Discomfort

"That was really unwise Todd," you say, matter-of-factly. "We're **** enough just the two of us as we are. If I get pregnant, you'll have a much bigger burden to keep us safe. If I have a baby - survive delivering it and everything - we'll have another life to care for."

"Who the fuck cares, Alana?" he gripes. "You're right: we're ****. The world out there is dangerous. We're gonna look after each other, it's true. But realistically we're going to starve or get murdered or enslaved. Or maybe even eaten! We can't just hole up here and wish it all away. Face it: we're fucked, and we might as well just enjoy ourselves now."

His words are so bitter, you can't stand to remain here next to him. "Whatever Todd. I'm getting a drink." You gesture to him, up and down. "All this? This attitude? Real fucking sexy, champ. I suggest you sit out back and get some air and have a think about whether you really mean what you just said. Because if you want to touch me again you need to grow a pair and be ready to fight for our future. Especially now that you might have knocked me up."

Standing, pulling up your jeans and panties to cover your cum-leaking crotch, and smoothing down the tshirt over your boobs and stomach, you stalk out of the room without another look at the immense disappointment that Todd has just become to you.

In the kitchen, you carefully fill a chipped but reasonably clean glass from the jury-rigged water tank you set up to catch rainwater from the roof. The water supply still exists, sort of, but it's not reliable and certainly not clean enough to drink any more. Whatever combination of automated machinery and natural spring water supplied your local area in the before-times still manages to provide a weak quantity through the taps, but it's mostly only useful for bathing unless you boil the hell out of it first - and that uses fuel that is also increasingly scarce.

The water is calming. An uncomplicated taste that reminds you of a better time. It helps to bring your quiet anger under control and allows you to reflect on what to do now.

Assuming Todd can get over his new nihilism, even only partially, it's still far and away your best option to stick with him. He's clumsy and inexperienced, but two is definitely better than one. You can teach him the patchy survival skills you learned from your father, the sheriff, and try your best to make him a dependable wingman with your precious firearms. Even though the noise and waste of actually firing any rounds is a very bad idea, you can try to prepare him for the experience by replicating the handling and dry-firing drills that your dad drummed into you from an early age. Beyond that, just warning him that 'it'll kick' is the best you can do, and hope that he never has to actually pull the trigger.

Otherwise, he is actually right. You can't stay here forever. The home is comfortable and decently secure, but the food supplies in the area have become **** - your brief foray into the supermarket demonstrated that - and picking over what little remains will only increase your chances of encountering other survivors, with all the danger that brings.

So where to go? Somewhere in the wilderness would be a good start. Get away from people, try to learn to hunt, find a source of fresh water... All of these would be critical aspects of any future life. You sit on the kitchen counter sipping the precious water and think about your options.

The clear front runner is the sheriff's department training centre out in the hills. Your dad took you there many times as a girl. It's truthfully more of a clubhouse than any kind of official facility: a place where the deputies would go to socialise and set out on hunting trips. But it did have a few well-built cabins and some honest-to-goodness concrete structures that likely would house some supplies and maybe even weapons. And it would likely be completely unknown to the majority of survivors.

You wondered if you would remember how to get there. It wouldn't be easy, but you had a general idea of its location and thought maybe you'd be able to follow your nose once you got close. Your dad's stuff was all in a trunk upstairs - all sorts of law enforcement goodies that hadn't seemed as useful to you as the revolver and shotgun - and you thought it likely that some keys for the centre would be in there.

If you could find a vehicle in working order, and some gas, you reckoned you could be there in half a day. If you were going to have to get there on foot, it could take an untold amount longer. Neither option was appealing: a car would make noise and draw the attention of anyone it passed, while walking would require you to carry everything you wanted to keep, including water and food, for many miles.

You set the empty glass on the counter and quietly climb the stairs to mom and dad's room.