Todd's Quarry

You hear Todd's boots thumping against the posts beneath the cabin's wooden decking. A minute later the door swings in and he pads through in just his thick socks, shotgun slung from his shoulder and a plump but sad-looking bird dangling from his right hand. It's one of the more common birds to see in the area, and they seem fairly plentiful. Some kind of grouse, you assume, although despite having eaten a couple in the last weeks you haven't the faintest idea what it's called. They taste pretty good and are large enough to easily feed two people over the course of a day without supplemental food from the tinned stores. This one looks like it was killed outright by Todd's shot, unlike the many poor creatures you've each had to dispatch by wringing the neck when it's just been clipped by a stray pellet.

"Well done," you say with approval. And then, talking to your stomach, "you see? Daddy can provide."

Todd's embarrassment at being reminded of his recklessness is matched by a growth in his stature and a smile he can't resist at the praise. Your mood has been so miserable in the last few days that you've been a real bitch at times. You have felt bad about that but... well, the situation is terrible and it is his fault. You chewed him out when the best he could manage was a squirrel and freaked at him when he knocked some of the supplies over even though all it took was stacking them up again. On top of these specific incidents you've just been pretty moody overall, feeling nauseous and scared, and lashing out even when it's not deserved.

So the welcome sight of a healthy meal has cheered you up a lot, and evidently your praise for your partner is appreciated. Your stomach is still very sensitive, but it's improved a bit with the cold water you've been sipping, and your rest while he's been hunting has fortified you somewhat. You stand up and cross the cabin to his side, reaching forward and giving him a quick hug around the shoulders. You reward him with a kiss on the lips - the most intimacy you've offered him since the day you started barfing in the morning - and thank him for his hard work and for improving at his task.

"Sorry I've been so moody Champ," the sarcastic nickname you gave him that day sometimes blends into a more affectionate one, and had done increasingly frequently for a while. You say it this time with as much warmth as you can manage, trying sincerely to overcome the negative atmosphere that awareness of your pregnancy has generated in the cabin. "Feeling like shit doesn't make it easy but my being so miserable isn't going to help us."

"I get it Alana, I'm still that dumb shit who did this to you and it's going to make our lives harder."

"I know Todd," you sigh. "It's not ideal. But also... maybe I've been harsh to you. Like, if you hadn't creampied me that day I think it's pretty likely we'd be fucking normally and taking a gamble every time that pulling out is gonna work. This was always pretty likely to happen sooner or later. Anyway look you dumbass I'm trying to apologise for being a bitch to you." He grins and nods, while you reach for the dead bird and push him over towards the den. "Have a rest baby. Let me get this beast prepared, and I'll start cooking in a little while."

You peer out the window to gauge the time of day. It's not quite dark yet, probably another hour. That's a good amount of time, because it will take you easily that long to pluck and dress the bird. You don't allow yourselves to light the stove during daylight hours, for fear that the smoke plume will draw attention. You remembered that huge plume you saw down in the town in the foothills, from quite a few miles away, and definitely concluded that it was wise to avoid such signals of your own. It does mean that keeping warm in the cabin during the day requires stacks of blankets on top of wearing the thickest clothes you've got, and as the weather gets colder will require using your sleeping bags and layering every bit of clothing you have. Once it snows you'll have to break the fire-in-daylight rule, but hopefully by then any other survivors will also be holing up in some shelter and trying to ride out the winter.

Plucking the bird is a monotonous task but the activity warms your muscles and the fresh air keeps your stomach feeling a little less tender. Once you've finished, you remove the guts with practiced ease and separate out the heart and liver from the rest of the offal. Those are full of goodness and will definitely be eaten, while the rest gets scattered about the outside of the fence to encourage more animals to approach and hopefully be unwary some time when you have a gun in hand. You remember your father insisting on hanging any fowl that he shot, but your existence so far has been so hand to mouth that you've not had a surplus for any appreciable length of time and spending a few days waiting to eat a fresh kill hasn't been an option.

Instead, you start a fire in one of the cooking troughs by the bar shack, and while waiting for the wood to burn down into embers you truss the unfortunate bird and skewer it on one of the long spits that are stacked up in the corner. Leaving it up high to keep it out of reach of any other critters, you briefly return to the cabin for some cooking supplies. Todd is fully asleep in the chair, and you spend a few quiet moments squatting next to him gently stroking his hair, observing his peaceful face and wondering how much of his doe-eyed innocent looks your baby will inherit. Your complicated feelings about the child are not enough to overcome your burgeoning motherly instincts, even though a your keen sense of pragmatism usually wins out in moments of rational thought.

After placing a light kiss on his forehead, you decide he deserves a reward for his hunting success. You pour a small measure of brandy from the scarce supply scavenged from the bar and leave it on the table in front of him, after helping yourself to a tiny sip just to remind you of how things used to be. Then standing up a little unsteadily, you cross over to the kitchen area and collect some salt, random condiments from the cupboard that you found here, and a tin of mixed vegetables to warm up by the fire. Finally reaching for your brother's pistol in its neat belt clip holster, you hook it over your jeans and head out to get the bird cooking.

Later, inside, you're snuggling up to Todd on the moth-eaten old couch in the cabin. You're both basking in the feeling of having properly full bellies for the first time in quite a few days. He savoured his brandy, making it last and enjoying the last drops of it after you finished. There's a few pieces of the bird left, which you've potted in the empty vegetables tin under a layer of collected fat that ran off during cooking. It won't keep for long like this, but it will preserve it until tomorrow at least.

The fire in the stove warms any lingering traces of the cold day, and you realise your face is feeling flushed. The nausea of earlier is gone and there are the hints of another feeling building in your lower abdomen. Todd's chest rises and falls gently under your cheek, his chest that's stronger and leaner than when you first left the city with him, necessary daily exercise and the privations of your lifestyle contriving to mould him into a hard and wiry shape. It's an improvement on the slightly doughy boy you knew back in high school, a boy who was already quite changed that day you met him in the grocery store, but who's now very much on the way to becoming a strong and confident survivor.

You turn your face into him, inhaling him. You've both had to get used to not being as clean as you would have back in the before times, and while it took a little while you've now become very attached to his pheromones. Neither of you stink or anything, but washing clothes is a real effort and your limited access to running water means both of your bodies are a little musky more often than not. And by now the smell of him feels like comfort to you. A hand reaches to the hem of his worn t-shirt, gently tugging it up and making room for you to stroke his skin...