Afterwards - Part II

I woke up in my parents’ bed with a killer headache. I was confused for a moment; my recent memory was a little blurry. Images from what I was sure was my life kept running together, and they didn't seem to be happening in the correct order. My father, my diary, my mother in her aqua sundress, my sister and I playing in our room, my old schoolmates, like a slide show from my old life. Then the young man’s face flashed through my head, and I remembered.

I sprung out of bed in a panic, once again forgetting to think before acting, and the room spun with me. I should have predicted the wave of dizziness that ended up knocking me on my ass. I tried to calm myself, but I didn't have time to wait for my head to stop being so light and attempted to get on my feet a second time using the antique end table as leverage. I noticed as I reached out there was blood and cuts all over my arms, and my hands, and my legs too, one thigh even had a piece of glass still stuck in it.

So much for calming myself. I felt a familiar wave overtake my body, and all I could do was curl into a ball with my head between my abused knees. Breathing deeply, I rolled my eyes at my own pathetic-ness. I really was not programmed for life after the apocalypse.

“Oh shit.” I heard a smooth male voice mutter from the direction of the bathroom.

I swung at him clumsily as I heard him approach, he chuckled.

“Knock it off.” He said as he scooped me gently into his arms and back onto the bed. My hemophobic vertigo had taken what little strength my frail body had left, and I was sure I was a goner. So imagine my surprise when he went back into the bathroom and returned with a first aid kit.

“Don’t worry, I think most of the blood is mine.” That made the dizziness worse, and I groaned. Again, he laughed at me. “You’ll live.” I stayed quiet for a moment as he began repairing the damage. My ears were ringing.

“You’re not going to kill me then?” I asked, mumbling a little.

“I kind of wanted to,” he said, “Every scavenger in the neighborhood must’ve heard you, we’ll have to get out of here before it gets dark. You okay?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.” He put away the first aid kit after tending the worst of the cuts. “Go clean yourself off so we can cover the bad ones.” He pointed to the bathroom. I got up slowly this time. I couldn't imagine the water in the bathroom would be working, but I was sort of starting to think he knew what he was doing.

Sure enough I found the tub full of water and some washrags folded on the sides. They weren't the cleanest, but nothing was ever very clean these days. I sank slowly into the cold water, missing the days of water heaters and bubble bath, and sat still waiting to adjust to the unkind temperature before gently scrubbing my skin. He had pulled the glass out of my leg, and now that I was done being melodramatic, I assessed that I’d had worse. However the gash on my right forearm that I had thrown out to try to catch myself might have been the worst I’d ever had. It looked like it was sliced open as it slipped from under me, and from my elbow up to my thumb it was still bleeding slightly. I looked like hell, but I would definitely live.

After about a half hour I was as clean as I’d ever be, and got out of the tub. No towel, not surprising. I cracked the door open and peeked into the room where I saw he had had the courtesy to make himself scarce. I went back over to the bed where he had left the bandages and fought off a fresh wave of dizziness as I patched myself up the rest of the way. I put bandages on both of the big ones, and some smaller ones, less because they needed it and more so I didn't have to look at them. I brushed some lingering glass off my bag before selecting my outfit. I pulled a tight purple spaghetti strap over the top of my head, carefully avoiding the bandaged bits, and repeated with a pair of simple, slightly-too-big blue jeans that my mother wore on the weekends. Next came a mismatched pair of socks - one plain blue, and one covered in Christmas trees – and the running shoes.

I closed my bag, slung it over my less-sore shoulder, and opened the door to the hall where a surprisingly pleasant scent wafted in, which made my stomach complain, loudly. Whether the complaint was hunger or nausea I wasn't exactly sure, but I went to investigate the smell regardless. The mystery dude had whatever he had dropped on the floor earlier roasting in a fire pit he’d built in the middle of the kitchen floor.

“Why not just use the fireplace?” I asked. He looked at me like I had just asked what color the sky was.

“And attract every scavenger within ten miles? How hard did you hit your head?”

“Pretty hard actually,” I looked down at the ground. My ears were still ringing and the pounding had yet to subside. Plus I think I could feel my face turning green.

“Will you just sit down before you barf? Or faint again?” He said jerking his head towards the table. I sat in my old spot.

“I didn't faint! You knocked me out!” He was starting to bother me.

“Hold the phone, who was the violent one?” He might have had a point, I actually didn't remember him trying to hurt me. We sat in silence for what felt like an hour, but was likely closer to five very uncomfortable minutes. “I am sorry though.” That surprised me. “I didn't mean to scare you so bad, I saw you through the window and got kind of a little excited.”

“Excited?” Now I was a little weirded out.

“Yea, I haven’t seen a familiar face in years, everyone I knew got sick.” He immediately made eye contact as he looked up from his task. The slide show was going again, images from elementary school…

“You remember me don’t you?” He asked with just a touch of sadness. His eyes were extra blue when he was sad,

“Zander?” I hadn't seen those eyes since they moved to a foster home in the third grade.

“I knew you would eventually.” They turned green when he smiled. He took the animal from the fire to the counter and tore off a leg, holding it out for me to take.

“I almost didn't recognize you.” I said before taking a bite, it tasted pretty good, but I think it might have been a cat.

“Well that’s understandable, after 14 years and a fresh concussion, hell I probably wouldn't have known it was you either if I hadn't found the photo album.” He sat up stiff, looking very uncomfortable across from me in the guest chair and started on his own chunk of meat.

“Wait, my family’s photo album?” I asked, annoyed, “you have it?”

“Yea, sorry. I know I had no right, but, well when the house was empty I kind of thought you’d all, well, you know. You look just like your mom by the way, and I never knew you had a sister. Did any of them make it?”

I shook my head. “Well, my dad didn't get sick. He disappeared a few months ago though.”

“We’re both alone then” he said, appearing almost happy about it. He was trying not to stare, and failing. It was okay, it had been a while since I’d seen a person as well. Things were lonely before my dad disappeared; I was never allowed to leave the shelter. I had only seen one person since we had left town all those years ago.