After sitting up to swallow the pills, Abby collapsed onto her belly, wondering how she’d ever thought she’d survive in this unfamiliar world. Even thermometers had changed since she was a child. They had a little window that flashed red, and it beeped and… What had her temperature been anyway? He hadn’t even told her. And if he had, she wouldn’t have understood what it meant. Wouldn’t have known what flashing number she was looking for.
Even here, in this man’s rustic cabin in the mountains, Abby felt unprepared, uneducated, and inadequate.
After a short while, the pain lessened, and she found herself disappearing into fitful sleep.
More bleak dreams, peppered with oddly happy ones. Unexpected moments she grasped, only to lose them again.
Hours passed. Or more. Days, maybe?
A cold weight on her forehead, an angry voice. “Shit.” Something in her mouth, a high-pitched sound, and more curses. It took a while for Abby to recognize these modern conveniences, the sound of Luc as he reapplied ointment to her back. His hands were gentle and cool.
When he’d finished, he shifted as if to leave, and Abby reached for him. She turned her head, unable to open her eyes. “Wait,” she croaked. “Please don’t go yet.”
“You need something? I’ll get you fresh water.”
“Yes, but…”
“Hold on,” he said and disappeared down the stairs.
Decades later, he was back, with fresh, ice-cold water, just enough to soothe her aching throat.
“Luc,” Abby rasped out, “don’t go.”
He sighed. Even in her current state, she knew that meant he wanted to leave, but she found his hand again and squeezed it as hard as she could.
“It’s cold in the snow,” she said.
“You’re burning up, Abby. I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen. I’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“No. No, no, Luc. Don’t you get it?”
He stilled, stopped trying to pull away from her.
“Get what?”
“We’re burning. It’s all gone. Everyone on this mountain. Them. Us. The world.”
“Gone?” His voice was hesitant. Slow and quiet, like he didn’t believe her, which made Abby need to say it louder, stronger, tomakehim understand.
“He’s killed the babies. The sky’s orange with it. The Cataclysm.”
“You’re dreaming, Abby. You’re delirious.” He peeled her hand off of his and placed it beside her. “You need more sleep. Go back to sleep.”
“I have to go back. For Sammy.”
“Not tonight. Not until the storm clears, Abby. You’d die out there.”
“When the storm clears. I’ll go when the storm clears.”
With a moan, she shifted until her face found a cool spot on the pillow and sighed before sinking again into the fiery inferno.
17
Abby woke up drained but hungry. She lay on her side in Luc’s bed and watched the light fade as the snow continued to fall, enclosing her more fully inside. What time was it? Had she slept through an entire day?
Somewhere outside, beyond the cabin’s thick log walls, a rhythmic thud told her that Luc was chopping wood. Pressed by the demands of her body, she got up, hobbled to the top of the steps, and slid downstairs on her bottom. Slow, so slow, with her stinging feet and sore ankle, every part of her body aching.
She watched him through the kitchen window as he hauled big logs and took an ax to them. His movements were practiced and skilled—the swing constant, like music—and he piled pieces neatly before repeating the entire process. Every movement was big, because the man was, but concise as well. Lord, it wasn’t right, was it, for her body to feel this…sluggishness when she looked at him? Bright and alive, but slow and heavy, all at once. It seemed wrong, given her condition.
