days, maybe longer, the scent of whatever food he prepared made my stomach turn. I wrinkled my nose in recognition when he scraped greasy brown lumps out of the pan. “Um, no thanks. I’m a vegetarian.”

Joshua snorted derisively and set the plate of meat on the table in front of me with a clatter. “That’s why you’re so scrawny.”

I pouted. “You’re kind of mean.”

“And you’re whiny.” He snapped back.

“I am not!” I whined.

A minute ticked by and I made no move to touch the plate. I glanced up in a cautious survey of his features. He was scowling. When I crossed my arms and leaned back, he mirrored the movement. I was playing with fire, I knew that, but what better way to get a gauge on the type of person Joshua was? By his expression he was definitely an impatient type. Would that impatience lead to rage? Violence? Not the best idea to provoke him but if I knew what I was up against, I could decide if I needed to try for an escape.

Another minute passed. My stomach growled painfully but it was drowned out by Joshua’s angry noises as he crouched to dig through the cabinet closest to him. There was a series of scuffling sounds and a curse word I wasn’t sure I’d even heard before, then the cabinet door slammed. I heard the click and scrape of a can opener, then Joshua thumped a dented can of black beans in front of me. Liquid sloshed over the side and onto the table.

“It’s cold.” I complained, though mostly to judge how upset he actually was.

“And all the meals you’ve eaten until this point were hot and fresh, I’m sure.” He threw his hands up. “If you quit bitchin’ and eat that damn rabbit it might still be hot.”

“That was a rabbit?”

He fixed me with a look of pure contempt. I pushed the plate of meat in his direction. He caught it, glared at me some more, then pinched a piece of meat between his fingers and plopped it into his mouth.

His mustache wiggled back and forth when he chewed. It was so odd and fascinating to watch, like a living carpet on his face that moved in its own rhythm. Suddenly I was giggling, my own laughter a foreign sound to my ears. I guess I was finally losing it after all of that time alone.

“You are crazy.”

“Probably.” I covered my mouth with two fingers but more quiet sounds of amusement tickled their way out of my throat anyway. Joshua frowned—big shocker—and took another piece of meat. As soon as he bit down I was chortling again. Now he looked more confused than anything else.

“Eat.” He nodded at the can.

I heaved a dramatic sigh and brought a small spoonful to my mouth. The beans were cold and bland but I was hungry. So unbearably hungry. I’d gotten past the point where my stomach hurt. There was just a pit in my gut where hunger used to be. Before I knew it, the can was empty and I was instinctively scanning the table for extra food.

“More?” Joshua asked quietly. I was so fixated on the beans that I hadn’t noticed him watching me. My ravenous frenzy was embarrassing.

Not embarrassing enough that I didn’t eagerly nod. “Please.”

He turned back to the counter. A minute later he was serving bread with a tray of butter and a jar of jam. My mouth started to water.

“Why didn’t you start with the bread and jam?”

“Protein.”

“Did you bake this yourself?” I picked up a piece of bread and inhaled. Crumbs dotted my upper lip and nose. Joshua wasn’t quite frowning anymore but there was definitely not a smile on his face. That lack of hostility was good enough for me. I grinned at him, much more genuine than before.

“Yup.”

“And the jam?”

“Homemade too.”

“Where did you get butter?” I eyed the creamy stuff warily. It was wetter than I remembered butter being.

“Butter comes from the goats.” He explained, returning to his seat.

“Goats? You have goats? Are you a farmer?” I left out the word “Amish” because I wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask.

“Something like that.”

“Can I meet them? The goats I mean? I’ve only ever seen goats in a petting zoo. Well, through the fence of a petting zoo. I wasn’t allowed to actually pet them because goats are dirty and my mother hated dirty.” I was oversharing. Side effect of spending too much time alone.

“Maybe. Eat.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?” I started smearing butter on a slice of bread. Now that I knew where it came from, I swore I could smell the goat.

“Don’t have anything to say.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. Are you out here all alone?”

“Why are you asking?” The suspicion returned in full force.

“I’m making conversation.”

“Or you’re gathering information.”

“Usually when you get to know someone you are technically collecting information on them. It sounds unfriendly when you say it like that.” I shrugged at him and started buttering another piece of bread. The goat butter was different but I was dumping on so much jam I could hardly taste it.

“Why are you asking?” He repeated.

“Sorry, I was only curious. I didn’t see anyone else here and there’s only one bed, so I assumed you live by yourself. Seems lonely, not having anyone to talk to. I haven’t had anyone to talk to for months.” I explained, trying to sound innocent.

“How did you end up in my forest?”

I set the half-eaten slice of bread back on the plate and looked down. I really didn’t want to revisit those memories just then. Or ever. “I was running from those men.”

“Before that?”

“I got separated from my group when we were following the interstate. I was trying to go east. That’s where my group was headed.”

“Thought you said you didn’t have a group.”

“I don’t. Not anymore.” I snapped, though I felt like a housecat hissing at a lion. I was surprised that I’d even been brave enough to add the sharp edge to my voice.

“How did you get separated?”

Separated was a terribly tame word for what happened. “We stopped to camp. Raiders attacked. They had knives, big ones, like the ones that people use to cut open coconuts.” I picked at the crust of the bread and tried to think about the way a knife like that looked cutting a fresh coconut on the beach instead of the arm of a man attempting to ward off an attack.

“Machetes?”

“I think so.”

“How many men?”

“I don’t know.”

“Estimate.” He demanded.

“Fifteen?”

“How far from here?” He was doing a good job of hiding it, but he seemed alarmed.

“I-I don’t know.” I stammered. I saw him preparing to snap the question again so I quickly gave another answer. “We were still close to Seattle. Maybe forty miles out of the city? Far from here. I’ve been through countless towns since then.”

“When did this happen?” Joshua crossed his arms and leaned back, relaxing slightly.

“It’s hard to say. I lost track of time. Four months. Or maybe six? I couldn’t keep up with the days.” I rubbed my hands over my face to ease the dread that prickled in my stomach when I recalled losing my group and the months that followed.

“And your group? How many?”

I recounted every face and name I could until I had a number. “There were twenty-four of us. We all fit on one bus.”

“How did you get away?”

“I was using the bathroom in the bushes when I saw the men coming and I ran.” It wasn’t like I could have helped. That didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. “I left them.” Seemed like ever since the blackout, all I’d been doing was running away.

“That was the smart thing to do.”

“I guess.” I took another bite of bread to distract my mouth and keep my lip from giving away how close I was to tears. I wouldn’t cry in front of Joshua. He already thought I was weak. I had to prove him wrong.

“Why were you going east?”

“We heard there were more camps further east. Bigger ones with power and food. I think we were headed for Yakima or the Tri-Cities.”

“You think?”

“I was just following everyone else. I didn’t know what to do.”

He huffed like he didn’t expect any better of me. “Why were you looking for other camps?”

“Ours was destroyed. It started as a riot. People were shot. All the supplies were stolen or ruined. One of the National Guard guys helped my group escape with a few crates of packaged food and—what do they call those?—oh, right, MREs, some water, and fuel. We took a school bus from a nearby high school.” I closed my eyes and recalled that day. I heard the pop of gunshots, remembered wondering why fireworks were going off. I thought it was a celebration. I thought maybe the power was coming back on.

“You got any family?”

“My parents are in Texas.”

“You didn’t head south to meet them.”

“No, it appears I didn’t.”

“You don’t like them?” That hardly seemed like useful information.

“Is that any of your business?”

“Is it your business to ask if I’m alone out here?” He countered.

“Touché, big man.” I puffed a hot breath and finished my slice of bread. “I like my parents just fine. Not enough to walk twenty-five hundred miles only to find they’ve left home. There’s no point in looking for people when we can’t communicate. I might walk south and they might travel north and we’d pass each other on the same mission.” And I knew that they would never come looking for me. They might not even be relieved to see me if I made the perilous journey and showed up on their doorstep.

Joshua seemed satisfied with that answer. He didn’t ask any other questions, only finished the meat on his plate, watched me finish my bread, and said “You need a bath.”

“I’m too skinny and now I stink? Gee, you’re delightful.”

The look I got was the type of exasperation that led to murder, I was sure of it. “I’ll get the water ready. No more food. Need to let your body get used to eating again.”

There was a long silence that gave me ample opportunity to argue. I don’t know why I had the urge to because he was right, I really needed a bath. Part of me wanted to disagree with him because I felt powerful when I did. Being defiant annoyed him but it didn’t earn me any of the awful retaliation I anticipated from a man like Joshua.

Well, I couldn’t really say that, could I? I didn’t know much about him yet but I was pretty sure there weren’t any other men like Joshua.