Safe.
That's all she feels when she wakes the next morning. It's overwhelming her fear for her life – for their lives. It's drowning out the constant voice in her head, telling her to grab the gun and point it back to her head, to be strong enough this time, and to just pull that trigger. It's all in the back of her mind, because she's wrapped up in his arms while the sun is shining through brightly.
But the first, deep breath is a doozy.
"She's starting to smell." She grumbles, not even checking to make sure he's awake first. With the amount of sunlight that's coming through the windows, if he isn't awake yet, he needs to be anyway.
They sit up together, he's rubbing his face in the palms of his hands and making a sour expression when he smells the same thing – same person – that she does. "What are we going to do with her?" He asks, his voice heavy with sleep and exhaustion, still, checking his watch.
She looks over to the wristwatch on his arm and sighs. Eight already. "I don't know. We can't leave her here if this is where we plan on staying. It's only been half a day, most of that being night time, and she's already stinking the whole house." She answers, stretching out a little and, just now, rubbing her face too.
He slowly pulls his left leg over the edge of the bed, his right one soon following after it's mate. He sits for a while, hands resting on the edge and his head hung down. She wonders what's running through his head, wonders if he's thinking about what happened yesterday or thinking about what the woman wrote. They've disappeared.
The two words still sent chills up her spine, even after a night to rest on them.
"We need to get her out of the house." His voice almost startles her from being so deep in thought previously, "There was a shovel against the porch, we can bury her."
That idea makes her stomach flip, wondering how the hell they're going to drag a dead body from a tub, through the house, and into a hole. All before breakfast. Well, maybe before breakfast.
"Can we eat first?" She asks, getting a nod from Robin.
This time she cooks. Robin is too busy with something...she's not even quite sure what it is he's doing. Maybe looking for gas like he said he was going to yesterday, before she had her moment? She doesn't know, but she still cooks the food.
Food: a package of Poptarts in the toaster for each of them with some butter melted over them. No gourmet meals.
Now that she's had a night of rest, she's realizing how stupid she must've seemed to Robin yesterday. How...naive and ignorant. She's not the only one who is going through all of this, he has no idea either.
But then again, sometimes she wonders if he really is clueless about everything going on. He's so much calmer, so much more relaxed and okay with the happenings. She knows she misses his son, supposedly, but is the son even real? Everything around her is being questioned in her mind. She's confused still, but the smell of Poptarts are bringing her back to reality.
By the time the two Poptarts for him are laid out on a plate she found, he's back inside with a can of gas and a dead squirrel, hanging it by it's tail. "Lunch." He states, holding it up a little bit more. "I'm going to go clean it now."
"Now? But breakfast is ready and we need to get her out of this house." She argues, shifting her weight to one leg.
She regrets it as soon as she says it, because that angry side of him immediately comes out with her last word. "I don't need you telling me what I should do, Regina. I know." He snaps in a low tone before walking out with his catch.
In any other circumstances, she would've shot back to him with something snarky and sarcastic, completely rude and just more fuel for the fire. But today she holds off, she's not ready for that confrontation yet. She isn't stable enough.
So she gets her Poptarts, melts butter over them, and eats by herself at the table with the stench of half-day old dead body smuthering her nostrils.
..
…
He hasn't come back. It's been an hour and she can't find him. Worry sank in roughly fifteen minutes ago, and now she's wondering if he was planning on leaving or if he got lost somehow, or maybe there's actually someone else alive in this world and they took him.
They should've taken me, she thinks, if that's the case.
She scoots the chair away from the table, taking a refreshing breath before heading toward the door.
"Robin?" She calls before stepping out the door with the pistol tucked away in her back pocket. Her hand reaches slowly for it when she hears a grunt. Another sound, and her hands are both on the handle with her finger turning the safety off immediately. "Robin...this isn't funny." She says, a bit of shakiness in her voice. "Don't mess with me."
Not like she is. Not today...not after what happened yesterday. She isn't ready for so-called jokes and games.
She holds the gun with between shaky hands, readying herself to turn that corner and find the worst by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
She turns, flinging one leg across the other so her body faces him, pointing the gun straight at him. "What the hell are you doing?" She snaps, looking down for a moment and back up. She sticks the gun in her pocket again and rushes forward to get him, helping him up onto his feet again.
"A coyote attacked me." He announces, showing off the scratched side of his face and the mauled ankle under his pant leg. "I need something to dull the pain. It's taking over my body." Robin states, already shaking from either the adrenaline or the pain, she isn't sure.
As she helps him in the house, hobbling with him and trying to get him into the bed, she hears another coyote howling loudly outside. Her head whips to the side to look out of the window, hoping she would see it there and be close enough for a good shot.
Only, nothing was there.
"Here, I'm going to go get you some ice from the freezer to put on that. I don't have medicine and...no herbs or anything. Even if I knew how to use them." She says frantically, already making her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the freezer, grabbing ice and putting it in a bag from the pantry. She brings it back in as quickly as she can, smelling something that alarms her senses but she ignores due to the situation.
She lays the bag of ice on his leg as gently as she can, looking up and tucking her hair behind her ear, "Leave it on for no more than thirty minutes. It'll numb some of the pain."
With a few silent minutes sitting at the end of his feet, he finally speaks up, asking, "How do you know what to do?" and groaning, his voice still thick with pain.
She gets herself comfy, ready for this story she's about to tell. Maybe it'll help take his mind off his pain, anyway. "Henry. My cousin's son. He spends a lot of time with me. One night, we were playing in the backyard and I kicked the ball to him, but the grass was just slightly wet and he slipped and fell. He would've been fine if it weren't for his ankle getting crushed underneath him. Poor kid, he cried out in pain so hard that it made my heart hurt." She says, looking down and playing the memory back in her mind like it had happened yesterday.
That's not what happened yesterday.
"Did it break?" He asks, seeming somewhat interested in the outcome of the story (but really, he was just trying to take his mind off of the severity of the wound).
She nods, "Fractured, in two places. But the ice numbed his ankle enough to where he at least wasn't screaming. He was only seven...poor baby. I felt horrible for letting him get hurt."
"Well, it wasn't exactly your fault." He throws in, shrugging and trying to get himself comfortable without moving too much.
She nods so she doesn't have to speak and lie to him. It was, because she should've known to not be playing on the wet grass. But she doesn't want to argue, not anymore. Not since that's what set her off yesterday, for the most part. "You should try to get some rest. It may do you some good."
He growls low in his throat, putting the top of his forearm on his forehead, "I don't want to rest. I need to be up and looking for a can of gas so we can get the hell out of this place. I don't want to be here anymore."
"I don't either." the edge clear in her voice, having to calm herself with a deep breath to continue. "But guess what? Nature apparently wants us here, so that's where we're going to stay until you're healed." and a motherly tone now rings in her voice, the stern kind when one tells her offspring to stop whining or to clean their room. "Get some rest and I'll...cook that squirrel. It'll be ready for you when you wake."
He argues that it's a big enough squirrel for the both of them, but she doesn't argue back. He's tired, he's in pain, and he's looking to pick a fight that she's not up for right now.
The squirrel excuse, though, was a pure lie. She isn't going to cook the squirrel yet. She's going to go outside and look for the gas can so they can get out of here and find humanity, if there is any.
That's why she's already outside – once she knows he's sound asleep – and digging through the shed. Her pistol is still in her back pocket, ready to be used if needed. A scramble has already startled her, but it turned out to be a pesky rat that scurried out of one of the many piles of junk. So much junk. A curse word spewed from her lips, but thankfully the rodent was just as scared of her as she was scared of it.
"I just need gas for this insipid truck." She murmurs to herself, digging through things (a little more carefully, now, afraid she might see that rat's friend or it's children. Or worse, a snake, because where rodents are...snakes are going to be).
The little bit of red sticking out from under a work bench finally catches her eye, and she grabs the handle and picks the full can of gas up with much of a victorious expression on her face. A smile, even. Hopefully it'll take them as far as they need to get.
..
…
"This feels like a hopeless endeavor, Robin." She whines as he leans against the truck, filling up the tank from the can she found. "I mean, we haven't found anyone for how many miles now? Why would we find someone now?"
"Because maybe we were just looking in the wrong places." He snaps, still in plenty of pain.
Her eyes roll and just about get stuck in the back of her head from his stupid remark. "Oh, because there's so many places to look in the desert, right?"
"Right." He answers, and it makes her just that much more irritated.
By the time he's finished, she's already sitting in the truck and fuming over how stupidly naive he is sometimes. It infuriates her. They're stuck in the middle of a desert and he acts like it's some kind of vacation or play time. Ridiculous. She wishes that he would see it seriously just once and stop acting like a teenage boy sometimes.
Sometimes, in some cases, it's been nice to have that goofy, teenage boy attitude around. If she hadn't, she would've gone even more insane than she already has by now. But he's kept her grounded, he's been her anchor for a while now. Or what feels like a while. Really, it's only been a few days since their cars crashed in the freak accident.
"Thanks for helping me get to my door." Robin gripes as he slams the driver's door shut, turning the truck on and putting it in gear, peeling out of the loose-gravel driveway
Arms are crossed in the passenger seat, pouting. "You're welcome, smart ass."
"You have some real nerve, Regina." He snaps, going at least 80 already. That's a great way to conserve gas. "I come this close to getting eaten by a coyote. My ankle is pretty much unusable. So what do you do? Pout because you think there's no point in us wasting gas. Well guess what, I want to get home."
"And so do I!" She explodes, her arms suddenly uncrossing and flailing out. One to the side, one in front of her. "I want to get home and get back to my normal life, in case I haven't been clear about that. But Robin, I swear, it's like we went in a damned circle the other day and suddenly this stupid house pops up that has forever scarred my memory. You're the one with some real nerve to think that I don't want to get home for some completely idiotic reason."
Silence. Silence, silence, silence.
"I'm not going to sit here and be belittled in your head, Robin. We're both clearly tired of this stupid little game that something or someone is playing on us."
He finally has slowed down to 64 MPH, thankfully. The movements of his chest show her that he's about to say something he'll either regret soon after or she's made him madder. "I think I know what's going on." He finally says.
And yes, it's one of those things he's going to regret because Regina's mouth drops open in disgust, "You know what's going on? And you've just been holding out on me this whole time?" She snaps, growing angrier and more fiery with each spewing word. "Stop the truck. I'm leaving."
"You're leaving? For what reason? So you can go commit suicide in peace or so you can get eaten by a coyote, which is another suicidal mission? I know you're not stupid, Regina. You're a smart woman."
She unlocks the door, but he hasn't slowed down a bit. Her breathing hasn't slowed, either, and it's getting hastier as she fumbles with the bag of leftover food in the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. "Stop the damn truck or tell me what's going on!" She yells, shaking from her anger and irritation.
He locks the truck door and pulls over slowly, "I say I think I know what's going on because I overheard something at work."
"At work?"
"I'm a locksmith. Someone said something about a break-in at a government facility the other day and...and I figured it was just some ridiculous gossip-girl rumor like most of the guys like to do in the lunch room."
"What government facility?"
"Like I'm supposed to know?" He asks.
Her stomach is bubbling now, the anger and frustration turning into nerves and anxiety. Heavy anxiety. She wonders the same thing she's been wondering lately...why her. Why is she and he the ones to get stuck here with no civilization.
"Surely the government doesn't have a way to kill all of the population, and we've somehow survived. Do they?" She asks, her voice sounding more broken than she's meant for it to. When she doesn't get an answer, she looks down and fiddles with her fingers in her lap nervously. "I'm just a stupid secretary. What would they want with me?" She shakes her head, closing her eyes. "I'm nothing important."
She feels his eyes on her but she never looks up, never wanting to see his face to know if it's filled with disgust or hatred or love and compassion. She doesn't want to know.
But he's going to make her know.
Fingers land on her chin gently and pick her head up, turning it to look at him across the console. "You are important. I'm a locksmith. Do you really think I'm any more important than you, Regina?" He says in a gentle tone, and she's noticing his face isn't filled with disgust and hatred, unfortunately. His eyebrows flick upward and his head goes slightly forward in a nod as he says I'm not and slips his other hand around her shoulder, pulling her over a little to get a hug. "I don't know why they want us. I mean, a locksmith and a secretary have nothing to do with running for our lives from dead people, unmanned cars, and coyotes, but we're here."
Stop.
"And honestly?" He continues.
Stop.
"I would've rather gotten stuck with you than anyone else."
Great. Now the tears are coming to surface, making her eyes moist and her eyelashes start to flutter to try and rid the tears without them overflowing. "You're only saying that because I'm upset." And he tells her no, he really isn't. He means it. But she doesn't believe him, even though her mind is telling her to. "You feel sorry for me. You're saying it because I'm out here, I tried to commit suicide yesterday. You're saying that because you think I'm some helpless puppy dog who needs someone to scratch it's ears and throw a toy for. I'm not, Robin. I may not be important in society or important in this game, but I'm not stupid. I'm not believing you."
Though her mind is still telling her to just let go and believe him, she can't. She feels a wall in her chest that's barricading her thoughts from her emotions. Her emotions won't let her say that she's glad and that she believes him, but her mind is still screaming.
"Are you going to say anything or just sit there and stare at me like-"
It stops. Her words, her thoughts...her heart. All of it comes to a screeching halt when his lips suddenly crash onto hers, and she knows it's just a way for him to get her to shut up but she doesn't even care.
She doesn't even care when he pulls her halfway over the console. She's too gone.