Chapter Ten
Good days are more monotonous in nature than they are actively "good," but monotony means relative safety, fairly full stomachs, and naps at midday. It's boring a lot of the time, but such is life, and Quinn is glad to have it. Maybe someday, if they have years of this to come, and that actually seems possible now, she'll forget to be thankful. But not yet.
Time is meaningless, mostly. Maybe, in these upcoming years, they'll reinvent the sundial, but for now she's not quite sure of the day, or even the month. It sort of feels like a Thursday, though Quinn can't say why. They'd decided a while back that it might as well be Sam's birthday, because why not? Beth absolutely loved singing the song, so she's had four birthdays since. At this rate, she'll be a teenager and then of drinking age before summer. Good thing there's nothing to drink. Maybe they'll learn to ferment and brew when they figure out the sundial. Noah had managed to find wine coolers, that night they'd unwittingly made Beth. It was the only time Quinn had ever had anything to drink. She doesn't think she misses it.
Sam decides they need something special, so it's their anniversary. Surprise. It's very liberating, creating holidays on the fly. Quinn asks him what they're commemorating. When they first kissed? Had sex? When he told her he loved her, and she answered in kind?
"All of it," he says, lacing his fingers with hers. They're walking outside, not far from the house but alone for once. "We can bundle it, like a super good deal on home and auto insurance."
"Beth's going to grow up and not understand our old people references." They're nineteen years old, Quinn's fairly sure. But at least close to twenty. It's funny how unimportant it feels, the specificity. She'd had so many plans, back then. Eighteen meant freedom, twenty-one even more so. And now she's not even sure how old she is.
"We'll teach her. Like those parents who forced their kids to listen to eighties music."
She suddenly wonders if he'd ever met Will Schuester.
The weather's pleasant, and Sam had said they should have at least a little time on their anniversary to themselves. "Like a date, except we don't have anything nice and it's boiled squash for dinner." Stevie's charged with watching Beth, which means keeping up with her, no mean feat since she mastered walking, and then quickly thereafter, running.
There's a nice little place, a clearing in the woods a hundred or so yards from their house. They're not going to wander too far, but this is a nice distance. Sam whips a quilt out of his bag, and it reminds Quinn of a few of their earlier encounters, stolen moments of alone time while the rest of their family waited back at camp. They're not going to have sex out here, at least she doesn't plan on it, though it is conceivable that she might be swept up in the moment. But they have a bed, and anyone who claims to enjoy sex outside has never had sex in a bed. Dirt gets everywhere.
"This is nice," Sam says, his voice light and easy. And he's right. It's comfortable, and they're pressed close together, and even though they have no deodorant and their soap is barely worthy of the name, he somehow manages to smell good. Quinn pushes his hair away from his face; it's a little longer now than when she'd first met him, that day in a different wood. She's pretty good with the scissors and keeps the four of them looking halfway civilized, but he'd said he wanted to try a new look, and Quinn has to admit, he's pulling it off.
She rests her head against his chest. "It is," Quinn agrees. It's quiet, which almost seems strange, having a toddler. She's never had an anniversary before, but Quinn imagines it would be rude to fall asleep. But she could if she let herself. It comes of feeling safe and secure, and having someone rub your back.
It's early spring, but thankfully not wet for the last few days. They have the beginnings of a little garden in their backyard, and are getting better at making deer meat last, though a sustainable protein source is still a worrisome issue. Quinn estimates it's been over a year since Beth arrived. She's walking, talking in her own way. Things that interest her get repeated ad nauseam, and things that don't catch her eye are beneath contempt. Quinn sometimes worries about the side effects of being raised around only three people. What's the line for being feral? She'd mentioned this to Sam, but his answer was, "She's perfect, leave her alone." The baby doesn't growl or hiss, so maybe everything's alright for now.
He slips his arm around her slim waist. And it is slim, because portion control takes care of itself these days. As far as physique goes, she's never looked better. Quinn would give just about anything for a bottle of conditioner, though. Sam kisses close to her ear and whispers,"Happy fake, sorta anniversary, or whatever. I love you."
Quinn kisses him in return, twists into him and links her arms around his neck.
"Do you ever wonder," he asks, "what would've happened if everything was normal, if the world was still working right, and we just ran into each other at the mall? What would you think of me?"
He means, do they only find each other and love each other if two thirds of the world has died first? If everything they've ever known burns to the ground.
"I guess I would've seen that lemon juice in action," Quinn says. "Would it have changed things for you if you'd met me and didn't have a good reason to pull off my underwear in the first five minutes?"
"It would've for sure added some mystery." They're locked together, no space between them. His forehead is touching hers. Sam says, "I honestly don't think we would've happened."
"Why?" But she knows him, and knows how his mind works. "Because you were a stripper?"
"We prefer the term "erotic entertainer," but yeah. You can't tell me that a super popular girl like you would've given the time of day to someone like me."
"I would have. And you don't know that I was popular."
"C'mon, you were definitely popular."
She'd tried to be. The quest for popularity, acceptance, really, had influenced every single decision she'd made through high school, right until things had started to fall apart. It seems trite now. Quinn supposes it's a silver lining that Beth won't have to work to impress her peers. There are no peers. Which is sad, in its own way.
"I tried to be popular. It was silly." Her fingers knot in his newly long hair. "And I would've paid attention to you." She likes to think she would have. He is gorgeous, and would've made the perfect prom king. She used to think in terms like that. "We'll never know what would've happened, but I think we were meant to be."
Sam grins at her, but doesn't take up that thread. His fingers graze her hips and Quinn's mind drifts in the quiet. She believes what she said; they were meant to be. She can't imagine the last year without him beside her. There are some things she knows she wouldn't have been able to endure alone.
If on their anniversary they're reflecting on their time together, then the almost baby, the perhaps, maybe, nearly, but not, has to be included.
It had been a few months ago, though time is ever tricky. Her period had taken on something of the old regularity from before Beth, until suddenly it hadn't. Suddenly it seemed like the day had passed, though she could've easily miscounted. And then it seemed like the day after, and then, surely, the day after that. And her breasts hurt, and food smelled off. Sex ed had been limited in her high school, but it hadn't taken a textbook with detailed drawings to figure out what was going on.
She's not a crier, not really, but seeing Sam's face turn so white had done it. "You're not happy?" Surely she wasn't the only one who thought about another baby, about a sister or a brother for Beth. Quinn hadn't been looking to get pregnant, they tried to be careful, but if one is coming, then, yes, she's happy about it. But maybe she's the only one.
"No, I mean, yes." He'd run his fingers through his hair, bitten down on his lip. "I'm just worried about you. It could be dangerous."
As if she hadn't thought about that. She's already done this once. "That's not really what I want to hear from you right now." Stammered apologies from him, but she'd gone to bed mad.
You can't keep a secret like that, not the way they live, and the next morning Stevie asks if she's scared.
That's an interesting question.
"I'm not sure." She'd not been sure at all. If she's pregnant, and if Quinn's being honest with herself she knows she is, then there are considerable risks coming, both for her and for any baby she might be carrying. Sam's right about that. There are no prenatal vitamins, no doctors or nurses, no ultrasounds, no holding Sam's hand as they hear the heartbeat for the first time.
She'll have to go through labor again. Quinn knows she can handle it, because what choice does she have? But it might not go as smoothly this time. There's comfort in knowing that if anything does happen to her, Sam and Stevie can take care of Beth without her. She'd told Sam that and it had upset him. He said she shouldn't be thinking about things like that. Things he said would never happen anyway. Everything will be fine, or so he said. It's amazing how quickly he could go back and forth.
"I suppose I am scared, in a way."
Stevie put his arm around her shoulder. "This time you're not alone in the woods."
He made her smile, genuinely. Quinn kissed his cheek. So much had changed since Stevie showed up with his brother to find her prone on the ground, body racked with pain and Beth ready to make her first appearance in the world. She hadn't been Beth then. Quinn hadn't even thought of a name until a stranger called Sam had asked her, reminded her that the squirming little thing needed to be called something. He'll have input this time, if all goes well.
It wasn't to be. It wasn't long after that she woke up in the middle of the night, and it might as well have been a heavy period. Afterwards, Quinn tries to tell herself that she's lucky everything happened so soon, so quickly. She hadn't had any time with this baby. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks. But it didn't help. All the questions, the wondering if this little person would have blonde hair or brown, be a boy or a girl, take after Sam or favor her; it's all academic and they'll never know. Sam had helped her clean up, and they'd spent the rest of the night in the empty bedroom where his mother died, though they hadn't slept. Sam asked her if she wanted to talk but didn't push it when she'd stayed silent. It's something she still appreciates.
"I know what you're thinking about," Sam says. His thumb circles her bellybutton, flat, because nothing's pushing it outward. "Can I do anything?"
Quinn shakes her head. "I'm over it." That might be true. It's been months now. She tries not to dwell on it and most days succeeds. Mary had gone through this, she'd told her once. It was when Sam was little, and explained the eight year gap between him and Stevie. She wonders if he knows, but has decided that if Mary never mentioned it, she won't either.
Sam's good at not pushing things. The morning after, she'd told him that she wanted to be alone, and he'd obliged, had taken care of Beth all day, but she'd seen him peek his head through the door several times. She'd been ready when, in the early evening, he'd told her that he had a hot bath waiting, if she wanted. They hadn't talked much, but he'd stayed with her when she asked. His hand touched her waist when she stepped into the tub, even though she didn't need it, and she remembers him touching her, in one small way or another, the entire time she was in the water. Across her shoulders, pulling her hair back, his hand in hers when she finally stood up. His eyes had looked lost, and she knew he felt the loss too, if differently.
"I don't think it's uncommon," Quinn says, getting comfortable on their blanket. She doesn't have the data, but she'd talked to Mary about miscarriages, and she remembers movie plots and daytime talkshow confessionals. It hadn't seemed real or relevant, back then.
"Would you want to try again someday?"
"We weren't trying last time." They'd been actively not trying, but had slipped, well, given in. She can track it to the exact day, because since the condoms ran out they've been so careful to keep their nighttime activities constrained to certain things, safer things. Quinn hardly ever talks during their together time, maybe an occasional "faster," or "Sam, hurry up." But she'd been thinking about him all day, had watched him sweat through his shirt as he chopped wood, then stood in the bathroom doorway as he'd shaved, eyes following a glistening droplet of water down his throat, across his chest, watched it graze a small, dark nipple. She hadn't wanted the usual games, and he hadn't argued when she'd pulled at his hair, brought him up from between her legs, told him exactly what she wanted him to do to her.
"And I thought you were against the idea?"
"I'm not against the idea of having babies with you. I just don't want you to get hurt."
Quinn had worried about that part of it, a baby growing inside her, labor, delivery. She's not so selfless that she hadn't thought of the physical pain, and been afraid of what might come. She'd been lucky once, to have an uneventful pregnancy. But is that something they can count on twice?
"I've done it all before," she reminds him.
Sam nods. "I hate to think of you alone when you were carrying Beth. I wish I could've been with you."
She hadn't been really alone. Her mother had been there, until the end, and they'd travelled in a group of other survivors. But she hadn't had a partner. "I was scared a lot of the time." For a lot of reasons. As her pregnancy had progressed, a particular fear had started to worm its way into her mind. What if the rest of the group, little more than strangers even after months of living together, had decided that a pregnant girl was too much of a liability? They could've left her, forced her and her mother out of the group. In the end, Quinn had still found herself alone, after they'd all died.
Another kiss from Sam. "Next time, I'll be scared with you."
"That sounds like just another day, right?"
Their conversation turns to happier things. This day is supposed to be celebratory, and there have been good moments to remember, too: Beth taking her first steps, Stevie getting his first deer. For herself, she's taken up drawing, nothing serious, though everyone who has ever seen the finished pictures says that she's very good. Sam has finally stopped offering to pose nude. She'd started a drawing of him, once, clothed and holding a sleeping Beth, but after he'd said, "Draw me like one of your French girls" for the fourth time, she'd given up. Landscapes are easier.
It's probably past time to be getting back. Quinn figures they've imposed on Stevie enough; Beth is no easy charge. "I hope we don't come back to find that she's tied him up," Sam says as they shake off the blanket and fold it away.
They didn't do anything other than spend time quietly together, but she's loved it. The house and family and the real world are just around the next bend in the return path when she pulls Sam aside. Quinn presses against him and looks up to meet his eyes. She can tell that he's about to crack some joke, so she puts her finger to his lips. "I don't tell you this enough, but I love you," she whispers. "And I know I couldn't survive without you." Literally, figuratively. All of it.
She can see in his face, in his wide, green eyes, that he feels the same. One of the reasons she loves Sam Evans, one of the many reasons, is because she's never been in any doubt, even when what they had was new, that he totally and completely loves her. It's who he is to be always open and honest and giving, and those are qualities that she sometimes has to work on in herself. So, she wanted to say the words out loud.
They arrive back home to find a harassed looking Stevie trying his best to manage a toddler careening through the house at the speed of sound. Just another day after the apocalypse.
XxXxX
Their house sits at the center of an isolated farm, woods on one side, overgrown fields on the other three, marred only by a thin dirt road leading out to what's left of the outside world. At first, they'd done little exploring. They discovered the house after so long on the road, close to the end of their tether. And defeat had been snatched from the jaws of victory when Mary died right as they'd finally found safety and security. They'd taken time to mourn and to recover. They regained their strength, both emotionally and in bodyweight, but it took a little bit. It was weeks before they ventured outside the boundaries of their new home.
Stevie wanders, but Sam has surreptitiously followed him more than once, and reported that his brother mostly kept to the woods, and the fields close to their house. So, it took a long time before they learned what existed outside their oasis, and exploring, naturally, led to a fight.
They'd found an atlas in the house, and it looks like it's local. It's difficult to discern because they know next to nothing about where they are after aimlessly wandering off the beaten path for so long, but there is a small sign where the dirt road intersects with an actual road, and they can find that name on the map. If they're right, then there's a small town just a few miles south. A small town probably means a hub of creatures, but it could also mean vital supplies, waiting to be scavenged. They really don't have any choice but to check it out. It's planning the excursion that leads to the fight.
Sam argues that it's safest if he goes by himself, which would leave Quinn and Stevie to stay with Beth, two people in case something goes wrong. Before, early in their relationship, Quinn used to go along with this and stay at home, worrying. And it does make sense. But she's not going to let him leave her and possibly never come back because something happened to him. She hasn't made a conscious decision or anything, but there's something in her heart if not her mind that knows that if something happens to Sam, that's it for her. If asked, if forced to consider the awful alternatives, she'd probably say that she'd struggle on for Beth's sake, and inevitably that would happen, but she wouldn't be herself if she didn't have him. It's not safe to be bound so intricately to another person, but such is the life she's created for herself.
"No, I'll come with you." Not combative. She's just informing him.
His cheeks turn pink, as they do every time he gets upset. "We can't leave Beth with Stevie."
"You're not leaving me at all," Stevie interjected.
Quinn can tell Sam's about to get mad. Not that it will help, because her mind is made up. They're sitting in their living room, the day's labors finished but the sun still shining, which is nice. They've mostly kept to their habit, developed during their days sleeping under the stars, of going to bed with the sun. They're usually tired enough after working all day that they fall right asleep.
"Look, this is stupid. We're not all four going to wander around."
"Like we did before we found this place?" Quinn says, earning a dirty look.
"We didn't have a choice back then. Now we do."
It goes on for a while, but yet manages to go nowhere, in the grand tradition of circular arguments. Everyone says their piece, tempers flare, and Beth reads the room and gets upset. Quinn hoists her ever growing daughter onto her hip and takes her to the bedroom. There's nothing more to be gained here, anyway. She leaves Sam and Stevie to fight it out.
Quinn wishes that their predecessors in this house had left behind a cache of baby toys and instructional books, but no luck. They've repurposed various little items into toys, things for Beth to play with and, as of yet, not lodge up her nose. Stevie has developed a talent for carving, and he's made her a few animals with the edges smoothed down.
"Daw!" She's always pretty excited about that one. Beth's never seen a dog in real life, but they've told her that's the name of one of her toys, and she's taken it to heart. There's also a horse, and then some are plain blocks. She enjoys knocking them over. "Daw, Mama!"
"I see that! Do you like your dog?"
Vigorous nodding. She's really coming along with her conversational skills. "See-see!"
"Yep, Stevie made it for you. He's very nice like that."
The rest of the conversation is conducted as a soliloquy in a language only Beth knows, but Quinn is careful to nod and agree at the right points. It's extremely important to pay attention. Quinn wonders what she's just agreed to, and only hopes that her child doesn't call in her debt in a year or two.
"Dada!"
Quinn doesn't need to look up. Sam's like a king with a herald who joyfully announces his presence whenever he walks into a room. One might think that it had been more than ten minutes since Beth had seen him last. Quinn chides herself, just a little, for being petty.
"What have you got? Is that your horse? Are you playing with your horse?"
"Hos!" Her pronunciation always makes Stevie snicker. When she's occasionally feeling less than mature, it makes Quinn laugh too.
Sam joins them on the bed. "It's a super cool horse, like in your book, right?" They'd found a few cardboard boxes in a closet and cut them down to size, drawn pictures of animals on the pages, and voila, the baby has books. Three, actually. Beth's favorite pages have animals that correspond with her toys. Stevie's promised to work on a goat.
Beth and Sam discuss the merits of the horse and the dog. If there's anything that will soften one's cold, dead heart, it's watching this. When Sam lets the little girl go back to playing on her own and leans against the headboard to sit level with Quinn, she's in a more conciliatory mood.
"I just don't want either of you to get hurt," he says, picking up from earlier.
"I know." And she does. Quinn's never once questioned his motives, not ever. But she's not going to be left behind. "I don't want you to get hurt either. And that's why I'm going with you."
"It's not a good idea."
No, Quinn's under no illusions that it's a good idea. But it's the only option. "If we see anything that's dangerous, obviously I'll hang back with Beth. I'm not going to run into an infested building or anything." And here's why she's determined to go: "And I'm going to keep you from doing the same."
Sam frowns. "I'm not stupid."
"No, you're not. But you also convince yourself to take risks if you're the only one who could get hurt."
"I do not."
"So, you wouldn't run into a burning building if there was a chance you could grab a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos?"
"When you say "burning," is the building completely on fire, or is the blaze contained to just one section?"
That's worthy of an eye roll. "That you even ask is why I'm going."
"I was just joking. Mostly." Sam sidles up and wraps his arms around her middle. Beth is completely ignoring them at the other of the bed, wrapped up in her world of wooden dogs and horses, and one that looks sort of like a cow, if you squint.
"We could be worried over nothing," Quinn says, playing with his hair. "We might not run into anything dangerous, and just have a nice day out of the house."
They haven't stayed completely locked away from the world. There have been outings, weather permitting, and they know their immediate jurisdiction fairly well. But a supply run is something bigger, more complex.
"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," he says.
And that's generally how they live their lives.
XxXxX
"Tree!"
Beth dashes up to one of literally hundreds of normal, average trees, and touches it with her little hand. And then another.
"Tree! Tree, Mama!"
"Yes, that's definitely a tree." As had been the last ten she'd announced, pointed towards, and then tapped. You'd think they never took her outside and this is all new to her.
Admittedly, it is a new area, for all of them. They've never been this far from their house before. They're following the small dirt road they hope will take them into what they hope will be a small town, where they hope there might be food or supplies. Lots of hope. With any luck it might actually work out.
They're traveling light, with plans to be back home before dark, but with supplies carried on their backs to stick it out through the night, if needs must. They've had the security of a roof and walls for long enough that Quinn loathes the thought. It used to be the acceptable standard. This is going to be a get in, get out type trip. Grab anything that's valuable and useful. Watch either others' backs, and make it home safely. They've been walking for a little bit now, and except for the constant naming of trees, everything has been uneventful. Quinn prays it stays that way.
Stevie elbows Quinn's arm. "Just in case you missed it, that's a tree."
Beth isn't the only one growing. Stevie's lankier these days, all skinny legs and long arms. He's right in the middle of that awkward stage when everything is growing all at once, too fast to make any sense. He regularly trips over feet that are suddenly longer than he's used to, and these days he's sporting a peach fuzz mustache, a downy blond caterpillar inching its way across his upper lip. At Quinn's prompting, Sam offered to teach him how to shave, but that had been steadfastly rebuffed.
She elbows him back. "Thanks for getting me up to speed."
Quinn wonders if Sam looked like this a few years ago. Gawky, but cute, growing into himself. He's got the long fingers and the pink cheeks. But they're different, too. Stevie's a natural blond, and doesn't have to rely on lemon juice. His eyes are blue, rather than green, and while Sam is prone to being deliberate and sometimes frustratingly slow to act, the younger brother is quick to choose, fast to move, and rarely looks back. The contrast makes for an interesting dynamic between the two brothers. "Interesting" can be read as "turbulent," occasionally.
She slides her arm around his shoulders. They're the same height these days. "Glad to be out of the house?"
Stevie shrugs. There's lots of shrugging. "I wasn't gonna let Sam make me stay behind."
Sam is a few paces ahead, letting Beth educate him on the local flora.
"He loves you, you know."
Nose wrinkle, like he's just seen a dead rat. Adolescent brothers don't talk about love.
"I can take care of myself. He needs to chill out."
Quinn shrugs. It actually is an effective way of communicating. "He can't help it."
"You don't let him boss you around."
She nearly informs Stevie that she's not a kid, but manages to stop herself. It probably wouldn't be well received, and the jury's still out on whether it's true of not. Terms that used to have neat, easily defined boundaries, adult, minor, age of responsibility, they don't mean much anymore.
"We make decisions together." That's mostly true, but it's difficult to be mature and well reasoned all the time. "And you're in on everything too. Nobody's forced you to do anything." That's also mostly true. Sam won't let Stevie do anything stupidly risky, but they make the major decisions as a trio, with everyone having a voice. It's a system that hasn't been fiercely tested yet, so who knows if it will really work or not. It's still uncertain if democracy has a place in the new world order.
Ahead, Beth finally tugs at Sam's leg, tells him that she's done with the walking thing for a while. She'd lasted longer than Quinn had predicted. With one arm wrapped around his neck and the other pointing outward, she continues her tour guide duties.
"Tree!"
Quinn can hear him try to distract her.
"Baby, maybe you'd like to put your head down? Maybe try a nap?"
"No." And then, "Tree, Dada!"
They live an interesting life in their little oasis somewhere on the borders of hell. They've been safe, mostly, fed, mostly, and they, mostly, feel secure in their home. Having Beth forces Quinn to think about the future when she'd rather focus on the present, so she wonders, and worries, about how long it will be before the rest of the world decides it needs to expand. How long will this life that they've built last?
XxXxX
They see a few houses, but they've been picked clean already, and some burned to the ground. Learning that survivors have already been though this area makes Quinn doubly grateful that their own house had been spared. It isn't easy to reach from the road, and she suspects that only locals would've known it was there. Based on the state of the houses they find, it seems probable that the locals are dead.
Quinn had earlier warned herself about expectations. Expectations and hope, when built up and then let down, can be as painful as any knife. So, she hadn't expected to find this town undamaged and filled to the brim with all the essentials that aren't really essential, but make life so much more pleasant. She'd told herself, "Don't expect to find shampoo and conditioner, deodorant or lotion, new underwear and pull-ups." And she took her own advice to heart. But even so, what they find hurts.
There's what used to be a post office, and then something that might have been a restaurant, a diner sort of thing. That's it. That's the town. There's a small sign still standing, and the name matches what they'd seen on their map. They're in the right place, and the place is nothing.
"Well, fuck."
"Stevie, I swear," Sam says through gritted teeth, "if she starts saying that, I'll kill you."
"Fush," Beth says, right on cue.
Sam gives his brother a look that's easy to interpret.
They've walked a long way, so they have to at least investigate. It's a one room post office, and three of the four walls are painted rust brown with dried blood. They ignore Beth's protests and don't let her walk on her own. It's not what she'd hoped for, but Quinn does find an unopened ream of paper, which will be useful when they eventually try to teach Beth to read and write. They're playing the long game.
The restaurant has been completely picked over. There are a few dirty forks, but they'd found silverware in their house, so there's little reason to drag those back home with them. All together, they spend less than half an hour in the town before turning around for the walk back home.
Quinn offers to take Beth; she's finally fallen asleep and she knows the little girl is heavy. But Sam shrugs and says that he's fine, doesn't mind. When they stop for a break and Stevie walks out on his own to pee, Quinn says, "If nothing else we had a day out of the house, right?" She'd been disappointed, no doubt, but Sam looks like he's taking it worse.
He's quiet for a moment, looks down at the child asleep against his chest. Turning to Quinn, Sam says, "Do you ever wonder how it ends?"
"How what ends?"
"Everything, I guess," he sighs. "Do we just keep on doing the same thing every day until we die of old age? Or I guess something could kill us. That's probably in the cards."
Oh. Honestly, she does think along those lines, occasionally. She wonders what's going to happen if they do manage to get old. Will they have met other people, or will Beth and Stevie be left alone, only to get old on their own, and then what? Will the state of the world get better? Will it get worse? But if Sam has those same thoughts, he usually keeps them to himself.
"Did you expect that we'd find something in Barnsley that would really upend our lives?" Barnsley is the name on the sign and on the map. Quinn had been hoping to scavenge some toiletries and condoms, but evidently Sam had nursed loftier goals.
He smirks. "No, not so much." Sam adjusts the baby, they both still think of her as a baby. "It's just, I usually try to ignore it, but do you think this is it? Every day we do the same thing, we make a fire, we wash clothes and dishes, we eat the same food, if we're lucky, we go to bed at sundown so we don't waste the candles. Maybe we find an abandoned house or even a town, and the best case scenario is that we're able to scavenge a pair of shoes that almost fit one of us."
Beth doesn't have shoes. She goes barefoot most of the time, and for outings like this they've wrapped layers of scrap fabric around her feet, something she deeply resents.
Sam says, "It just seems like there are a lot of years of this ahead of us, and there's nothing we can do, and nothing that will likely happen, to make it better."
"I think about that sometimes," Quinn admits. In the old world, the goal would have been college, and then, that achieved, a career. Somewhere in the middle, maybe find that special someone, and advance in the career, buy a house, buy a bigger house, juggle parenthood and further promotion. And now? She's found the special someone. She's found the house. But there aren't any other longterm goals, nothing more than staying fed and warm and clothed and safe.
"I ought to be grateful. And I am." Sam squeezes her hand. "I've got more than anyone has a right to expect. But I want more for us."
Quinn remembers the child that appeared at their door in the middle of the night, the former child. They'd buried it the next morning. It's not something that she often thinks about, but when she does, it's about the boy's parents. Are they still alive and grieving, or did they go first?
"I want more," she tells him, "but I feel good about what we have."
"I know, I shouldn't complain."
"You never complain. It's ok to let it out occasionally."
Stevie comes back, and Sam usually tries to keep any worries he has under wraps to keep from upsetting his younger brother. Said brother would be deeply offended if he knew, but he doesn't, so everything's fine. Quinn accepts the still sleeping Beth and they restart the walk home.
"At least we didn't get eaten today," Stevie says.
Looking at it that way, it has been a pretty good day.
XxXxX
Bath toys are in high demand, but supply is limited. Their predecessors in this house had left behind a lot of stuff, for which Quinn is ever thankful, but they clearly hadn't had kids, because there's nothing remotely close to toys. So, they improvise, and Beth doesn't know any different, because it's not like she's ever seen a rubber duck before. Or a real duck, for that matter. She's currently bashing one empty shampoo bottle into another. This is great fun, especially when it results in splashing.
Quinn's sharing with a small child, so the water's not as hot as she would like, but still it's warm and deep enough to cover her legs, and, what's more, she remembers when baths were speedy dips in a freezing stream, so this is more or less heaven. The bathtub isn't huge, but there's room for her to lean back and stretch her legs. Down between her knees, Beth is in her own little world, jabbering stream of consciousness style, and as long as Quinn occasionally nods in agreement and says something to the effect of, "Hmm, you're right," then all is well. Again, heaven.
There's the usual joyous "Dada!" when Sam enters the bathroom, and he crouches low to listen to Beth carefully explain what she's been up to with the two shampoo bottles, and is then polite enough to pretend that he understands and agrees that, yes, that does sound amazing. No one will ever been able to claim that she doesn't get enough affirmation.
"You ready to get out?"
"Yesshhh!" Beth mostly speaks in exclamation marks.
There's the usual feeling in her heart, and perhaps in other places, whenever Quinn watches him take care of Beth. When he carries her to bed after she's fallen asleep, when he comforts her when she's upset. Now, Sam has her sitting on the bathroom counter as he brushes her hair, the towel enormous across her tiny shoulders. This must be what it feels like to have your ovaries explode, Quinn figures.
He's been, not depressed, so far as she can tell, but not his usual self since they'd been disappointed in the small town found on the map earlier in the week. For herself, Quinn had been disheartened, but life is defined by let downs these days, and so she'd put it aside. Of their group, Sam has always been the optimistic one, the one who knows, without a doubt, that good things are around the next corner. But this, this very small thing, seems to have dampened him.
"Alright." He places the little toddler on her feet, towel carefully hitched up so she doesn't trip on it. Sam opens the bathroom door slightly and nudges her through. "Yell for Stevie and he'll help you get dressed."
Yelling is one thing she's always ready to do. "See-see!" And off she goes. Sam shuts the door behind her.
"You're not going to help her?"
"Stevie can. I actually thought I might help you."
"That's not a particularly smooth line." The cooling water isn't terribly deep, because they carry it inside pot by pot, and Quinn had felt his eyes touch on her breasts when he'd entered the room. But he'd focused on Beth, because she's squirmy. Now they're alone, and there's that distinct feeling of being watched. And if this gives his mood a jolt, well, Quinn certainly isn't opposed.
Sam's lately opted to keep a little mustache when he shaves, not much more impressive than the one currently sported by his brother, and Quinn had thought she didn't like it. Had thought. But now he's crossing the room, legs long enough to take it in two steps, and there's something about it, faint gold between his pink cheeks, like a kid who really wants to be an adult. It's cute. She won't tell him this for fear of hurting his pride, but Quinn suddenly doesn't hate it like she had. In fact she wants to kiss him.
She's standing and wet, and then his hands are on her hips, and his chest is hard against hers. Quinn won't tell him that the little prickle of the mustache actually feels interesting, sort of intriguing, because then it'll never leave.
"Now your shirt's wet." Her breasts have left dark imprints against the middle of shirt.
His arm pulls back and flicks the threadbare garment over his head. She'd hoped for that. "Problem solved."
She remembers when she first found them, when they found her, and Quinn came to live with the Evanses. She remembers thinking it pleasantly odd that the oldest brother never wore a shirt, and he was so casual about it that she didn't think he even did it on purpose, didn't even know that some in the audience might find the view enticing. Probably understandable, since until her arrival the audience had been his mother and brother.
He looks even better now. They're settled, live indoors, and Sam and Stevie are getting better at hunting, so protein is more available since anytime after they'd left civilization. Quinn would happily spend the mornings wrapped up in him, and Sam will stay and kiss and hold her for a while, but then he invariably pulls away, and on the floor beside their bed she can watch him engage in his ritual of crunches and pushups. He's even managed to fashion a pull-up bar for the closet door. She'd asked him once, why? Granted, staying healthy is important, but his regimen seems a little extra.
"Gotta keep you interested, babe. What if some stud zombie wanders up and steals your heart?"
He has the advantage on her, wearing pants while she's naked and wet from the bath. Sam holds her hand as she steps over the edge of the bathtub and closes in when they're on even footing. His hand pushes down her back and lower still, squeezes, and she can feel his mouth against hers curl into an adolescent grin.
"You've got the best ass in the apocalypse."
How does one respond to that? His other hand follows the first. She's in his grip and pushed against him, his hard on wedged flat across her stomach. Quinn can't believe they're doing this in the middle of the day in the bathroom. Stevie will get tired of wrangling Beth in a minute and then there'll be an irritated knock at the door, telling them to hurry up, and he'll sound offended, because it's probably obvious what they're doing.
Quinn doesn't care. She pulls her mouth free of his. "Are you going to do something about your pants or what?" It's his last pair that are recognizably pants. If they don't find more clothes soon, or perhaps start cannibalizing sheets, he's going to be reduced to wearing loincloths. Quinn's not totally against this, but Stevie might be offended.
"You should do something about them." Sam gives her another squeeze. "My hands are full."
Pervert. Also, she loves him. Quinn sets herself to the task of unbuttoning his jeans, so she has to work around his dick, which keeps pointing out in an unhelpful fashion, when there comes a knock at the bathroom. Shit.
Sam groans into her hair before pulling back, but only slightly.
"Is Beth hurt?" he calls to the mercifully still closed door.
From the other side: "No."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Then come back in fifteen minutes." He must read her face, because he adds, "No, better make it thirty."
Stevie's voice has that special mix of indignation and disgust particular to adolescents. "Fine, then I'll go talk to the guy at the front door."
Things move pretty fast after that.
XxXxX
Afterwards, Sam says he feels stupid.
"They only live five miles away, and we've been here for months and didn't know about them."
Quinn points out that five miles is no small distance on foot, and it's not like they've had a lot of time to explore the wider world. It had taken them forever to even visit Barnsley, the little "town" on the map that had led to nothing.
When they found their home, they were near death after so long on the road with supplies getting low. Then, Mary died. Then, they had to establish a new life using only their own know-how and whatever they could find that had been abandoned by others. Then, they had to take care of a baby growing into a toddler, in addition to all the daily tasks required to keep four people alive with no electricity, running water, or internet. They had to establish procedures for keeping clothes and bedding clean, for rationing food and getting more food, for keeping their house in good repair. It was all new, and the newness hasn't yet worn off.
"I think we've done pretty well," she says.
They're in bed, tired but sleep is dancing out of reach. This has probably been the most transformative day of their lives since they found one another in the woods.
Sam turns on his side to face her. "I don't like that they were watching us."
"We would've done the same thing, just to be sure."
When Stevie had announced someone was at the door, they'd rushed to throw on clothes, and then had an expedited version of the usual argument: Sam wanted her and Stevie to take Beth to the backdoor and be ready to run if anything happened, while he took the risk and met the stranger. Quinn and Stevie both made it clear that wasn't going to happen, and joined him at the door, Quinn with Beth on her hip, Sam with the baseball bat in his hand, but held low and loose, because they don't want to invite a fight.
It's a man, probably in his fifties, though everyone looks older these days. Sometimes Quinn feels like she's pushing forty. The stranger is white, with a full head of dark hair greying at the temples. He's wearing long sleeves and pants, not showing too much skin, but he looks clean and well-kempt, so Quinn doubts he's been bitten, or at least it's taking an unusually long time to take effect.
They open the door and the newcomer acts as if civilization hasn't collapsed. It might as well be only old day before the dead had started rising and turning on their loved ones.
"Nice to meet you all. My name's Chris." He offers his hand, like this is normal and they're meeting for the first time in the church parking lot after a sermon on loving thy neighbor.
Quinn's the first to collect herself. They'd known for several minutes that there was in fact a living, breathing human being at their door, but actually seeing him, and hearing him speak, is a shock. They don't get out much.
She doesn't take his hand, because they're living in a world that doesn't encourage trust, but she does say, "Hello. I'm Quinn, and this is Stevie and Sam and Beth." She's out of practice using social graces, and that's the best she can muster. It's better than stoney silence, which seems to be Sam's approach.
"It's a pleasure." He turns his smile to Beth. "And aren't you cute."
She shoves her face into Quinn's chest.
"Sorry, she's shy." Quinn's actually never thought of her daughter as shy before. She'd had nothing to be shy of. This is the first person she's ever met who wasn't present when she was born. It's probably understandable. Quinn feels strangely exposed at having this person looking at her. They've been so extremely insulated.
Sam, only slightly, but enough that she notices and Quinn's sure Chris notices too, edged himself between his family and this new guy. "So, uh, what can we do for you?" The bat was still hanging from his hand, and Quinn could see his knuckles gripped white.
In their bed, she pulls herself closer to him. It's not so warm inside that they mind sleeping close. "I think today went really well." She's been replaying portions of it in her head.
Sam nods, snakes his arm around her middle. "I could've been friendlier. It's just hard, you know? For so long, anything new showing up meant that it's probably trying to kill us. It's hard for me to shake that."
The visitor, Chris, told them that he lived across several fields with his family, and that he'd noticed about two weeks ago that someone was living on "the Miller place." The name checks out; Quinn's found old mail, electric bills and credit card offers for Brad and Sandy Miller.
"We mostly keep to our land, but my nephew and I hunt some, and that's when we knew someone was living here. I hope it doesn't sound rude, but we watched for a while, to make sure you all are good people."
Quinn supposes they passed the test, since he showed up at their door. And as she told Sam, she would've done the same thing. You can't be too careful.
They invited him inside. It's strange, Quinn thinks as she replays the afternoon in her head, but that was the first time that she as an adult has ever invited someone into her home. Strange times all around. Sam had quietly sat himself between the stranger and the rest of them, and kept the bat propped against his leg. If Chris was offended, he hadn't shown it.
"Yeah, it's me and my wife and our nephew and his two kids. They're a little bit younger than you two, I'd guess. They used to have their own house, but, well, you know how things have been." Stevie offered him a glass of water, pretty much the only thing they have to offer, and he accepts. "And these days it feels better to have everyone together, anyway."
"So," Sam started, his voice not hostile, but guarded, definitely, "what brings you here then?"
He'd nodded, because it's a perfectly reasonable question. They're strangers, these two families, and strangers after the end of the world might be nice, but they might also kill you for any resources that you have. There's a knife under the couch cushion behind Quinn, and sitting where she had wasn't an accident.
"Everything in the world's awful," Chris had said. "We all know it. Every day's a struggle. Your family looks like it's intact, which is amazing if true. We've lost people." He paused for a moment, bit his lip. "But like I said, we watched you all, nothing invasive, we didn't peer in your windows or anything. We just watched from a distance to see what kind of people you are. And you seem decent. That's the sort of people it pays to know these days."
"I don't know what we can do for you…"
He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It's just," Chris paused, looking for the word. "Community. That's what we all need. Nothing formal, no obligations. It's just like I said: you all seem nice, I promise you we're nice too. We help each other when we can, give each other space the rest of the time. It's not healthy to be alone in the world, especially now."
That last sentence resonated with Quinn. It echoed all the worries she's been feeling more and more frequently of late. They've discussed Stevie growing up and being alone. The same will happen to Beth if they remain just as they are, a family of four. And even outside of the fulfillment of finding someone special, there's the problems inherent in living a solitary existence. It's not good, or least not ideal if there are other options.
They'd chatted for a few minutes more, and having a conversation with someone she didn't know intimately got easier as they went, came back to Quinn, like riding a bike. Maybe you never lose it. She noticed Sam's shoulders ease, just slightly. He'd left the baseball bat at the couch when they stood and said goodbye to the newcomer at the front door.
Sam's running his fingers through her hair. That always helps her fall asleep. "Do you feel better about us meeting other people?" He's always been adamant that they needed to be extremely cautious, and that's putting it lightly, about other survivors. Sam's firmly expressed preference was to avoid them at all costs.
"I'm going to keep my eyes open," he whispers. Beth is asleep in her little bed, tired like the rest of them from an eventful day. "And none of us are going to be alone with them, that's for sure. But he seems like an ok guy."
Chris, their new friend and lifeline to society, a new society, said that he kept chickens, and would bring them some hens and a rooster. Quinn was nearly salivating at the thought of fried eggs when Sam said, "We don't have any way to pay you for that."
"Community," Chris had said for the second time. "I meant what I said. My family's alone right now, and people shouldn't be alone. What's good for you all is good for us."
Things have grown quiet in the dark. There will be more to process, more to plan, tomorrow. Their lives are about to change drastically, maybe even take on a sliver of the normalcy that Quinn used to take for granted. People are networks, opportunities to share things, not just chickens, but knowledge and skills. And their network just doubled in size.
"He mentioned his wife used to be a nurse."
Sam's fingers are still trailing through her hair, slow and gentle. "Definitely a good person to know."
"Especially if…"
"Hmm, that was actually the first thing I thought of when he mentioned it."
Quinn breathes out, stretches her legs under the sheets. If they have access to a nurse, someone with real medical knowledge and experience, it wouldn't be a sure thing because nothing is a sure thing, but the odds are improved, substantially, Quinn supposes, if there comes a point when, through planning or fate, something happens. It might be something to hope for, rather than guard against.
She falls asleep picturing how their lives might change.
XxXxX
They decide to have another anniversary. It's probably unorthodox to have an anniversary just a month after the last one, but who's going to call them on it?
A large portion of the backyard is now devoted to a chicken coop, and Beth likes to check on the chickens at least thirty times a day, so that's where they leave her under Stevie's watchful gaze. They promise him they won't be gone terribly long.
It's a beautiful day, winter a thing of the past and spring in full bloom. Surely it helps that they both have full stomachs and can say with confidence what their next meal will be. Anyone who says that material things aren't important has never lived through the end of the world.
"Jake's going to bring some of the girls' old clothes over," she says. Jake is Chris's nephew, father of two young teenage girls, Anna and Claire. Their mother died in the first wave, though Jake hasn't volunteered the details, and Sam and Quinn haven't asked. Everyone has a story, and they have to tell it in their own time.
"That's good to hear." Sam's hand holds hers in a loose grip. "I'm sort of worried that one day soon Beth's going to realize that she's wearing a pillowcase."
"The little belt made out of shoestrings makes it chic."
It's nice to be able to talk about nothing, a luxury that's occasionally lost to parents of a young child, caught up in keeping everything together and running smoothly. Quinn has a hunch it was like that before the apocalypse, too. "Chris says their dog is about to have puppies," she says. "He said we can have one."
"Oh, yay," Sam deadpans. "I've always dreamed of having two incontinent little creatures running around underfoot, leaving surprises in every corner of the house." It's early days with Beth's potty training, and while she's enthusiastic, it's been stop and go so far.
Quinn wonders if it ever won't be strange, stealing their alone time outside. But there's nowhere else to go, and they can't exactly ask Stevie to take Beth and go play in the woods. Maybe if things keep going well, the younger two can go visit with Chris and his family for an afternoon. The girls are a little older than Stevie but are friendly with him, and they love making a fuss over a toddler, who doesn't mind at all the attention lavished on her. But Sam's not there yet. When they do visit their new neighbors, it's as a group, and Quinn can see the tension in his shoulders that only relaxes when they leave. She understands. It's all new and life is scary.
She's sitting on his lap, her arms wrapped around him. They've walked up the hill, not far from where they camped for the last time out of doors, where they were attacked by the roving cluster of creatures. You can't dwell on every place you've ever felt pain. There'd be nowhere left to go.
Quinn kisses along his jawline, across to his pink cheek. "I like having anniversaries whenever we feel like it."
Sam's wide hand is splayed across her thigh, his thumb pressing against the denim between her legs. "We should have weekly anniversaries." He'd turned into her kisses, but Quinn feels a sudden jolt.
"What's wrong?"
Sam's eyes are wide with a mixture of realization and horror. "I just figured it out. When I was a kid, every Sunday after church my parents would shut their bedroom door and say they were working on their taxes…"
Quinn laughs so hard that she snorts. "At least we work on our taxes more than once a week."
"Thank God." Sam's hand pushes up the back of her shirt, flat against her skin.
She meant to tell him that she loved him. He'd said it first on their last anniversary, and Quinn wanted to get it in there first this time around, but then he distracted her, and then events took over and there wasn't much talking about anything. She broke her own rule about doing thatoutside, but it was very natural, in more ways than one, and they're both smiling when they get back home to start getting dinner ready. They have eggs now, and they're delicious. Quinn's worked up an appetite.
It's a team effort, getting Beth bathed and ready for bed, and tonight it's Sam's turn to tell her a story. When Quinn gets back to the bedroom from brushing her teeth and washing her face, she finds the two of them in bed, Beth asleep in the middle, Sam looking slightly guilty. She's supposed to sleep in her own bed, but Sam's a sucker, and Quinn tells him this.
"Can't help it. Have you seen this face?"
They blow out the candle, get comfortable together. Sometimes, Quinn has flashbacks, wakes up in the middle of the night and expects to find herself freezing in a sleeping bag under the stars. Life is better now, but some experiences are hard to shake. They've kept the sleeping bags, stored them in a hall closet, because you never know. "You Never Know" could be their family motto.
It usually takes Sam a few minutes to fall asleep, so Quinn doesn't feel bad about poking him.
"Hmm?"
"Do you remember, we'd found that dumb little town with nothing in it, and you asked me if we're going to just keep on doing the same thing every day until we die of old age?" Those had been his exact words.
"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have —"
Quinn cuts him off. "I hope it is. If this is it, with you and Beth and Stevie for the rest of forever, then I'm happy."
Sam reaches across the sleeping baby between them. "I am too."
The End
Sooooo sorry for the long delay. I got caught up reading Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell trilogy, and then life just sort of happened, but I hope that, if anyone is still reading after such a long break, you enjoyed this!
No immediate plans for a sequel, though I do have a scene in my head staring Sam and Stevie. We'll see, but for now this is it, and I hope you enjoyed the trip! Please review!