Okay, remember when I said that I would have no problem putting out?

  I might have a problem.

  Everything about these two guys makes my body tense up in disgust.

  They’re slobs. From their dirty, disheveled clothes, to their oily hair, to their rank body odor.

  I shouldn’t judge. They may not have access to showers or whatever. But at least Jasper and I use baby wipes, toothpaste and deodorant. At least Jasper doesn’t have old food stuck in his beard.

  When we get to their place, it’s exactly as you would expect from people with no sense of personal hygiene.

  I need to be smart here. And sneaky. I have to figure a way out of this situation without getting hurt and with as little personal contact with these guys as possible.

  “—and here’s the gun room,” the shorter one says proudly at the end of the tour.

  It’s the only clean, neat room in the doublewide trailer.

  Dozens of guns are displayed with care. There are all kinds in different states of repair. There are also short lockers that must be full of ammo or whatever accessories go with these weapons.

  “Wow—that’s a lot. You must have spent all of your money on guns.”

  The guy shrugs, “Nah. I only had my old shotgun until everything happened, you know.” He waves a hand toward the window to indicate the apocalypse.

  So this can’t have been his home before. All of the stuff was specially made for this room and these weapons, otherwise it wouldn’t fit together so neatly.

  These two guys probably did away with the original owner as ruthlessly as they dealt with whoever had my bags. I surreptitiously glance around for bullet holes or blood stains and I don’t see any. I’m not looking too hard though. It doesn’t matter. I need to figure a way out of here asap.

  “Hey—” I tilt my head dumbly and lick my lips then ask, “What was your name again?”

  “Kyle.” He takes a step toward me

  I smile at him. “Kyle. I’m really hungry. Do you have any food around here?”

  He smirks, “We do. We have some venison and instant potatoes. But you know, sweetheart, nothin’ in this world is free. What are you going to trade me for dinner?”

  I gasp, “You have my stuff. I don’t have anything to trade unless you give me my pack back!”

  “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  I lean into him and rest a hand on his chest, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “That seems fair.”

  His mouth opens, but no words come out.

  “Does this arrangement include your friend?” I ask breathlessly. “Or is it just between you and me?” When he’s still silent, I lean into him and continue. “Are you going to keep me all to yourself, Kyle? Because I gotta say, I like a possessive man.” The last part is a whisper.

  He backs away from me and stammers, “Uh, well, let's get you some dinner first.” Looking very much like a dog who accidentally caught the car he was chasing.

  It's strange how men will catcall, whistle, and make sleazy comments and propositions with zero expectation that a woman could be receptive. If a woman comes back with the same energy, when she’s not scared or uncomfortable, the guy just loses steam. Weird, but predictable.

  This effect won’t last long though.

  I sit at the table which is so scummy that I can’t tell what material it’s made from or what color it is and watch Kyle bang around the cabinets and pantry until he comes up with instant potatoes which he whips up on the gas stove with some bottled water then serves to me on a paper plate.

  “Brian is working on the venison. It’ll take a little while, but this’ll hold you over.”

  By the time the venison is ready, I’ve eaten all the potatoes and gotten an earful of deer hunting tips, tricks, and stories. I just smile, nod, and encourage him to keep talking.

  Brian just looks confused. Maybe a little angry.

  I just focus on Kyle. I’m focusing on him because it’s obvious that I should prefer Brian. Brian is taller, less bald, better dressed, etc. By every metric, Brian beats Kyle. So, I’m hoping by picking Kyle over Brian I can sow some discontent. I might be able to bring this to a head before this meal is over. Kyle is giving me love-sick puppy dog eyes already and Brian is glaring at him.

  I spend the whole meal complementing and paying attention only to Kyle and mostly ignoring Brian. Giving him straight-faced one-word answers to anything he asks me directly, then immediately turning back to Kyle.

  “How’s the food?” Brian asks.

  “Good,” I say, then immediately turn to Kyle. “Those potatoes hit the spot.

  I rest my hand on his thigh.

  He is just pleased as punch.

  Brian’s fork clatters to the table. “What the hell is this anyway?”

  I don’t even look at him.

  “What do you mean?” Kyle asks.

  Brian gestures between the two of us. “This. What is this?”

  Kyle shrugs, then grins at me. I giggle.

  “Well I don’t like it! She’s—she aint your girlfriend or—”

  Giggling again, I lean into Kyle and ask, “Am I your girlfriend?”

  Brian snatches Kyles's plate, then mine, and carries all of the dishes to the sink.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done with that!” Kyle says.

  “Fuck you. Hunt your own meat from now on.”

  “The fuck?”

  “You heard me! We never agreed on this.” Brian waves his hand toward me.

  “It was your idea!”

  “But not just for you!”

  “Oh, yeah? What you thought she was going to pick you?”

  “She doesn’t get to pick at all! That was the plan!” They’re squaring off now.

  “Well, why shouldn’t she? If she picked you, you wouldn’t be complaining. It’s just because she picked me—”

  “Well no shit dumbass!”

  Kyle throws a punch, and then they’re grappling on the linoleum. Fists are flying as they yell and grunt at each other.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Leaning over toward Kyle’s seat, I swipe one of his guns. Ugh, I hate these things. Okay, find the safety, but I can’t tell if it’s on or off. I’m just going to guess that he’s the type to leave the safety off.

  Quietly as I can, I back over to the main door and out of the house. I’m off the porch and down the driveway when I hear a gunshot. It startles me enough, that I run down the rest of the way down the driveway, cross the road into a copse of trees, ducking and hiding behind a bush on the edge.

  There’s another gunshot.

  Alright, I’m going to wait here. I don’t even know what direction to travel in. I—I don’t have any supplies or water or anything.

  I’m probably going to have to go back into that house. There aren’t any other houses or stores nearby.

  Time passes, but I have no idea how much. There are no more sounds from inside that house and nothing at all happening out here.

  I count to three hundred.

  I’m not sure what I’m waiting for—okay, I’m going back in. They’re either alive or not and I need to find out.

  Creeping up the porch steps, I turn the nob as slowly as I can the hold it tightly as I can. Please please please don’t let this door creak.

  A glance inside shows a pool of blood and Kyle’s legs lying motionless.

  My lips are sealed shut against any noise escaping and I don’t realize I’m pulling deep breaths through my nostrils. The smell is so strong—I might pass out—

  Stop.

  Just stop freaking out and—I need to figure out what happened to Brian. Then I need to get a backpack and some water. Get the fuck out of here. Then I can freak out.

  Okay.

  I open the door a smidge more and there he is, also dead. I can’t tell where he’s shot though? He’s sitting against the cabinets, leaning to the side. His hand gun on the floor next to his open hand.

  So—he shot Kyle. But what happened to him?

  He’s definitely dead. His eyes are open, blank staring off at the corner. His body still, his legs—oh. He was shot in the leg. This pool of blood—a lot of it probably came from his thigh.

  So, Kyle shot him in the leg and while he was bleeding out—fast—he shot back at Kyle. And now they’re both dead here on the kitchen floor. By the table where they had just fed me dinner. I did this on purpose. I killed these guys.

  I didn’t even try to leave—I—just set them at each other. I knew what would happen and—

  “Psst! Candy!”

  Startled, I whirl around toward that whisper sound and slip. I fall into the puddle of blood, scrambling as blood soaks into the seat of my pants, and my sleeves, coating my hands—a scream is rising from my belly. My whole body is tense with this scream of horror and disgust that is about to burst free from my body, and I won’t be able to stop. I’m going to scream and scream—

  “Candy! Hey!”

  When I stop trying to stand and turn my head I see someone looking through the door, which is closed to just a sliver.

  “Jasper?”

  “Yeah.”

  I clear my throat and tell him, “There’s no one else here. Can you help me up?”

  He stomps into the kitchen, stepping around the blood, and reaches a long arm out to grab me by the front of my shirt and jerk me up onto my feet next to him.

  “I—uh, well, I was outside, down the road aways. Waiting for a chance to get you out of here. I mean, if you want to get out of here. And I heard those gunshots so—”

  “Thanks Jasper. I didn’t really want to go with these guys. I just—it seemed like you could get killed trying to keep me with you—so I made a decision to go with them and then—and then—”

  He’s doing this thing where he keeps reaching toward me, but then dropping his hands. Like—well I guess he’s wanting to hug me or comfort me, but I’m covered in all of the disgusting blood and I can’t even take a shower!

  “Oh, come here!” Jasper pulls me into his arms, not caring about all the blood.

  “I’m sorry!” I wale, crying into his shirt. “Thank you—I’m so glad you came!”

  “Shhh—of course I did. I knew what you were doing and I wouldn’t just leave you with these creeps.”

  After I calm down, Jasper leaves me sitting on the porch while he ransacks the place. He finds our packs, but they’re really dirty and torn, so he puts our stuff in another bag he finds.

  He also finds a lot of instant potatoes and bottles of water.

  We’re all set to start walking again. A whole day has been lost to this bullcrap.

  We’re walking down the road as the sun starts to set. I’m intensely uncomfortable because even though I was able to rinse my hands, face, and hair off with bottled water, I don’t have a change of clothes. All of the blood on my clothes has dried and turned crusty.

  I know that I’m lucky to have escaped those guys. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to not have been assaulted. I don’t feel very lucky right now though. I feel disgusting and exhausted.

  We have nowhere to hole up for the night. Still walking down a country road when it’s about to be full dark.

  There are houses, but they might be occupied. Probably not, but we don’t want to risk a confrontation. Before the internet went down, a lot of people were talking about heading to Mexico or Canada. Both countries were officially denying entry to US refugees, but a lot of people were camping along the borders in case things change. There are also the FEMA camps. I would guess that the majority of people are displaced right now. Modern houses here need power to function at all. Most of the houses are probably empty.

  As we top a hill, I can see the charred skeleton of a house that obviously burnt down. It was a really big house. There are a couple of outbuildings still standing.

  “We can stay there,” Jasper says. “In that shed.”

  I nod and we make our way across the lawn. As we get closer, it’s clear that it’s more than a shed. And it sits next to a tightly covered pool.

  The whole place is eerily quiet. It’s really a nice lot, with the pool, a big yard with a gazebo, and a U-shaped driveway.

  I think this house must have burnt down before everything went to shit because it’s kind of cleaned up. Just a bunch of charred two-by-fours on a cement slab. I’m pretty sure it should be messier, with metal stuff like appliances and water heater and furnace. So, my guess is that this housefire happened and the owners were staying somewhere else and in the process of cleaning up and rebuilding when all of the crisis happened.

  I wander around the yard, still in shock from all that’s happened. I never even saw the people who stole our bags. I was mad about it at the time, but—okay, using a super cute dog to distract people is a pretty neat way to go about stealing. And that little corgi looked happy and well cared for with his little bandanna and dancing around. I hope that dog is okay. I have no hope for whoever was wearing those packs though. They were in really rough shape.

  Jasper calls me over to the shack as he finishes picking the lock.

  “It’s a bar.”

  He shines his flashlight inside and I can see that, yes, the whole front wall is made to swing open and there is a bar and four stools. A door to the far side leads to a bathroom, complete with a shower.

  The shower isn’t usable. With the power out, there’s no water pressure. The toilet still has a tank of water though, so I make use of that.

  When I come out of the bathroom, I find Jasper bringing a pitcher of water inside.

  “I opened an edge of the pool,” he says. “You can take a bath and wash your clothes in it tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t want to walk all day in wet jeans.”

  He shrugs. “Lay ‘em out to dry. We can hang out for a few hours. Or even an extra day. There are some snacks and soda packed away under the bar.”

  “Sounds good.”

  After a dinner consisting of candy and chips, we get a bunch of pool towels together and bunch them up into a pallet on the floor.

  I break Jaspers's rule of going to bed fully dressed, ready to flee. I take off my crusty jeans and shirt and snuggle up to Jasper who is lying on his back.

  We’re quiet. Awkward. I wish I had read a chapter from that book before we bedded down, but it’s dark and he’s probably already half asleep—I didn’t even know if that book is readable anymore, what with the bloodstain.

  I’ll take a closer look at it tomorrow.

  Thinking about that bloodstain brings up a few other thoughts. Worry about that corgi. And—guilt. Okay, I’m sure those guys were a threat to me—Kyle and Brian. Brian’s arguing about how I don’t have a choice. Both of them had the suspiciously blood-spattered bags. Unwilling to just give our stuff back. If I hadn’t agreed to go with them so readily, things would have escalated to violence right there in the middle of the road where they had the upper hand. I’m confident that I read the situation right. And I didn’t actually murder them. They killed each other. And if they weren’t so quick to fight and shoot, they’d both be alive. When I started playing them off of each other, I didn’t expect a shoot-out in the kitchen. I expected an argument. A distraction that would allow me to swipe a gun or a knife—I don’t need to feel guilty. It’s not my fault.

  But the memory of that fight, those gunshots, and the blood—it’s conflated in my mind with that dog and its people. The blood on the book and the bags. It’s all lumped together in my mind and I feel like—like this is all my fault. For being distracted by the dog. For hooking up with Jasper with manipulative intentions. For not being more prepared for this sort of situation to start with—

  “You okay?” Jasper asks lowly.

  “Uh—yeah. I’m fine. A little shook up I guess.”

  His arm squeezes me to his side. “You want to talk about it?”

  “There’s not much to talk about—you saw what happened.”

  “I thought something else might have happened. You were there a while.”

  I shake my head. “They hadn’t got around to that.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  I shrug my shoulder and just say, “Me.”

  “Huh.”

  The silence stretches long between us. I hear a sound outside, far away. It’s wild dogs or coyotes. It’s a really creepy sound.

  At length, I ask, “Could you talk to me? Tell me a story or something until I fall asleep?”

  He hugs me to him and starts, “When I first moved to Luisiana I was fourteen years old. I was big for my age and everyone just assumed I was older. The crowd I was staying with were all hippy types and I was sleeping on the floor in a closet and—”

  I fall asleep right away.