“I’m never gonna get to touch it again, am I?”
“Who’s the better headshot in this family?”
Emma’s voice filters in through the sliding doors, her boots creaking the weathered boards as she reaches them, hands on her hips and rifle at her back.
“Wow, she’s humble, ain’t she?” Wyatt says, in that deadpan tone he uses particularly with Emma.
She isn’t wrong. Emma’s got a better success rate with the rifle than either of them. A rocky start at the range blossomed into a useful talent with more practice. It doesn’t hurt that most of the time, they can stash her further away and trust her to pick off any rotters who might get too close from a distance.
Still, it’s a dangerous option considering the noise the rifle makes. They rarely do it unless there’s a bigger task to be tackled, and grabbing solar panels from a home improvement store to hook up to the windmill they haven’t built yet certainly qualifies. They can’t clear a space that large without good cover for the parking lot rotters.
“Just be careful,” Addison says. “We worry, you know that we can’t help it.”
Emma nods, some of that sass that was there a moment ago fading away. “I know. I worry about both of you, too. I don’t like not being right there with you. It feels like I can’t get there fast enough if something happens. But we can’t just…not go. We only need a dozen more panels, and someone else could grab them first if we wait.”
“Oh, we’re gonna do it,” Wyatt replies. “We’ll light this farm up like a Christmas tree and regret it every day after.”
He’s hesitant about this plan. They’ve had more than one conversation about the pros and cons of getting the electricity back up and running.
It started out as a way to pass the time. Finding the plans for the windmill and gradually gathering the supplies. It gave them all a goal to work towards, even if it felt far-fetched.
Now that it’s a tangible thing, it could draw in the wrong types. Make them a target.
This farm is a small oasis in the middle of a persistent storm. It’s sheltered and nurtured them. Given them safety, food, and a place to grow a whole new family together.
“Or maybe we won’t regret it,” she says. “Maybe we never see anyone else ever again, and we’re worried over nothing.”
Emma frowns. “Do you think there’s even anyone else left? All the fires from the city are gone, and we haven’t heard gunshots in months.”
Addison wondered the same thing more than once. “I think there are people left, and if they come here…we’ll deal with that as it happens. We can’t let fear of the unknown shape our future, and who knows, the next faces we see could be kind ones. We’ll need help getting that windmill up one day, anyway. The three of us aren’t enough.”
“Step one is getting the panels. Which means we gotta go! Come on, guys, we got rotters to kill and places to raid, and…stuff to do,” Emma says, bouncing on her heels in excitement.
Wyatt shakes his head, gesturing toward the door. “We’ll meet you out front in a minute.”
“Okay. Oh, and Wyatt? Don’t forget your bullets this time.”
“It was only once!” he groans, the sound of Emma’s laughter echoing off the walls as she heads for the front of the house.
“She’s mean, too. How’d she get so mean?” he says with a laugh. “She really likes picking on me.”
Addison can’t disagree. It’s Emma’s favorite pastime these days. Giving Wyatt every ounce of sass she can muster up and watching him scowl or laugh.
“She’s a teenager. I’m pretty sure it’s normal. It’ll pass. You’re being a good sport.”
She only barely manages to say that with a straight face, muffling a little smile with her hand until he wraps an arm around her waist with a growl, tugging her in close.
“You’re just as bad, you know that? We still got that hot date tonight?”
She purses her lips, humming a soft sound. “Dunno. Think your wife will mind?”
He sucks some air between his teeth, pondering the question with a mock serious expression before reaching down to lace their fingers together. “I think she’ll be okay with it.”
He punctuates that sentence with a kiss on her knuckles, and she blushes. Can’t believe he still makes her do that, but it’s just as easy to feel her heart skip for him now as it had been the very first time he kissed her.
“What you were saying before about there still being people left…” he continues softly, “Do you think there are others like us finding each other at the end of the world?”
“We can’t be the only love story left. But if we are, then you should kiss me again so we can make the most of it.”
