She looked at him, observing him so closely he wished he could turn away. Instead, he stared back at her with the same intent, daring her to be the one to break away first. After too long, she did, eyes moving back over the landscape. Carver breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Too many thoughts ran through his mind under her stare. The small distance between them, the all encroaching darkness, the complete solitude with only the two of them to break the silence. And he knew a few ways they could break that silence. However, none of the ideas were helpful to their situation. And, he thought Clara would reject all of them–except maybe the one that involved fighting. She might be convinced into that one.
“So.” It was both a statement and a question. Her turn to begin the conversation with the worst starter ever. He almost smiled.
“So,” he repeated, wishing to continue the phrase but unable to find the words. So, this is awkward. So, how about that assignment. So, are you thinking about my body as much as I’m thinking about yours?Definitely not.
“Where do we want to sleep for the night?”I, for one, would like to sleep in your arms,half of his head said. The other half instantly shot it down with cries ofnot helpful.
“Preferably a building with bedding that’s entirely devoid of rats or other small animals?” He suggested.
“Squeamish much?”
“Only thinking about you, my dear.” She threw a glare his way, and he assumed it was part for the comment and part for the sarcastically given term of endearment. He grinned in response.Damn.She wasstunning.
He followed her as she scouted out buildings. The first she opened released enough dust to give both of them a coughing fit. The second, a much nicer home, seemed like it worked until a rat ran out, and of course, scurried across Carver’s foot.
He stomped, frustrated, and only grew more so when Clara lost it in a bout of laughter. “Thought you weren’t afraid of rats?” She dropped her voice as low as it could go, “Only thinking about you, my dear.”
“Will you shut up and find us a place to sleep?”
“Hey, I opened the last two houses. Your turn to pick a place.” She laughed again, and Carver’s frustration dissipated with the sound. He tried not to dwell on it, but if he was honest all he wanted to do was find more ways to trigger that sound again and again and again.
Instead, he turned back to the row of houses and muttered, “Fine,” like his heart wasn’t racing, like blood hadn’t rushed to his face with her laugh. Like he wasn’t desperate to hold her and make up for the past three years.
The moon provided enough light to see the outlines of the buildings, though the clouds often obscured more than he would like. He walked toward the center of town, determined to pick one that worked, if only to hold it over Clara.
Carver passed through the center of town, and didn’t stop. He found a street which at some point held perfectly manicured homes built in rows. Now, the grass had grown up, weeds choking out the picket fences. “I’m betting one of these will be better than the work buildings you were looking in.”
“Are you going to find out? Or are we spending the rest of the night walking in circles?”
He opened the picket fence gate to the first house, “You know, you should be nicer to me. The attitude is completely unnecessary.”
“Attitude? This is just my personality jackass.”
Carver paused, his hand on the door knob as he turned to face her. “Well, maybe you should learn how to have a better personality.”
Whether she was stunned into silence, or simply focused as he threw the door open, Carver would never know. Either way, they both stood on the porch in front of the open door, waiting for something to come out at them–another cloud of dust or rat, or something far more sinister.
Carver counted the beats of his heart, waiting for the racing to slow. He grinned back at Clara, “Ladies first?”
She turned behind her, making a show of looking for someone else. “I don’t see any ladies, so why don’t you go ahead.” This time, Carver was the one who rolled his eyes.
He stepped through the threshold, adrenaline racing. Every instinct told him something should go wrong. The floor should fall through. The door should slam behind him and lock him in. An army should step out guns blazing. But none of these things happened. The exhaustion was clearly making him paranoid.
Clara dug into her bag as he called for her to follow him. After a couple minutes, she pulled out a flashlight. “Dang Clara, why didn’t you tell me we had flashlights?”
He squinted as she walked through the doorway, flashlight pointed into his eyes. “What, you didn’t sort through all of your supplies?”
“I looked through most of them,” he mumbled, mentally telling himself to thoroughly sort through the rest sooner rather than later.
“Maybe next time you should look harder.” She moved the beam across the room.
They were in someone’s living room. Photos were still in frames on the fireplace, furniture was still fully intact. Aside from the layer of dust coating everything, it looked like someone still lived there.
“What makes an entire populace leave without taking any of their items? Who would leave behind family photos?” Clara asked softly, brushing her fingers across a child in one of the photos.
“I’m not sure, but the stillness of this place gives me the heebie jeebies.”
“Heebie jeebies.” Clara deadpanned.
