Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Oh, hey Mom?” Rabbit trots over, her long black ponytail swinging.
I glance up. “Yeah?”
She has the broom again, leaning on it as she comes into view. My daughter might be more excited about this new home than I am, and she was too young for reading when the Before hit. Rabbit says she was about five or six when I found her, which makes her about fourteen now. She’ll get her period any day now, and it’s something I’m dreading, and not just because period supplies are hell to find.
I’m not ready for my baby girl to grow up.
Rabbit blows a lock of hair out of her sweaty face. “I forgot I had something to tell you earlier. I think someone lives across the parking lot. In the sporting goods store.”
My body immediately goes cold, flooding with panic. The urge to grab our things and run sweeps over me, and I have to hold myself still, not show my daughter the fear her words automatically trigger. I inhale deeply a few times, carefully putting my book down.
We’re not in a fort any longer. We’re safe. There are places we can go if we need to run. We’re not trapped with a bunch of terrible people behind walls.
“A neighbor?” I ask, and my tone manages to stay even and not wobble. “What makes you say that?”
She gestures at the parking lot. “I saw a lot of cats.”
I exhale, the tension in my body leaving. Thank god. If that’s all it is, I will count my blessings. “That doesn’t mean anything. There might be a mama cat nearby with her babies in one of these old buildings.”
“No, Mom, I mean there were a LOT of cats. Like dozens.” Her expression brightens. “You think we could have one?”
“I wish we could, but you know how impossible it is. They’re meat eaters and we barely feed ourselves as it is.” I can’t even remember the last time Rabbit and I had fresh meat.
“Yeah, but there’s a creek nearby and maybe we could fish for them?” The pleading look on her face makes me ache. “A kitten would be amazing, and it won’t take up much space.”
“And what’s the kitten going to eat on the days we can’t catch fish, Rabbit? Stale corn cakes like us?” We’ve been eating corn cakes for the last month, the dregs of our supplies. I’ve tried not to think about how low we are on food because we’re always low on food. We always manage to figure something out, but cats have very specific diet needs.
Her face falls and for a moment, Rabbit looks like my little baby Everleigh again, with her thick dark hair and gorgeous hazel eyes framing round, chubby cheeks. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine. Those round cheeks fall, her expression one of pure sadness. “I just miss Boomer, that’s all.”
Our dog. Good old Boomer. He was a mutt and the most loyal sweetheart. He also got into everything and nosed one too many snakes. He’s been gone a year now and I still miss the weight of him against my legs in bed. I felt safe with Boomer at our side. People will mess with two women alone, but two women with a big dog makes them pause.
I can’t show Rabbit how much I miss Boomer, too. “I know, baby. Maybe we’ll run into someone with puppies at some point. At least they can eat corn.”
“I guess.” She eyes the parking lot again, and I can tell she’s still thinking about the kittens.
I’m going to think about the cats and the fear of a potential neighbor, too. At least until I check things out and make sure everything’s all right. “I’ll check the nearby buildings first thing in the morning, okay? You need to stay in here until I confirm that it’s safe.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“You got your knife?”
“Right here.” She pats the sheath on her hip. “But they’re just cats.”
“And a possible neighbor, like you said. Got your bear spray, too?”
This time she rolls her eyes at me. “Always.”
“Good girl.” I open my book again, force myself to find my paragraph again. “First thing in the morning and I’ll check out the situation.”
It had better be nothing. I’ll be so brokenhearted (and pissed) if there’s nomads camping somewhere nearby. I’m tired of traveling, tired of looking for the perfect spot to settle down. I want a home again.
CHAPTER 2
DAKOTA
The next morning, I load my crossbow, strap my knives and my bear spray to my belt, and kiss my daughter’s forehead. “Stay inside until I come back, all right? And if I don’t come back by dark, I want you to grab your things and head for the nearest fort.”
Part of me expects her to roll her eyes at how dramatic I am, but this is a child that’s grown up in the After. She knows when to be playful and when to be serious. Rabbit nods and hugs me tightly, watching me head out the repaired front door and into the bright morning sunlight.