Desperate Measures

by Staci Hart

  He blinked at me and whispered, “You have bread? Don’t toy with me, Annie. Please don’t.”

  “I’d never joke about carbs in the apocalypse.”

  He wet his lips and swallowed — my eyes watched both the tip of his tongue as it darted out and his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. “Can I … may I—”

  “You don’t even have to ask. Come on,” I said with the swing of my arm. The bread was in a box, covered with a tea towel. I uncovered it and sliced off a piece, offering it to him. “I’ve got peanut butter in the—”

  He swiped it out of my hand and inhaled a bite with a look on his face that I imagined was similar to his ‘O’ face. His eyes closed as he chewed slowly, savoring it. The bread jiggled a little in his hand, and I realized he was trembling.

  I watched, astonished, not interrupting his joy.

  When it was gone, he opened his eyes, and they were shining. “I’ve dreamed about this. You have no idea how I’ve dreamed about this. I … I didn’t think I’d ever have any again. Thank you,” he said as he stepped closer. “Thank you so much.” His hands cupped my cheeks, and he looked into my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. Or move. Or think. And then, he kissed me.

  It was soft and reverent and too quick. His lips closed over my bottom lip gently, opening to do it again, and my entire body reacted.

  But then, he was gone.

  I opened my lids, which had multiplied in weight over the span of the three seconds that kiss lasted. He was smiling at me, elated.

  “Do you have a shower? Goddammit, if you have a shower, I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.”

  I almost lied to him, just to see if he was telling the truth. “I don’t. But I have water.”

  He didn’t even look sad — in fact he looked even happier. “If you’ve got water, I can make us a shower.”

  Us. Make us a shower. My heart raced. “Be my guest. I’ve been bathing out of a bucket — a shower would kick up my quality of life by, like, two hundred percent.”

  He looked around, the wheels in his brain turning. “All I need is a spigot, some hose, a little sprinkler, some washers … There was a hardware store back in town, right?”

  I nodded.

  Beck smiled. “I’m on it.” He turned for the door, and panic gripped me.

  “Wait! You can’t leave yet. You just got here.”

  “I won’t be gone long, and then we can shower and feast on Fritos and bean dip.”

  Tears were back, stinging my eyes and nose. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  He stopped, smile falling as he reached for me. “Oh, God, Annie. I’m so sorry. Of course I won’t. I’ll stay,” he said as he pulled me into him. “Please don’t cry. I’m here.”

  But I cried anyway, just a little, quietly, my face buried in his flannel that smelled like campfire and testosterone.

  3

  Creature Comforts

  Beck sat back on the couch with a hand on his stomach, blowing out a content sigh. “That was the best meal I’ve had in two full years.”

  I laughed. “Man, your standards are so low.”

  All that was left of the bread was crumbs, and cellophane Little Debbie wrappers were strewn all over the surface of the table. We’d also made quick work of a bag of Fritos and two cans of bean dip, which I hoped I wouldn’t regret when it hit my colon. I’d even broken out a couple of Dr. Peppers I’d been saving for a rainy day.

  In short, it was a feast of epic proportions.

  He sighed again. “We made such a mess.”

  I shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  “There’s so much trash. What do you do with all of it?”

  I lit up. “Oh, that’s easy. I’ll show you,” I said as I climbed off the couch.

  He followed me across the basement and to a hatch in the wall. I waggled my brows at him as I opened the door, revealing a tunnel into darkness.

  Beck eyed the tunnel. “What exactly am I looking at?”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed my flashlight. “Come on, you can’t guess?”

  He followed me into the cool passageway that angled down about thirty feet. “This is where you keep the dead bodies of the guys you find in town after you bring them back to your lair to feed them Zebra Cakes?”

  I chuckled. “No, no. I wouldn’t waste Zebra Cakes on guys I murdered. And anyway, I haul them above ground. Can’t have them stinking the place up or coming back to life and trying to eat my intestines. This,” I said as we stepped into the cavern, “is my landfill.”

  He looked around, shaking his head. “You really did think of everything. Except a shower. Pretty big oversight, Annie.”

  “Well, I had a portable shower, one of those camping things. It hung over the drain by the toilet, but Darryl chewed the hoses clean through. That was in the early days. He’s probably pretty lucky I didn’t murder him and turn him into tacos.” I sighed. “I miss tacos more than anything.”

  “Even the internet?”

  I leveled my eyes at him. “If I have to choose? Yes. Tacos. Any day of the week.”

  “Crispy or soft?” he asked with a smile.

  “Crispy. Who even are you?” I answered, looking at him like he was crazy in the low light of the Maglite. “Anyway, I have biodegradable trash bags and bury everything out here. The engineer who oversaw this seriously reported me to the cops afterward, just in case I was a serial killer or something.”

  He laughed. “Impressive. Seems you thought of everything.”

  “Mostly I just needed a Frito Lay truck and some camping supplies. Oh, and a butt-ton of money for construction,” I said as I turned back for the house.

  “Where’d the money come from?”

  I wrinkled my nose, not wanting to talk about it, but I couldn’t just leave him hanging. So I gave him the shortest, sweetest answer I could and changed the subject. “Inheritance from my parents. They died in a car accident five years ago. So, are you planning on getting cleaned up? You kinda smell like a barnyard.”

  He didn’t answer for a second, the silence filled with our footsteps as we climbed out. “Yeah. What’s the most efficient way to bathe?”

  I breathed a little easier for him letting my admission slide. “Well, I usually take a sponge bath with a bucket. It’s the most water efficient method.”

  “Sounds good to me.” We stepped into the basement, and I closed the door behind us.

  “I can wash your clothes too, if you want.”

  He blinked. “You’ve got a washing machine too?” he asked, disbelieving.

  “No way, too much power and water. I’ve got one of those little foot pedal doohickies.”

  He looked confused.

  “Look, see?” I grabbed what looked like a trash can with a plastic ball inset in the top. “You put your clothes in here,” I pointed to the drum, “and the water goes in here. Then you make it spin with this pedal thing. Watch.” I set it down and pressed down on the pedal over and over, sending the drum spinning.

  “Fucking genius,” he breathed. “Clean clothes. With soap. I feel like I just walked into a time capsule.”

  “Nope, just the basement of a crazy chick who was totally ready for the apocalypse.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You don’t have to wash my clothes, but yes, I’d like to wash them.”

  I waved a hand, dismissing him. “Please. Let me do that for you while you get clean. I think I’ve even got some fresh clothes you can wear.”

  One blond brow rose at that.

  “What? When this all went down, I was not the vixen you see here. I was just starting my masturbation workout. This,” I gestured to my body, “doesn’t happen overnight. It happens with years of hard work and dedication.”

  Beck chuckled and followed me over to my bed. I stopped once I saw what was on it, and he bumped into me.

  Every vibe I owned was on display on my comforter, along with two dozen corroded batteries.

  “Your CD Player? Is that what the kids are calling it these d
ays?” he said, trying not to laugh.

  “Oh, my God,” I muttered as I bolted for the bed, grabbing the comforter and flipping it over my vagina armory.

  He stood at the foot of the bed, arms across his chest, smile bright in his shaggy beard. “That’s maybe the most impressive thing you’ve shown me yet. You really were prepared.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands. “Oh, my God.”

  “You warned me you masturbated a lot, but I had no idea.”

  I groaned.

  “No wonder you’re so skinny.”

  I dropped my hands and gave him a look.

  He laughed and put up his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging. Did I see a Swedish porn magazine in there too?”

  I almost smiled at that. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan of Sexy Swedish FunTime.”

  “Psh, please. The November ’04 edition will forever be a pictorial masterpiece. It had a profound effect on my teenage years.”

  I groaned again, hiding behind my hands once more.

  The bed dipped as he sat down next to me. “Hey,” he said as his big hands closed around my wrists, urging me to move them. I did. He looked me dead in the eyes. “Trust me when I say that in this world, you take your creature comforts as you get them. Don’t be ashamed. I mean it.”

  “You don’t think I’m a freaky sex addict who jacks off all day?”

  “I mean, I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hot.”

  I finally laughed, just a burst of sound past my lips.

  He flipped back the comforter and picked up Rodrigo, not even looking squeamish. “You realize these work without batteries, right? I’m sure it’s not as exciting, but it would get the job done.”

  I made a face at him. “It was the principle of the thing. I had to leave. That was just my excuse.”

  Beck smiled. “I get it. So where are those clothes?”

  I slid off the bed and walked to my dresser, digging through my bottom drawer for my old sweats and one of my big T-shirts, extending them to him. He took the clothes, the smile still on his face.

  “Come on, stinky,” I said. “Everything’s in here.”

  He followed me into my makeshift bathroom, and I filled the bucket in the big sink, then handed it over with a washcloth.

  “Shampoo and soap are there on the shelf. There’s a little cup here you can use to rinse your hair, and the towels are hanging over there,” I said, pointing to the hooks on the wall. “Just give me whatever you want washed and I’ll get that started.”

  I filled up the washer tank and a bucket, my back to him as he undressed. My pulse sped up — I thought he’d wait until I was across the room. There were no walls, but I wasn’t quite prepared to see Beck naked and bathing himself with a washcloth in my basement. I thought I’d just watch him from across the room like a normal person, not up close and personal.

  “Here are my clothes,” he said, the timbre of his voice low and rumbling and closer than I thought it would be, and when I turned, there he was, towel around his glorious torso with all of his glorious muscles on glorious display.

  My cheeks were a thousand degrees as I took the clothes and tried not to look like he did when he ate the bread. And then, I scooted away before I did something stupid like push him over and jump that one muscle that I could see an outline of in his towel.

  I took the washer over to the couch, far enough away that I could talk to him, and if I wanted to sneak glances, it wouldn’t be so terribly inappropriate.

  “Have anything else you’d like washed?” I asked with my back to him as I poured soap in and stuffed his jeans, underwear, socks, and flannel into the drum.

  “Yeah, a few things, in my pack.”

  It was just there next to the couch. “Are you sure you want me to go through it?”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he called, and I heard the drip of the water as he squeezed out the washcloth.

  I knelt and unzipped his hiking backpack, feeling like I was looking into his heart. Clothes were rolled up and stowed neatly inside — another pair of jeans, a few pairs of underwear, another flannel, a T-shirt, and a jacket — along with some supplies, tools, food. I grabbed the clothes and stopped there, not wanting to pry, but I couldn’t help myself when I spotted a photo at the bottom. It was Beck, but younger, carefree and smiling. He looked like a stranger, like a ghost of the man I knew, and his arm was around a pretty girl, younger than him, with long, blond hair. They were wearing Bronco’s jerseys, tailgating it seemed. His sister, I knew. Amelia.

  My chest ached as I set the photo where I’d found it and tasked myself with washing his clothes, a small gesture, a creature comfort like he’d said, something to remind him of that life, the old one, the lost one. I wondered as the clothes spun around what all he’d been through. Years of pain, of being hungry and alone, losing people you love. I’d made peace with my losses long before, not that I had much to lose. But it would seem Beck had everything to lose, and he had.

  I drained the tank into an empty bucket and poured the fresh water in for the rinse, sneaking glances over at Beck as he washed off. The towel was still on as he washed his face and scrubbed his beard. His hair was wet — I figured he’d already washed his hair, and I found myself disappointed. It was long, just past his shoulders when it was soaked. And as I watched like a creep with his back to me, he whipped off that towel and I got a front row seat to two of the most glorious muscles of all.

  I nearly made an aooga sound.

  His body was seriously chiseled — zombie killing was apparently the workout of the century. But he was scarred, his back and shoulders, a long gash on his thigh, purple and angry, even healed. Every one had a story, and I didn’t even know if I could handle hearing all of them.

  I looked away and back to my task, draining the drum and pulling his clean clothes out. I was hanging them on my clothesline with my back to him when I heard him behind me.

  “Well, it was no shower, but I feel like a new man.”

  I turned to find him standing behind me, shirtless and smiling with my too-small sweatpants on him, rolled up to his knees.

  “The shirt didn’t fit,” he said as he handed it over, and I couldn’t find anything to say. So I nodded like a dummy.

  He ran his hands through his hair, twisting it into a knot, not seeming to notice that I’d gone mute.

  “Soap. There’s nothing so wonderful in the world than soap.”

  I found my voice to joke, of course. “Not even bread?”

  He laughed. “Okay, maybe bread, but soap is a close second.”

  “Well, your clothes will be good as new once they’re dry,” I said as I pinned up the last of his clothes.

  “I can’t even believe it. This seems like an embarrassment of riches. Like I stumbled into a fortune.” He added hastily, “Even if it’s not mine.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m glad to share.”

  “I appreciate that more than you know.”

  We stood there silently for a beat. “Are you tired?”

  “I haven’t slept soundly since I can’t remember when.”

  “So, yeah?” I said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah,” he said with a smile.

  “Well, it’s late anyway. Plus, I’ve seen more action today than I have …” I thought about it. “Ever.”

  Another laugh sounded as he moved around me for the couch, plopping down and stretching out like a cat.

  “You’re going to sleep here?” I asked, not thinking about what I meant or how he’d take it.

  Beck’s brow climbed with one corner of his mouth. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  I rolled my eyes, blushing. “Look, when was the last time you slept in an actual bed?”

  He frowned. “Too long, but the couch is fine. Honestly, it’ll be the most comfortable place I’ve slept in ages.”

  “Don’t be crazy. I’ve got a queen-sized bed right there, and it’s a helluva lot more comfortable than the couch.”


  “I dunno, Annie. I don’t want to impose.”

  “What, are you afraid I’m gonna take advantage of you?”

  He laughed. “Maybe. I’ve seen your vibe collection — you’ve got a healthy appetite, and I’m in a very fragile state.” He pressed his hand to his bare chest dramatically.

  “Don’t fight me on it, please. If it makes you feel better, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  His smile faded. “No. I won’t make you sleep on the couch, but I’m not gonna lie — the thought of sleeping in a real bed sounds awfully nice.”

  “Then come on. Don’t be shy,” I teased. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

  As I walked away, he said, “Oh, you don’t have to make that promise, if you don’t want to.”

  I laughed it off and stopped at my dresser, considering my options. One thing I hadn’t planned on was having anyone to impress with pretty underwear or cute pajamas. I opted for a pair of booty shorts and a T-shirt that said “I only sleep with the best” with “Hilton Suites” in small print underneath. But I had nowhere to change except right in front of Beck.

  I nibbled my lip and turned to face him. “Erm …”

  “I’ll turn around. And I promise not to peek.”

  “You don’t have to promise that either. I totally peeked when you were showering. Just saying.”

  He laughed and turned his back to me. I changed quickly, thinking for the first time in years that I hadn’t shaved. Like, anything. At first, the leg hair was itchy and wiry — I didn’t know if I could do it for a second. But then it wasn’t all that bad. My hair was blond and soft, silvery against my pale skin. Even my bush was golden brown, and I’d at least trimmed it. I wasn’t an animal. The pit hair had been the hardest to get used to, but now I kind of liked it. If I’d shaved it, it would have been so squeaky and naked and moist, which was a word I detested. But it would be, and I was not interested.

  Sometimes I didn’t even recognize myself.

  But as I changed, tossing my clothes, I felt self-conscious for the first time in a very long time. Maybe he’d be grossed out. Assuming he got close enough to find out.