Page 5 of Brood (After the End #5)

Chapter Two

Sitting up straight in bed, I blink as I look around, confused and disoriented. The room is bigger than it should be.

And I’m not alone.

The events of the previous day hit in a rush of realization. With a sharp breath, I peer at the other bed. The lights have started illuminating dimly with the gradual morning wake-up sequence.

Will’s shape is visible beneath the covers, and his dark hair and beard stand out against the white bedding. “I’m awake. You can turn on the lights.”

I reach over to the switch above my nightstand to turn on my bedside light, adjusting it to gold. Will hasn’t sat up yet, but he’s watching me from his pillow.

Unsurprisingly, I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“What time do you start work?” I ask him.

“Not until six. You can use the bathroom and get ready first.” He sounds polite, but he’s as unsmiling as he was yesterday.

He definitely hasn’t warmed up overnight.

Since he suggested it, I don’t question this reasonable plan. I stand, sucking in a small gasp at the pang of discomfort between my legs.

The aftermath of his penis stretching my vagina last night.

When I shoot a quick glance back at Will, his eyes are narrowed on my face. “You hurt?”

“No. Of course not.” Frowning, I make my way to the bathroom, struggling not to limp just slightly.

He must think I’m a complete incompetent. Or else he believes his penis to be such a powerful appendage that it renders all females forever changed in its wake.

Neither is true.

I’m fine this morning. And his penis is a penis.

Its only worthwhile use, as far as I’m concerned, is getting me pregnant.

Maybe I already am.

With that hopeful thought in mind, I rush through my morning routine, going to the bathroom and then washing up quickly before I get dressed. We’re only allowed one shower of ten minutes each day, and I save mine for after I exercise, so in the mornings I clean up with a washcloth instead.

I’m finishing the braid in my hair when I step out into the room.

Will has sat up, but he’s staring at the floor. His shoulders are slightly hunched.

“Okay, I’m done,” I say, processing a flicker of empathy. He looks burdened. Stressed. He’s probably missing Vanessa. My voice is gentler as I continue. “I’ll see you later today. I know it’s adjustment and not what either of us expected, but I’m sure we can make this work.”

He straightens. His eyes are narrowed in what looks like a glare. He doesn’t say anything.

“All right, then,” I say, irrationally hurt by the rebuff.

I finish tying off my braid as I leave, and I have to run to arrive in the kitchen exactly as the bell chimes the beginning of my five-o’clock shift.

* * *

It’s not until after eight that I get the chance to chat with Bella. We’ve finished preparing the egg wraps for breakfast, and there’s always a lull before we really get going on lunch rations.

I’m sorting through the selection of vegetables brought up earlier by the agricultural crew when Bella comes over to sit beside me. “So, how was it?”

Since I’m focusing on beans and squash, I’m momentarily confused. “What?”

“Last night. How was it?”

“Oh.” A self-conscious heat rises into my cheeks, but I don’t know why. Bella and I have always talked about everything. “It was fine.”

She arches her eyebrows.

“It was. Everything worked as it’s supposed to work.”

She snickers. “What a way to describe it. How did you feel about it? Did it hurt or anything?”

“No, no. He…he made sure I was ready. He knows what he’s doing with intercourse, so it went fine. If we keep it up, there’s no reason we won’t be able to make a baby.”

I’m not sure why she’s searching my face the way she is, like she’s seeking signs of something. I look back at her evenly.

“Okay,” she says at last, relaxing her scrutiny. “I’m glad it went fine. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns about anything. Or if he starts doing it in a way that hurts.”

“He didn’t hurt me at all.”

“So you’re getting along pretty well, then?”

“Uh, no. I wouldn’t say that. He’s not mean. He’s just not…not friendly. It’s not like it would be with Danny. We like each other and can have a good time together. Will is…not like that.”

Bella frowns. “Well, give it some time. He might loosen up once he gets used to things.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

“No time wasting!” The clipped voice from behind us is such a surprise we jerk and straighten up.

It’s Monica. Our new kitchen supervisor. Vanessa’s replacement, transferred over from housekeeping. She’s in her early thirties, and she has a sharp, pinched look I’m convinced has more to do with her personality than her physical appearance.

She’s no Vanessa. I don’t like her at all.

“We’re sorting through the vegetables so I can decide the recipe for lunch,” I explain, making sure to sound mild and not as defensive as I feel.

She always makes me feel like a naughty child.

“It takes two of you to do that?”

“Having another set of eyes is helpful,” I say calmly. “Bella in particular helps so I can balance out the nutrition from the beginning.”

This is only partially true, but it’s close enough to make me feel like I’m not telling my supervisor a lie.

“I see.” Monica’s narrow lips are still pursed in a disapproving expression. “Keep the socializing to a minimum. We’re here to work. Not boast about one’s new spouse.”

I blink. Then blink again. She ignores my obvious surprise and moves away from us to micromanage the packagers.

“What?” I turn toward Bella with wide eyes.

She’s spilling over with stifled amusement.

I make a hushing gesture, fighting laughter but not wanting us to get in trouble again. “She’s not… I mean, she can’t be…” I can’t even get the words out.

“Jealous,” Bella confirms in an almost-soundless murmur. “I think she was hoping to get paired with Will herself.”

Monica’s spouse died last year, and she hasn’t gotten another one yet.

Although it’s hard for me to imagine anyone would want her, that’s not a factor in finding a spouse.

She’s either not a genetic match for any available man, or she’s no longer fertile.

Neither of those things is under her control. I’m sure that must be hard for her.

But still. The last thing I was doing was bragging about getting stuck with a much older man with the personality of a concrete wall.

* * *

After my morning shift, I eat lunch, exercise for an hour, and then return to our quarters so I can shower, re-dress, and rest before my afternoon shift starts at four.

I put on clean clothes. Then I pull on my socks but not my shoes. Often, I’ll go to the Meadow for the afternoon, but people always try to talk to me there, and I feel more like being by myself today.

I pull up the book I’ve been reading on my tablet and stretch out on one of the lounges in the living area.

The Refuge has a carefully cultivated catalog appropriate for common reading.

Those books are freely available on our tablets.

There is a large room that houses physical editions from before the War, but we’re required to get council approval to borrow and read those.

Many of them have questionable content and dubious philosophical foundations, so I’ve never tried despite my curiosity.

Today, I’m rereading a book about a pioneer family struggling to survive against the ravages of nature in the world as it used to be.

I try to imagine what it looked and felt like. The endless expanse of sky. Wide-open spaces. Wind and rain and snow and sunshine. Grass. Animals.

We have old photos that help me visualize, but otherwise, it’s a guessing game. I’ve never known anything except the floors and ceilings and walls of the Refuge and the few hundred people who live on this level.

I’ve set my tablet down and closed my eyes as I try to conjure a mental picture of a hailstorm. I’m so focused, I barely notice when the door opens. It’s not until I hear someone clear his throat that I pop my eyes open.

“Oh,” I say, sitting up abruptly. “Hi.”

Will has stepped into the room, and he’s frowning down at me. “Are you napping?”

He sounds surprised. Disapproving.

I force myself not to scowl at him. “No. I wasn’t napping. I was reading.”

“Your eyes were closed.”

“I was thinking. Trying to picture something in the book. Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” He stops staring at me at last and strides through the bedroom archway to pull out a clean shirt from the closet. There’s a big dark smear on the one he’s wearing. Oil or grease or something. “I was surprised you’d sleep in the middle of the day.”

“I wasn’t sleeping! And even if I were, why would that matter? This is my break time. I’m on the kitchen crew. We start early and work late, but we have a few hours off in the middle of the day.”

He’s unbuttoned his dirty shirt and is now pulling it off his arms. His back is as nice looking as his chest is. Smooth and sculpted with a good bone structure and leanly developed muscles. “I know where you work,” he mutters. “And I know what your schedule is.”

“Then why are you surprised I’m resting?”

He’s annoyed with me. I can sense it on his face even though his features are as stiff and stoic as normal. “I didn’t expect you to be here. That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, I am.”

He pulls on his clean shirt and buttons it quickly. He’s not looking at me as he asks, “Are you always this prickly?”

“Prickly?” The word comes out with an indignant gasp. “Prickly?”

He glances at me over his shoulder. Doesn’t respond.

“I’m not prickly. Ask anyone.”

“I have.”

“You have? You’ve asked around about me?”

“Of course I have.” He’s dressed now. He smooths down his tousled hair and beard. “You think I wouldn’t have asked about you?”