They spend the night in a 7/11. It's pretty much devoid of anything to eat, but Soul gathers together some firewood and some kindling and gets to work trying to create a fire. At first, he tries to use his lighter but quickly realises that it's out of gas.
"Dammit!" he swears
"C'mon, let's rub sticks. There's nothing else to do, is there?"
He grimaces and they squat side by side, rubbing together sticks.
The only sounds either of them hears is the chirping of crickets outside, their own breathing, and the sound of wood grinding against wood as they work hard.
"I feel like a goddamned caveman," he says after a while.
"It's nice to get back to nature," she says serenely, warranting her a strange look from Soul. He stares for about two full seconds, pausing his hand movements, and then they both simultaneously burst into laughter.
"Yeah, this feels like some kind of goddamn relaxation retreat."
"People would probably have paid good money for this kind of immersive experience back in the day."
"Minus all the killing machines."
"Eh, there's a few bugs to wrinkle out," she shrugs. There's a silence, but it's a peaceful one. Then: Maka decides to broach the subject again. "I'm sorry that I'm the only other person left alive and I'm losing my mind."
He frowns, still whittling away. "You do realise that there are others out there, right? There are whole communities. You keep saying that we're the only two left but it's not true. I've seen and met dozens of people; dozens of groups."
Maka blinks.
For some reason, this hadn't really occurred to her.
"Well… why aren't you with them?"
"I don't know. All of 'em seemed so caught up in their own microcosmic power politics. I never fit in. I wanted to travel alone, seeing what I could find." He sighs. "If you want, I'll take you to where I know there's a bunch of survivors, living together…"
Maka nods frantically. "Yes. Yeah. I… I'd like that."
Soul smiles a faded smile. "My company that bad, huh?"
"No!" she exclaims. "It's not that! I just… I was so isolated before, you know? I think that's why I started hallucinating."
"The cat…" Soul remembers.
"Yeah. Other stuff, too. Before you. And that weird night in the mall, when I was all freaked out over nothing. I just… I've read stuff, before, on how humans- we need social contact. It's in our DNA. Or we just start to go all kinds of crazy. It doesn't even take long, before you start to lose your mind."
"I just figured you were a lone wolf, too. Like me. I figured that's why you'd holed yourself up in that house for so long, without any company," he reasons, staring at the wood in front of him.
"Yeah, well. You can't live the rest of your life like that."
He shrugs. "There's… a group in Nevada. They're good people – a little weird, but good. They'll take good care of you, and if I vouch, they'll let you hang around."
"Please," she begs. "I just need some normalcy. Some friends."
Soul sighs. "I don't think you'll find it with that lot, but whatever."
They go back to their determined fire-making. After a couple more minutes, Maka's sticks begin to produce black smoke – dwindling heat at first, but then it becomes stronger until it bursts into a tiny flame between the sticks.
"Good job," Soul smirks, throwing his own sticks to the ground. "Keep going. I'll get a bit of kindling and we'll light that. Don't let it go out!" he gingerly lights a piece of crumpled up paper and then throws it on the fire. Quickly, the rest of the kindling catches alight as they both stare hard at the fire, hoping that the logs will burn.
Soul pokes it with a longer wooden stick, seemingly trying to arrange it so that the fire takes and Maka realises with a jolt that she's hurt his feelings.
"You know that I enjoy travelling with you, right?"
He snorts. "You don't need to feel sorry for me. I'm a big boy."
"No! I don't! It's that, I don't know, you seemed a little put out when I mentioned wanting to join a group a second ago."
"It's fine."
"No… I just. I mean, I'm a headcase at the moment. I'm all over the place. You don't need me dragging you down, I'm a mess."
"Everyone we know is dead, Maka. They have been for years. Those who aren't dead are flesh eating - I hate the word zombies – but zombies, and nothing will ever be the same as it was ever again." He pauses for effect. "Who is their right mind would be mentally healthy in that scenario?"
"Well, you seem to be alright."
He shakes his head gives her a sad smile. Then, he lifts up his right hand and points to his knuckle with his left.
She bites her lip.
How hadn't she noticed this before? His knuckle is covered in scabs and scars; bruises and a little dried blood. It's also wonky.
"Is that… is that okay?"
"Not hugely. It healed funny the last time I broke it."
"W-what happened?"
"I got angry is what happened. I got angry about everything, this whole messed-up stupid scenario, this whole messed-up version of the world. Punched a wall. Punched several walls, several times," he drawls. "Over the space of several months."
She draws in a breath and then takes his injured hand in hers to inspect it further.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yeah," he doesn't even try to lie.
She brushes her thumbs over it a few times, causing him to wince. "Sorry. When did this happen?"
"Just before I met you," he admits. "Guess we were both going out of our heads."
She lets his hand go, and as soon as she does, it reaches into his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes.
She sighs serenely as they both watch the fire catch – smoke beginning to billow out in waves of black tar, licking the off-white plasticky ceiling of the 7/11. "Redecorating," Soul comments, staring up at the mess, leaning forward to light his cigarette on the concurrent flames.
Her head falls to rest on his shoulder and his non-smoking arm snakes around her shoulders, pulling her gently into him.
The fire rages in front of them.
