Page 7

Olivia hardly recognizes the person staring back at her in a dirty bathroom mirror.

The bruises on her skin have turned mustard yellow and the split lip is healing, but that’s not the surprising part. It’s the fact that she still looks pregnant.

Ninety percent of her body seems untouched by the new life that grew inside her, but her stomach is still distended like Lucy never left. She runs a hand over the coveted purple fabric she’d been so eager to wear, turning in the mirror, looking for any minor changes, and coming up empty.

It doesn’t matter, she scowls. She’s not trying to impress anyone.

She’s aware she’s not desirable, pregnant or not, and that’s a good thing.

If anyone tries to touch her, she’ll crumble where she stands.

She convinced herself she could please Cole if she had to.

She would have followed through if it meant survival, but she’s relieved it doesn’t.

The idea of being close to anyone like that makes her skin crawl.

Jason would already be pawing at her mere days after giving birth.

A man has needs, he’d say, and she’d appease him one way or another or risk the consequences.

He wouldn’t give a shit that she’s miserable, and she is.

She told Cole she’s not overdoing it, but that’s a lie.

The ache between her legs is constant and throbbing, like a deep bruise.

She is bone tired, and crippling cramps hit her at random intervals.

Her uterus put a lot of effort into creating the perfect baby bubble and now it has to revert to normal again.

She braces on the counter when a fresh wave of pain has her wincing and fighting the dizziness she’s been ignoring. At least Lucy is healthy. In desperate need of a bath, but chubby for her small frame. She sleeps peacefully on the counter, oblivious to the crumbling world.

They could both use some cleaning up. She’d sell her soul for a shower to clean what paper towels have missed, and Lucy is on her way to diaper rash if they don’t find wipes or consistent running water.

Already she’s failing as a parent. Maybe they’ll find a baby store when they get moving again, and that’ll be soon if Cole’s anxiousness is any indication.

Much as she’d like to curl up in a corner and sleep here for the next few days, they’re lucky they made it this far. Waiting might be suicide.

Olivia washes herself as best she can in the bathroom with the bottle of water he gave her, uses the other half to clean Lucy, and then spies the towel dispenser in the reflection.

It’s an older pull type with a cloth loop running through it.

That’s a germ magnet on a good day, but there hasn’t been anyone here in a while.

The white is actually white, not a stain in sight, and beggars can’t be choosers.

She pops open the metal cover and yanks the fabric off its roller, pleased to see that it’s twice as long as she expected.

It wraps around her shoulder and under one arm twice, wide enough to make a sling that’ll fit Lucy.

She can’t go hands-free, not secure enough, but it’ll ease the strain on her arms.

When she emerges again with the newly crafted sling holding her baby, Cole spots her project from where he’s stretched out on a booth.

“You McGuyvered a baby holder,” he says, throwing her own joke back at her.

“Took a page from your playbook.”

“Looks good. Smart.”

That’s not true, she’s far from smart. She suppresses her objections at his compliment, just like when he said she looked nice in this new shirt. “She seems comfortable. If you’re ready to keep moving, I’m good to go.”

“It’s alright, just relax for a while. Only been an hour.”

“I’m fine.” She is defensive when she shouldn’t be. He’s trying to do her a kindness, and she’s shitting all over his effort. Been told before that she’s impossible to please and apparently that’s true.

“I’m not. Could do with resting up a bit myself.”

He’s a terrible liar, unpracticed and obvious, but sincere enough. Finally, she mimics his pose across the booth. Her body protests, cramping as she sits and her poorly hidden gasp prompts his expression to change into a silent question.

“It’s nothing. Normal. Hurts for a while after, that’s all.”

“Day three of anything that hurts is always the worst,” he replies. “Don’t mean that I know what you’re feeling, just that every time I’ve been injured, the third day is a pile of shit.”

“No, you’re right, and having a baby is absolutely like being injured. Not as bad as the third day of broken ribs, though.”

He sucks some air between his teeth in sympathy. “Broken ribs make you see stars for a long time. Takes forever to heal. Third day of a burn is pretty rough, too.”

“Oh god, when it starts throbbing so hard you can’t move and it still feels like your skin is cooking?”

“Yep. That’ll make you lose your mind. Can’t get away from it. The creams are useless.”

She mentally rifles through every cigarette that found her skin over the years. The car lighter pushed to the bottom of her foot, when Jason punished her for attracting a herd with the sound of her morning sickness, is almost healed by now, but the scent of her flesh burning is hard to forget.

She knows Cole likely saw that for himself when she was passed out barefoot in the subway, but he doesn’t bring it up and she’s glad for that.

“That one moves to the top spot, after all. Don’t get me wrong, though, squeezing a watermelon through an opening the size of a small lemon is traumatizing, but at least when it’s over, it’s over. Mostly…sort of.”

No use sugarcoating things now after he’s already seen her at her worst and, to his credit, he only looks mildly disturbed by that description.

They’re sharing past injuries without offering details on how they were acquired in a way only those who’ve known abuse can.

Matter of fact and lacking any excess emotion.

Another injury, another day, no big deal.

That’s how she kept going for the entirety of her marriage, and it’s a hard habit to break.

Someone must have hurt him too and they’re connecting on a level she wishes they weren’t.

Olivia wants to punish whoever made it possible for him to remember what a burn feels like on day three, but she hadn’t been able to conjure up the same outrage for herself over the last decade.

Her fingers trace the cluster of bruises ringing her wrist and crawling up her forearm. “At least I won’t have to worry about this again. That’s something.”

“That’s a lot,” he agrees. “You hungry?”

“Always. What else did you find? ”

He moves across the room to grab a bag of chips and slides it onto the table before taking up his spot again.

She rips into a small bag of cheddar and sour cream, ravenous despite inhaling half a bottle of Nutella an hour ago. Must look pretty awful if he’s always trying to feed her and the urge to explain that is overwhelming.

“I think he might’ve been trying to starve me so I’d miscarry.” She fills the silence with an answer to a question he hasn’t asked. “He didn’t want the baby. Tried to beat her out of me at first, but she’s a survivor.”

She threw a sad story on the table between them without warning and he struggles for a reply.

A flicker of anger on her behalf ghosts across his face and those impressive biceps twitch as he runs a hand through his hair.

Flexing muscles catch a glint of sunlight shining through the dirty diner window, and a barely there rumble under his breath vibrates his Adam’s apple.

All at once, Olivia knows exactly why she’s been so preoccupied with her appearance today.

She’s attracted to him.

It has to be some sort of biological throwback from when humans were cave dwellers haunting her genes at the moment, telling her to find a father for this baby in case she doesn’t make it herself. Cole is more than acceptable.

He’d be a good provider.

He is strong and skilled at survival.

He’s been kind to them.

Her primal self has latched onto these basic qualities that her last option didn’t have.

That’s all there is to it, she thinks. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to anyone for reasons that don’t include keeping herself and Lucy alive, only days post delivery, in a sudden apocalypse, and when she hasn’t felt anything of the sort in years. That would be ridiculous.

“I just need you to know why I’m such a mess,” she adds, trying to ignore her revelation.

“You’re not a mess. I’m real glad he got what he deserved, though.”

“Me too.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch,” he offers, no doubt noticing the endless stream of yawns she’s let loose.

“You haven’t slept much either. I know the baby has kept you awake.”

“Don’t go worrying about me. Always been a dozer. A couple of hours here and there and I’m good.”

“Maybe I’ll nap for a little while,” she agrees. If she’s tired enough to drift off sitting up in an uncomfortable booth, then the nap wants her even if she doesn’t want the nap.

She stretches out lengthwise, tucks Lucy between herself and the back of the seat so she won’t roll off her lap, and tries her best to relax on squeaky fake leather.

Every time she closes her eyes, she’s right back there in that subway bathroom watching her husband’s bloody teeth snap in her direction.

The dribble of fluid down his chin when he starts consuming the umbilical cord wrinkles her nose in disgust.

Thankfully, sleep drags her into oblivion before she can let her memories wander even further.

* * *

Cole’s insistent calling of her name in a careful whisper has her alert through the groggy haze of a terrible nap.

“Something’s happening out there,” he says. “People are moving through the stores.”

“They’re coming here?” Her sleep-addled brain thinks that’s a reasonable question when he has no more clue about a stranger’s plan than she does.

“Don’t know, but we’re not sticking around to find out. They’re in the front, so we go out the back and keep heading east.”

He doesn’t strike her as the type to run from every possible encounter.

If she wasn’t weighing him down, he might stay and take his chances.

There’s safety in numbers and finding others to link up with could be in his best interest, but he’s not risking it with her and a baby in tow.

She feels a flash of guilt for holding him back.

A wave of lightheaded fuzz rushes to her head when she stands too quickly, but she fights it to follow his lead. She’s fine. She can do this. There is no choice.

Lucy’s ready for a meal, but they don’t have time and when it’s not offered, the baby starts to fuss. Not a full-out cry yet, only a few high-pitched squeaks. That’s all it takes for the voices to get closer as they move out the back door.

“Go, go, go!” Cole yells after Lucy offers a desperate scream, giving their location away to anyone listening.

She nearly stumbles, trying to keep pace with Cole.

He grabs her hand, just like before, and pulls her along.

It’s a repeat of how they left the apartment, only this time her swimming vision has her thinking she might not make it much longer.

He won’t let her quit, but her legs are on the verge of giving out and she worries that she’ll drop Lucy.

She yells out his name in a warning as they round a corner to a dead end.

She sags against him, trying to shove the baby into his arms before passing out, but he only helps her to the ground with her back to a dumpster and keeps Lucy in her lap.

How fucking useless she is at protecting her own child if she can’t even run away from danger?

Even if they slipped the people at the diner, there could be more held up in their apartments trying to ride out this storm. They’ll follow the baby’s screaming to see what the fuss is about…. if the rotters don’t get here first. She can’t climb the chain-link fence blocking the exit, but Cole can.

Her heart skips a few beats, her thoughts are jumbled and foggy, and her muscles weaken with every passing second. The growling shuffle of the dead in the distance tells her they won’t be alone for long.

“Cole, take her. Take her and go. I can’t…” She doesn’t understand why he won’t take the baby. Terror at the possibility that he might abandon them here as a distraction and be on his way alone flares up like it never left. “ Don’t leave us! Don’t leave her! Please! ”

She begs him now like she did that first day, convinced she’s made an awful mistake in letting her guard down even the smallest amount.

Of course he’s leaving. She’s been kidding herself this whole time, thinking it would go any other way when she has nothing to offer him that he wants.

There’s no benefit in keeping them around.

The edge of her vision starts to blacken. She can stuff the baby between her and the wall before she falls unconscious to protect Lucy from the dead. It won’t be enough, but…. the sound of other voices halts her panic.

Cole is talking to someone. She can barely keep her eyes open, seeing only blurry figures a few feet ahead. The baby squirms in her arms and she forces herself to stay awake. If she passes out and he leaves them, then they’ll both be dead .

‘ Don’t you even look at my wife.’

That’s confusing. She’s no one’s wife anymore. Cole’s angry, loud, and ready to fight whoever he’s yelling at.

The conversation fades, but suddenly someone tries to grab her, and adrenaline rushes in. She kicks and struggles to break free, but her resistance isn’t enough, and her burst of energy quickly fades.

“I’m not leaving. I gotcha, it’s okay,” Cole says, slipping an arm under her legs and one around her back to lift her up into his arms. Her head lulls against his shoulder, the weight of the baby still heavy on her chest.

He didn’t leave. She’s safe in his arms and that’s the last thought she has before the world closes in and unconsciousness calls her name in a soft lullaby.

* * *

‘…. not sure…. trust them…’

She fades in and out, only aware of Cole’s voice, the feel of a soft bed under her body, and a hard sting in the crook of her arm. Can’t understand what he’s saying. It’s all garbled, but her flailing hands can’t find her baby any longer.

‘Took her…. right across…. screaming…’

An older woman with white hair up in a bun sways gently a few feet away, her back to Olivia as she looks out the window toward a torn city.

“Lucy,” Olivia mumbles, feeling the pull of sleep nagging her again.

“She’s here,” he says, in the first clear reply she’s managed to hear since this began.

He hasn’t left them. He’s right beside her. She reaches for him without thinking, her hand curling around his forearm where it rests against the white bed sheets. She asks for her baby again, certain he’ll offer a better answer, but the darkness pulls her under before she can hear it.