a/n: This is all the same day as chapter 6. Hence the chapter name. It's been a really long day for our heroes, y'all.

Thanks for the lovely comments! They give me warm fuzzies.

all i'm doing is trying to get by
the road is getting narrow
i'm flying through the arrows
your sentences are sparrows flying through the sky
Bob Schneider, "Dirtmouth"

Together they stripped off Jane Baker's sweaty nightgown and wiped her down with rose-scented water. The honeymoon dress was much too big, but Kai pinned it up the back and around the waist. Nick added a string of pearls from her jewelry box, and then they took turns carrying her the two miles to the funeral home, because they didn't have a car that would take her lying down.

It was hot and humid and so goddamn quiet it gave them both the chills. They passed more than one wrecked car, the inhabitant dead or missing. Three churches so full of people they spilled out into the lawn, where they lay roasting in the blazing sun.

When they got there the funeral home was locked, and no one was around. Nick banged on the door while Kai yelled for someone to come, but it was as silent as the rest of the town had been. Just across the road was a pretty cemetery with lots of shady trees and solemn statues. Without discussing it, they took her there, found a spot under a spreading oak with a sweet looking angel nearby, and laid her out on the grass.

Neither spoke the entire trip back. Occasionally their shoulders brushed or their hands bumped, but otherwise they walked without touching.

Finally, a few blocks from the Bakers', Kai broke the silence. "We have to stop by the pound," she signed.

He blinked. "What?"

"The pound. The Humane Society! I know dogs"—she winced—"get the flu, but! But, if we're immune, maybe some dogs are too. What if there's a perfectly healthy dog trapped in a cage right now? And also we have to free the cats."

He stared at her a moment, at the conviction in her eyes and the stubborn slant to her mouth. He shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

Now it was her turn to blink. "That easy?"

"It would be both mean and stupid to try to talk you out of it. I'll check on the dogs, and you can take care of the cats. Okay?"

She knew he was protecting her from having to see a bunch of sick dogs, and for that she was grateful. "I'll figure out where it is. We'll stop on our way out of town."

"Okay," he said again. Then, "Mrs. Baker told me we should take anything we need from the house. She said the Sheriff liked to be prepared, so there are a lot of supplies in the basement."

She nodded. "She told me the same. Also she mentioned camping, so there might be tents and stuff too."

"Did she mention the car?"

"A hybrid, she said. It would help with the gas problem."

He hesitated. "Does it feel weird to you, scavenging their house like that?"

She glanced at him, brow crinkled thoughtfully. "A little. But she was adamant. We should think of it less as scavenging, and more as…them helping us one last time."

They'd reached the house by now, and they ambled up the walk and onto the front porch. She paused to glance around the neighborhood and wrapped her arms around her middle. Shivered despite the baking heat.

"I'd like to take a shower before we do anything," she said.

"You do that, and I'll check out the basement. Then we can switch."

"I'll make us something to eat, too."

His mouth quirked. "You really do love feeding people, don't you?"

She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug. "It's how I show I care. The only thing not improved by a good meal is a stomach virus, and luckily neither of us have that problem."

"Can't argue with that." She offered a tired smile and turned to go in the house, but he stopped her. "One thing…when he deputized me, Sheriff Baker showed me the gun cabinet at the station. I need to go back for my stuff anyway, and I think…it would be a stupid risk to go unarmed. We have no idea what's out there, and we might need to protect ourselves."

It seemed like a speech he'd been planning, perhaps on the walk back, because he expected her to argue. But she didn't. "I don't really like guns, but I was going to ask about something like that. Or about searching their house for some. Do you know how to shoot?"

He wagged his hand back and forth. "Some. You?"

"Not handguns, but my Grandmère taught me to use a shotgun when I was a kid." She paused. "She always said a woman should know the most effective way to get rid of a troublesome husband."

It surprised a silent laugh out of him. "She did not."

"She absolutely did. The woman was a character. Anyway, I'm sure there's at least one shotgun in there, so I should be good."

"Okay, so, we have a plan?"

"We have a plan."

They'd had a plan, and it was a good plan, and for the first part of it everything went fine. They got cleaned up, had something to eat, raided the frankly mind-boggling stash of supplies in the basement, and loaded up Jane's car, a small SUV hybrid that still smelled new. They decided to leave that afternoon, since nightfall was still hours away, and so they headed for the station.

"Maybe there's still wifi there," she said. Service at the house had cut out sometime during the day—they weren't sure when, because they hadn't exactly been paying attention—and Kai wanted to set up Jane's phone with her info, to see if she had any missed texts or voicemails from anyone back home.

At the station Nick retrieved his backpack and they hit the gun cabinet. He belted a .45 onto his hip and felt like Doc Holiday. She chose a shotgun and several boxes of ammunition. He took everything out to the car while she worked on her phone, and when he came back in she was staring down at the little screen with a look of horror.

"What? Did it work? What's wrong?" he said.

She gave a slow shake of her head and thrust the phone at him so he could see for himself. He ignored the voicemails and went for the texts instead. There were probably a dozen from Sarah, a few from Remy, and several from numbers that weren't in her contacts. Sarah's grew increasingly desperate, first angrily demanding to know where Kai (she called her Edie) was, then begging her to answer.

"They shut down the restaurant that first day," Kai said.

He nodded and kept reading. It sounded like they shut down the entire goddamn town. Military blocking roads in and out. Communication cut off. Internet down, where you could get a wifi signal.

"How the hell did she get these texts through?"

"I don't know. Maybe they wanted her to, in the hopes it would get me back."

"Have you listened to the voicemail yet?" The texts ended abruptly the day Kai got into Shoyo, but there were two more recent voicemails from Sarah's number.

"I…" She closed her eyes. "Go ahead and play them. Put it on speaker."

He did as she said. She didn't open her eyes as she translated the first message. It was more of the same from the texts, asking where she was, begging her to respond, but then a change. Kai's head tilted and she gestured for him to rewind it.

"She's whispering," she said. "Don't answer and don't come back. I can barely hear her. Fuck, now she's coughing. Fuck! Play the next one."

She started to translate that one, too, but she stopped partway through. Finally, "She was sick," she said. "Hard to understand." She took the phone from him and tucked it into her pocket. Wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. "She was saying goodbye. That was so stupid! Why did I do that?! I knew they were all dead. I didn't need to hear it for myself!"

"Maybe you did," he said, gently. "It can be hard to accept things we don't see for ourselves. Now you know. For sure." It felt like a lame platitude, some sort of bullshit psychobabble about closure, but he didn't know what else to say. Maybe she should've left it alone. But some part of him thought that, in the long run, hearing her former wife's goodbye would be good for her.

She gave a brief, hitching nod. "Yeah. You're right, I just…"

"I know," he said when she didn't finish the thought. "I'm sorry, Kai. Really."

"I am too," she said. She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers and scrunched her face. "Let's just—get on the road. I'm gonna go pee, and I'll meet you at the car."

"Sure, sounds good." He figured she might want to talk about it some more later, but for now she needed to put it aside. He watched her disappear down the hall, and that was why he wasn't looking at the front door when it opened. It was why he didn't see Ray Booth come staggering in, neck swollen and face contorted with rage.

It wasn't until a pair of beefy hands closed around his throat that Nick even knew he was in danger.

Kai couldn't get the hoarse, thick sound of Sarah's voice out of her head. She had apologized for everything, told Kai she forgave her for Remy. Told her she loved her and she always would.

She had believed Sarah was the love of her life when they got married, and feelings like that didn't just vanish, no matter how bad things got. And now Sarah was dead, and Kai supposed she was technically a widow. No divorce papers had been signed, after all. Widowed at age twenty-seven in the pandemic apocalypse. That wasn't something she'd ever imagined for herself.

She carefully propped the shotgun between the two sinks and sat down on the toilet. Her mind wandered, remembering good times with Sarah and the life they'd built together, and how it had all gone so fucking wrong. She was really getting into a good brood when a noise from outside caught her attention. It sounded like something heavy hitting the floor. Had Nick knocked something over?

That wasn't like him. The only time she'd ever seen him close to clumsy was last night, when he'd come stumbling in at the Bakers' exhausted half to death. Otherwise he moved carefully and gracefully, like someone accustomed to hiding in plain sight.

She finished up quickly and washed her hands, and only just remembered to grab the shotgun on her way out the door. She slung it across her back, and as the bathroom door swished shut behind her she heard the definite sounds of a struggle: deep, choking grunts and rhythmic thumps that might be something hitting the floor over and over. Like a kicking foot, or a skull.

Adrenaline shot through her and she surged toward the commotion, skidded around the corner and came to a halt as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Nick was on the floor, and a huge man straddled his much thinner form. The guy was clearly sick, in the end stages of the flu, but somehow he had enough strength to strangle the shit out of Nick. He let go of his neck and wrapped his hands around Nick's face instead, and she watched in frozen horror as he screwed his thumb into Nick's eye.

Her brain clicked into gear again and she let out a wordless scream. "No!" she cried. "Get off of him, get off!"

She started toward them and then remembered the shotgun. She swung it around, flicked the safety off, and pointed it directly at the asshole's head. "Get off of him or I swear to God we will find out if you have a single fucking braincell in that thick skull of yours!"

That got his attention. He turned his head slowly on a neck grossly swollen, and the look in his eyes when he spotted her sent a jolt of pure terror through her.

She didn't give him a chance to reply, or to move, and instead squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening, a roar that seemed much louder than one shotgun could produce, and for a moment she was staggered. The guy's head exploded from the first shot, but she pumped another round into the chamber and fired into his chest just to make sure. Blood, bone, and brains flew everywhere, and without making a sound (not that either of them would have heard it), he slumped sideways to bleed all over the floor.

Nick thrashed and flailed, desperate to get the weight off of him, and as soon as she realized what was happening, Kai hurried to help. She kicked and shoved at the man's dead weight, and Nick managed to squirm away.

She set the shotgun on the floor and dropped down next to him. His eye was a mess, and he had both hands pressed to either side of his head as though he were trying to keep it from splitting in half.

"Who the fuck was that?" she signed, her hands shaking so badly and moving so fast he could barely understand her. "Are you—stupid question. Of course you're not okay. God, Nicky, your eye. We have to—we've got—" What?! What did they have to do? There weren't any doctors, there was no hospital.

"Ray Booth," he managed. "It was Ray fucking Booth. Kai, fuck, my eye, fuck!"

"I know," she said. She had to stay calm. He was on the verge of outright panic, and she could tell the pain was enormous. "I know, honey, I know. We've got—we've got to get you to Dr. Soames' office."

"Doc Soames is dead, Kai!"

"I know," she said again. "I know he is, but his office will still have supplies. Bandages and antibiotics. We've got to get that eye cleaned up or it's going to get infected."

His signs were sloppy and frantic, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm gonna lose my eye I'm gonna have one eye fuck goddamn I need to see!"

"Hey!" She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "I'm not going to lie to you. It looks bad. Really fucking bad. But he's dead, Nick. He can't hurt you again, and your other eye is fine. You're not going to be blind. You're not."

He nodded like his head was on a spring, then his face contorted with pain. "Fucking hurts!"

"Let's go," she said. "Come on, you just have to get to the car. Can you stand up?"

With her help he staggered to his feet, but when he tried to take a step he almost fell again. She wrapped an arm around his waist and let him lean on her shoulder. Together they stumbled to the car and she got him into it, then a few minutes later out again and into Soames' office. She had to bust out a window to get them in, and he leaned against the building like a drunkard while she did it.

They made it to an exam room and she sat him in a chair instead of trying to get him up onto the table. She gestured for him to stay put and went rummaging for supplies. A pair of gloves, bandages, tape, a little squeeze bottle with a pipette on the end. Some saline solution.

Back in the room she dropped the armload onto the counter and knelt in front of him. "Hey," she signed. "You still with me?"

He gave a slow nod.

"Good. I have to wash this out. I think it's going to hurt. Maybe a lot. I'll only need one hand, so you can squeeze the other as hard as you want, got it?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" His signs weren't entirely coherent, but she got the gist.

"Not…exactly. But. What are your options?" She held up the squeeze bottle of saline. "Do it yourself?"

He waved at her, then toward his face in a sort of have at it gesture.

"Good choice." She held out her left hand and he took it in his. With a long, fortifying breath, she began to spray the blood-slicked skin around his eye. She set the bottle on the counter and dabbed the wet areas with a bit of gauze.

She offered an encouraging smile. "Not too bad, right?"

He shook his head, but then pointed at the bad eye and twirled his finger.

"No, I haven't really gotten into it yet. Keep still, okay? And I think I'll need my other hand after all."

He let go with a brief smile that was more like a grimace. She carefully lifted his eyebrow. He clenched his jaw so hard the muscles danced and jumped. Finally she sprayed the water into the bloody, messy socket.

He grabbed her wrist and reared back like he'd been shocked. His face twisted into a rictus of pure agony and his breath came in rough, uneven gasps.

"I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head and loosened his hold on her. "Keep going," he signed.

"Are you sure? I can—"

He squeezed. "Please. Keep going."

"Okay." She didn't have any clue how much to spray. Till the blood was gone? It didn't really seem to be bleeding much. Should she try to put Neosporin on it? Surely that didn't go on your eyeball!

He touched her chin with light fingers. "I trust you, Kai."

That makes one of us, she thought. But she just nodded, bit down on her lip, and sprayed his eye again. His reaction wasn't as extreme this time, but only because he was more prepared for the pain. Finally she set the bottle aside and dabbed the water away.

"I have no idea if that's enough, but it looks a lot better."

"Better?" he signed with a frown.

"Cleaner, anyway." She cut some gauze to the proper size and taped it into place. "There, how's that?"

He sat very still for a moment. Then, "Pretty sure I need to throw up," he said.

"Oh! Okay! Right!"

She jumped to her feet, grabbed a basin, and thrust it against his chest. He caught it just in time.

"Okay," she murmured, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "It's okay." She rubbed his back with one hand and held his hair with the other. It was as soft as it looked, and now was not the time to notice that.

Finally he slumped in the chair and let his head fall back. She took the basin from him and set it aside before wetting a paper towel and wiping his face.

"There was a Coke machine in the hall. It'll help settle your stomach."

A weary nod, and he closed his good eye as he leaned forward to rest his forehead in his palms.

Nothing in her entire life had felt as absurd as feeding a dollar into the fucking Coke machine at the office of a dead doctor. Probably she should've checked for a break room. The fridge might be stocked with drinks. It felt morbid digging through dead people's things, but she figured she should start getting used to it.

She stopped back in the room to drop off the drink, then went searching for pain meds. There was nothing besides sample packs of Advil and Tylenol. No antibiotics, either. What kind of doctor's office didn't entertain drug reps night and day?

Dr. Soames must not've been a prescription factory like so many doctors in so many small towns. He'd given Nick some pain pills after the beating, though. Maybe he still had some left. She paused for a moment in the drug closet and felt, suddenly, the weight of what had just happened.

Nick could have been killed. He could be lying on the station floor dead right the fuck now. As it was he'd probably lost an eye, and she'd killed a man. She'd done it to save Nick's life, but…goddamn if she wouldn't shoot him again if he were standing in front of her right now, unarmed and helpless.

"He deserved it," she whispered.

That's what you said last time, a little voice whispered back.

She swallowed the tears that threatened and gritted her teeth. "Yeah, I did," she said. "And I was right then, too." Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She paused. Gave it a good shake. And walked out of the closet, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the pictures on the wall jump.

Back in the room Nick was slumped over and shivering, and when he raised his head his face was alarmingly pale, the pupil in his good eye huge.

"Oh, fuck," she said. She'd forgotten about shock. She held up both hands and gestured for him to stay, then ran for the car. They'd packed blankets in with the camping gear. She found one and hurried back.

"Okay, up here, quick," she said. He stumbled to the exam table and stretched out on it. She shoved one of the blankets under his feet and wrapped the other one around him. She rested a hand on his cheek; his skin was cool and clammy, which in this case was bad.

"I'm sorry," she signed. "I forgot about shock. I'm sorry."

He started to pull his arms from under the blanket, but she pushed them back down. "It's okay, don't say anything. You have to keep warm."

He gave a weak nod and closed his good eye. She brushed the dark curls back from his forehead and rubbed his arm. Soon the shivering subsided, and slowly the color began to return to his face. She let out a long sigh of relief and collapsed into the nearby chair.

She'd give him some time to rest, then they could head to Doc Soames' cabin. She wasn't sure she was up to driving right now anyway.

Several hours later she pulled up in front of a tidy little house with brown shaker shingles and red trim. Nick was asleep, slumped against the car door, and she gave him a shake. He woke slowly. Went to scrub his face and winced.

"We're here?" he signed.

"Seems so. Let's get you inside, and then I can take stock, see what we need to unload."

"I'm okay," he said. "I can walk. The drugs helped some with the pain."

"How's your stomach?"

He wagged his hand back and forth. "So-so. Don't think I'm gonna ralph again, though."

"Good," she said. "Come on, I'll make you some chamomile with honey, then we'll see if you feel like eating anything."

He managed a brief, tired smile. "Okay, mother hen. Whatever you say."

"You know chickens are omnivores? They're descendants of dinosaurs. Never underestimate a chicken."

His smile widened until the dimples appeared. "Noted."

She knew he was teasing her, but she didn't care. She cut the engine and stopped to wait for him to get out before heading to the door to unlock it. The key worked just fine, so clearly they had the right place. It was stuffy inside, hot and a bit dusty, and she let out a long breath. Tons of windows would turn this place into an oven during the day.

As though reading her mind, Nick tapped her shoulder and pointed. There was an AC unit mounted high on the wall, and she closed her eyes in relief.

"Thank God," she said.

"As long as the power's still on."

"If not we'll have to figure out the generator." She flipped the light switch and the overhead light and ceiling fan came on. They shared a relieved glance. It looked like the generator could wait.

The AC unit was powered by a remote control, they discovered, and after a bit of fiddling it was blowing cool air into the sweltering room.

"Have a seat," she said, tilting her head toward the couch. "I'll take a look around and let you know what we're dealing with."

He started to argue, but then he nodded and sank down onto the red and green plaid sofa. He was exhausted, in truth, and shaky as hell. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Ray Booth's red, bloated face above him. His neck throbbed and ached, and he could barely think for the pain in his eye. He was glad Kai hadn't tried to sugarcoat it earlier. He knew he was unlikely to see properly out of it again, and being told otherwise would have just made it even more frustrating.

He felt the air move around him and turned his head to watch Kai open the back door. The lake was just there across a small patch of grass, and he thought he saw a dock going out over the water. It was nearly eight, and the sun was going down, but he imagined during the height of the day the water would be mirror-bright under the clear blue sky.

She appeared a few moments later and perched on the coffee table in front of him.

"That didn't take long," he said.

"Not a very big place. One bedroom, one bathroom, and this common room. Kitchen over there. Nice pantry, well stocked, like Doc Soames said. I can make a run into the little town we passed through to see if there's anything cold still working, grab some meat before it goes bad, some dairy. I figure we should enjoy it while we can, because soon it'll be SPAM and evaporated milk for all."

He made a face and patted his stomach.

"Sorry, you're sensitive at the moment." She hesitated. Glanced toward what he guessed was the one bedroom. "About—sleeping arrangements…"

He waved a hand and pointed at himself, then the couch.

"You don't have to do that. You're hurt!"

He snorted. "What, can't stand to let the half-blind deaf mute sleep on the couch?"

"Can't stand to let the girl sleep on the couch?!" she said with a lifted brow.

"Nope," he signed, blithely. He stretched out, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up. "Sorry, couch is claimed. Guess you're stuck with the bed."

She rolled her eyes. "You're a goddamn pain in my ass, Nick Andros."

He smiled and patted her knee. "I know."

Her expression as she looked at him turned rueful. She brushed a curl off his forehead and very lightly traced her fingers along the bruises around his neck. "So that was Ray Booth," she finally said.

"Yep. Nice guy." He touched her chin like he'd done back at Doc Soames' office, and she cut her eyes up to his. "I'm glad you killed him."

"Pretty sure it was the only way to stop him."

"It was. He was half dead from the flu and look at how much damage he did. You saved my life. Thank you."

"I just reacted. You would've done the same thing."

"I tried. Couldn't get my gun out of the goddamn holster. Some Wyatt Earp I am."

"Gunslinging's overrated anyway," she said.

He nodded agreement and settled back against the pillow. His good eye was half closed and he looked ready to pass out any minute. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that she hadn't been quicker, that she hadn't shot Booth before he took out his eye, but she figured he knew that already. And she didn't want him to think it came from a place of pity. More guilt than anything. But her guilt didn't do either of them any good, so she tried to put it away and focus on moving forward—like she'd told him…when? God she had no idea.

Finally she said, "I'll go make you that tea, then unload some things from the car. Get some rest, and wave me down if you need anything."

He gave another sleepy nod, but then jerked awake. "Hey, wait—we forgot the pound."

She smiled. "No, I stopped on the way. You'd already passed out. It was empty, actually. I guess one of the employees or volunteers had let the animals go when they realized how things were going."

He gave her a thumbs-up, too tired to form coherent words, and she left him to sleep. She couldn't believe it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. She felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. Make Nick's tea. Unload the car. And then maybe a long soak in the clawfoot tub she'd spotted on her tour.

That sounded so nice she wanted to cry, but instead she scraped her hair back into a ponytail, made sure Nick was comfortable on the sofa, and got down to work.

poor Nick. he has NOT had a good week! good thing he isn't alone this time 'round.

comments are love, dear readers!