“You won’t get pregnant. I got snipped.”
“W-why?” Didn’t he want kids with me? I mean, don’t most men want kids with their wives? Isn’t that part of the dream of normality?
“I just did. I didn’t think the world was worth bringing kids into even before it pretty much ended. I’m glad I did it now.”
Yeah, I could feel his smugness oozing over to my side and hoped it wasn’t contagious.
I scooted down back onto the bed and stared out into the blackness. I jumped when Trevor’s hand landed on my waist.
“Relax. I’m not trying anything. I’m sorry for how I’ve been today. I just can’t lose you again.”
Again? When had he lost me the first time?
Chapter Two
I wish I could say the next day felt more hopeful, that the birdsong filling the air awakened a sense of adventure in me, but it didn’t. I woke up sore and tired and still feeling weak. I was beginning to wonder if I’d caught some exotic illness out here, a thought made more terrifying by lack of hospitals.
Looking out the window of the tower, I wished it was still night so I couldn’t see outside. Much of the park was overgrown with kudzu, the aggressive vines winding and twisting through and around many of the rides and shops.
It crawled over the concrete, determined to let nothing stop it in its quest for total park domination. I had my doubts that this would be a feasible place to stay for another year. Kudzu is like The Blob. The humidity paired with the kudzu almost guaranteed we were in the south.
How did I know that?
Trevor made eggs for breakfast, collected fresh from the chickens roosting in the kiddie rides. There was no milk or orange juice, just water. I had a feeling milk and juice were now rare luxury items as likely to be acquired as a private jet. On the bright side, there was some turkey bacon that had survived in the deep freezer.
“Are you cutting back the kudzu coming our way?” I asked when we sat down in the kitchen to eat. The vines were the most pressing thought on my mind.
Trevor gave me an odd look. “I thought you lost your memory.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You were a botanist... before.” Before the world went away. “When we first got here, the kudzu problem was your first concern.”
And it still was, apparently.
“Well? Are you? You have to cut that back. Some of those vines are heading right for the castle and could climb over the wall. If they grow strongly enough to the top, they could cover the solar panels. Then we’re fucked even worse.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better do it fast. That stuff grows a foot a day. In less than a week it’ll reach the base of the castle. We need the freezers to keep working. Speaking of which, how long will this stuff in the freezer last?”
“Maybe another six to eight months if we’re lucky. Though I’ve started hunting and freezing local game already, so once this stuff starts going off, we can just start eating what I’m storing up.”
I didn’t want to think about being here with him another six to eight months. I didn’t want to think about living here for another six to eight days. Even six to eight hours felt awful, like arriving at a menial job you hated, knowing you were trapped for an untenable block of time.
“A-and the canned goods?”
“Those have about another year on them. The challenge is going to be getting fruits and vegetables when that runs out. We may have to survive mainly on meat and eggs. Maybe some berries. At least you still seem to have your botany knowledge. It’ll keep us from eating the wrong berries.”
I had the strange feeling that he was happy some of my knowledge survived primarily because he didn’t want my amnesia cutting into his berry foraging. What a prince.
“We don’t have running water, right?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
“So where do we... you know?”
Trevor chuckled almost as if he were enjoying this. God, was he that petty that he was still holding some asinine grudge over whatever we’d been fighting about before I fell and lost my memory?
“We go outside, princess.”
“Like a bear?”
“Yep.”
That sounded fucking terrible. Of all the shitty things so far, this whole going to the bathroom outdoors sounded the absolute worst.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Sure I would. Just like I’d get used to his charming company.
I laughed suddenly at the utter bizarreness of being a plant specialist but being freaked out by too much of the great outdoors.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” If I told him, I was sure he’d piss all over my tiny inch of mirth. I was convinced I would have to carefully guard any bit of joy I could find, or Trevor might overtake it like the kudzu outside.