Chapter 13

“But your reactions are your responsibility.”

Dan paced the small room, first bathing in the starlight by the door, then turning back inside and falling back into darkness. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“I know a guy,” he said. “My old college roommate, right? Richest guy I knew—before you, I assume.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Dan said. “So, I went to Uni at Norroe, down in Maywest—lovely town. I’d got a few scholarships at the time. Anyway, this guy was actually the third roommate I’d had, and he was a nutter, he was. Ended up working for this huge resort up in NorthLine, ’bout thirty leagues or so up from OldMouth. Super isolated, super exclusive, right? Only billionaires and Lords get to dock there. Oh, you’d love it, Mr. Andrew! It’s got a big grass field, and a ton of log cabins and all that. And the boats! Oh, there are so many boats.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows.

Dan grinned, straining to contain his excitement. “I need to talk about the boats—can we talk about the boats? It’s all yachts. And not like the yachts you see on the bay, I meant it when I said billionaires and Lords. Ten-story sailing yachts, twenty-story cruisers that’re just way too big for one person. It’s the most beautiful thing in the whole world, Andy—Andrew.”

Looking down, Dan gave a thin smile. The light only reached his lips, leaving his eyes in shadow. “Old Reggie was my best friend for years and years. But I haven’t seen him in ages. I probably won’t see him again, either.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m still sorry.”

The two men blinked in silence for a few moments.

“Fine bit of good moping does, right?” Dan said, smiling again. “No doubt Reggie’s out there. The resort’s out of the forest by a good five hundred meters. And far from the blast. Almost twice as far from the city as the mountain—I’d bet even the heat couldn’t get up there. So, everything oughta be just fine, right? Hell, Reggie probably packed up and sailed out ages ago. He’s clever, and there are a ton of boats to choose from.” He paused and shot Andrew a sly smile. “So, let’s take one.”

Andrew looked down at his feet and tapped his knuckles on the floor. “That’s not bad. No, that actually sounds—you think they’ll still be up there?” Andrew said.

“Who would’ve taken them?”

“Okay, then. I’m onboard.” He leaned toward Dan but met dead silence. “Alright, it wasn’t my best work, whatever. But, what next? We’ll still starve.”

“No, see, we just sail up to Rawshead,” Dan said. “It’s a commercial fishing spot, right? Not too far. Only about an hour, really. I go there all the time. See, you put a line down, you’ll get something in ten minutes. Thirst’ll get us, not food. But if we nab one of those big boats, we can get one of those desalinators that make salt water fresh. We can last months on that! Years, if we stock up on parts.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “How far?”

“Well, I’d say we’re about,” Dan looked off, squinting. “Eh, it’s a hundred kilometers from OldMouth, so—maybe sixty or so from right here.” He looked back at Andrew and shrugged. “A good hour’s drive, but walking’s a different game.”

“How far did we go today?” Andrew said. “We were slow as hell—five kilometers? Four? Something around that. But I could double that if I had something to eat. That gives us six days.” Andrew took off his wet shirt and traded it for one of the ones he had packed. “Not bad.”

Leaning his head on his hands, Dan took a deep breath. “Can’t forget stocking the boat. Takes time. Add another day just in case.”

“Think we’ll run into any more food?”

“Maybe, I dunno,” Dan said. “But if we can commit to ten kilometers a day, I don’t think we’ll have trouble with what we’ve got.”

To prove that, Dan spread the supplies across the floor.

“Well, the peanut butter and the bread are the only things we can reseal,” Andrew said. “So, everything else is a one-time-deal. Twenty-four slices of bread, it looks like.” He picked up the bag and checked the side. “Eighty calories per slice. That’s twelve per person, divided by seven—”

“A bit over one point seven a day,” Dan said in an instant. Andrew stared at him with a squint. “I’m an accountant. You can’t just call out maths and expect me not to solve it.” He winked and started sifting through the other supplies. “Multiplying it all out gives one-thirty-six calories a day.”

“We have the peanut butter too,” Dan added. “Looks like ninety-five calories a tablespoon. So, with seventy tablespoons, that’s five a day for both of us. We’ve got four-seventy-five calories right there as well.”

Andrew sat back against the wall. “Plus the bread that’s—eh—hold on, no, no, it’s my turn—that’s six-eleven. God, that’s not even enough for a diet.”

“Then we can’t afford to scrounge on the chips. One thousand, two-sixteen calories per bag, and we have three. So, we get half of one each per day. That carries us three days with six-oh-eight more. So that’s twelve-nineteen per day for the first three days.” Dan sighed. “I mean, at least we won’t get fat on the way there.”

“Oh joy, and we get to starve on the other four. Wonderful.”

Dan traced his finger through the pile. “Alright, but we’ve still got the cans. With those, we got one seventy-five in each. Not enough to tack on in the end, right? Best to have those with the rest. Brings us up to thirteen oh seven a day, and then we’ve got the sandwich and the jerky to help with the rest. Granted, I dunno know how many calories we’re to find in the sandwich, but it’s probably decent. And we might find something on the way, right? No need to panic. We’ve got it sorted. Right?”

“Dan, that jerky has eighty calories. I don’t know how much you eat, but people can’t walk for a week on a diet like that unless they’ve got fat to burn, and frankly, you’re tiny and I’m scrawny. I don’t have an eating disorder, and I’d like to keep it that way. There’s a reason it’s called a die-it.” He blinked expectantly at Dan. Shaking his head, Dan let himself crack a smile. “Thank you. I was proud of that one. Still, there’s no guarantee we’ll find anything on the way. We have to go out searching, Dan. And if we’re going northwest, well, the only place I can think that’ll have anything is Grant’s Crossing.”

“And if we don’t find anything there?” Dan said.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve got good news, it’s all luck at this point. But a ton of people live in Grant’s. They can’t have looted it all. Not like this little store. I mean, look at it, it’s practically a petrol station! Call me a fool, but that hardly seems representative of anything.”

Dan glanced down, to his right, down again, and then back at Andrew. “I dunno—I suppose. I just think we can stretch ourselves, right? If ten kilometers isn’t enough, I think we can do eleven. Twelve if we work hard enough. But if you think it’s best, then I suppose it’s best.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Andrew said, refilling his pack. “And if you don’t mind, I’m a bit tired. Let’s find a rest stop.”

Dan watched Andrew start out the door, and he soon followed. As he rounded the corner into the open, dusty air, he had to tell himself off. Andrew knew what he was talking about, after all—he was a smart man, he had reasons, even if Dan couldn’t see them. And now, after a long weekend of tortures and failures, the sky seemed lighter. The Rings cast their pale glow down on him, with stars bright as fairy lights on New Years’ Day.

But as he walked back up the street, flecks of haze built up around the corners of his eyes. A blur.

He stopped. A shape scuttled from doorway to doorway up the streetside, curling and warping with black smoke—approaching, only halting when it reached the doorway nearest to Andrew. Yet Andrew continued, unaware. Dan’s fingers twitched. He tried to say something, but the words died in his throat. When he blinked, it disappeared.

Only a week, Mother said in her sweetest voice. You’ll talk to Reggie again, won’t you?

That bitter hunger still in his gut, that now familiar stench of ash still in his lungs, Dan scampered after Andrew and kept his eyes closed tight.

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