“You’re all knowing, right?” Jackie asks, pushing aside a fan of ferns. The bush is thick, and the air is heavy. “You know things.”

 

“To an extent, yes.” Ignorance has to duck to navigate the dense shrubbery, and even then its horns snag on the occasional branch. “Centuries of living has certainly made me aware of the intricacies of your kind.”

 

“Do you know if there’s any of “my kind” left?”

 

Above them, a bird breaks out into a weak song. Ignorance sniffs the air, then says, “No. Not here, at least.”

 

“And how far’s “here,” exactly?”

 

“From here to the coastline. There are no humans.”

 

“Are you saying that just because you want me off this country?”

 

“I am merely repeating what I know is true. And what I know is true is that there is a landmass not far from here populated with packets of humans.”

 

Jackie stops and turns. “Wait, what? A whole country?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you didn’t tell me?”

 

“You showed no interest in other humans. I had thought you to be reclusive.”

 

Jackie kicks at a thick branch, hard enough to blacken her sneakers. “Well, what the fuck are we doing in this forest then?”

 

“Picking mushrooms, as I recall.”

 

She storms around the forest floor for a bit, stops, then bites into her apple with enough force to shatter teeth. The juices flow down her chin, the flesh sticky-sweet. "You're right. Hey, speak of the devil. Mushroom."

 

On a nearby tree, several orange disks spiral up the trunk like fairy steps. She plucks one disk from the bark. The meat inside is a creamy white, and appears almost sinewy. Ignorance's brows crash downwards.

 

"Did we not already establish that brighter mushrooms were detrimental to your health?"

 

Jackie snorts. "Psssht, any survivalist worth their salt knows that orange stuff on trees is always edible."

 

"If we are to cross the ocean soon, I suggest you refrain from any—" He nods towards the disk in her hand. "—strenuous activities."

 

"I'm serious. There aren't any poisonous look-alikes for this stuff, so my biggest concern would be whether or not this strain's good enough to eat or not." She runs her finger along the mushroom's pillow-soft edges, marvelling at the unblemished skin. "This one's young and fresh 'cause of the rain. It's perfect."

 

Finishing the remains of her apple, she flicks open her multitool and carefully carves the rest of the fungi off the tree. When she’s done, the brim of her knapsack blooms with orange fungi like a forest-themed campfire.

 

But Ignorance does not celebrate. Its eyes—or where its eyes should be—are fixed upon the tree.  

 

“That tree is dying,” it says finally. 

 

“Is it?” Jackie asks. She tugs at the bark, and sure enough, it comes away easily. “You’re right. How did you know?”

 

“There is only a sliver of life force left in this tree,” it responds. 

 

“You can tell how long something’s gonna live for?” Jackie bounces in front of Ignorance, her eyes bright. She holds the apple core up at the demon. “What about this thing then?”

 

“‘Tis already dead.”

 

“Ok, but that was an easy one, any schmuck with eyes could answer. No offence.” Searching the forest floor, she chances upon a spreading patch of tiny, purple flowers. “These ones. How long do they have?”

 

“One moon cycle. Or a month.”

 

She wanders forward, then digs at the undergrowth. Something slimy pulls away from the ground. “And this worm?”

 

Ignorance frowns. “Less than a week now that you’ve plucked it from the earth.”

 

“Hah! That’s what you get for being a dumb worm!” She sneers, but gently buries the worm again. “Better get reincarnated, bitch!” 

 

The trees eventually part, their leaves fading from deep green to lime. The sky is the colour of slate. When Jackie waves her hand through the air, she finds it humid—or at least, more humid than usual. 

 

She turns back to Ignorance, worry wearing into her features. “If we don’t find civilization—or, er cover—soon, we’re gonna get soaked.”

 

“I assume that this is undesirable to you.”

 

“You know, for a demon who says he’s been alive for a billion years, you don’t know much about humans.” The girl puts her hands on her hips. “I need you to explain that.”

 

“Some humans enjoy the rain.”

 

“Yeah, through a window.”

 

It shakes its head. “I have seen humans in the rain.”

 

“Those “humans” are having a tearful, heartfelt moment. Or maybe they’re just dumb.” Jackie runs ahead, where a stretch of grass cuts an overgrown path through the trees. “Come on, maybe we’ll run into the road at some point.”

 

Ignorance sighs, but obediently hobbles behind. Jackie only breaks her pace to pick at stray ribbons of onion weed, a bone-white flower with a yellow head. When the demon asks what the flower is for, she dodges the question, slips by with a passing remark about the darkening sky. She later plucks another flower from the roadside—mustard yellow, as bright as pumpkins.

 

They find a house with most of its walls still intact and an overspilling garden. Like most houses, the door has been left wide open, and all sorts of debris has floated into the corridor. Ignorance makes itself comfortable in a dusty corner, while Jackie searches the cupboards like a mouse scrounging for snacks. Eventually, she happens upon the golden prize: a pan and a jug of oil. The gas is faulty, the stovetop rusted into a gnarled mess—but with a match and twist of the knob, Jackie manages to get a flame going. 

 

Ignorance watches, its arms folded. The girl cooks with scary efficiency; the mushrooms from earlier are chopped into strips, and the onions are diced until their smell has permeated every corner of the house. The oil spits at her, but Jackie does not flinch from its sparks. 

 

Once she’s done cooking, she serves the meal on faded china—similarly filched from the cupboards. “Ta da,” she says, grinning. “It’s grilled chicken-of-the-woods.”

 

“I don’t recall you killing any fowls as of late.”

 

“The mushroom tastes and feels and looks like chicken, that’s why it’s called chicken-of-the-woods.” Jackie spears a fork into a strip and bites into it. “Hm. Could use some salt.”

 

Ignorance takes a cautious nibble from the plate. It chews neatly, as if it is afraid of unhinging its jaw. By the time the meal is finished, Ignorance has only eaten three strips to Jackie’s twenty. She does not bother washing neither the plate nor the pan—they are both left by the windowsill when the night has fallen and Jackie has curled into a ball on the centrepiece rug like a cat. A bottle stands guard by the door, collecting the rain. 

 

“What should we do tomorrow?” Jackie asks. She drags her finger through the rug. Dust sticks to her skin. “If it’s not still raining, of course.”

 

“You ask this question as though you believe my answer will change.” Ignorance shifts its weight. In the dim torch light, the contours of its ribs are heavily exposed, jutting in and out like corrugated cardboard. “We will head towards the coastline, and perhaps you will procure a boat for travel.”

 

“Yeah, ok.” Jackie rolls her eyes. “I had that one coming. But what do you want to do on the way there? We could forage some special mushrooms, kill a hare, kill a bird, kill—”

 

“Do you have a stomach for a head?”

 

“I’m not finished. We could pick flowers, scavenge for supplies…” She rolls over so that the light catches in her eyes like suspended snowflakes. "Explore the city, collect pretty things from shops, watch the sunrise… and the best part? No one—nothing can stop us. The possibilities are endless."

 

Ignorance considers her options for a moment. "Did the presence of humans stop you from partaking in these activities before the Fall?"

 

Looking away, Jackie falls silent. She doesn't speak again for a long, long while, and when she does she says, "I think I'm gonna sleep on what we're gonna do tomorrow. I think there's a supermarket nearby…"

 

—

 

Ignorance watches the girl sleep, but does not touch her in case it wakes her. It is glad she did not inquire about her life-force, because even though it knows little of the intricacies regarding human interaction, there is something fragile surrounding the topic of life—her life, to be exact. Ignorance recalls the silence Jackie had left in the wake of its seemingly innocuous question, and decides that, perhaps, the question had not been so innocuous after all.

 

For it had dipped into the girl's soul, and its worst fears were confirmed: there was nothing but vacuum.

 

And perhaps she had known, because in the morning Ignorance finds two flowers—one white, one mustard yellow—resting upon its knee. The petals are wrinkled and crusted at the edges; the scent clings to the surface like dried honey.

 

—

 

Luckily for Jackie, it is still raining the next day.