After the End of the World

So I add quality time with a manual breast pump to my daily activities. Fortunately, my supply indeed goes up as the combination of Gregory and the pump fully drains me at every feeding. Kara's own milk supply dries up completely within a week, and she can't hide that she's relieved not to be lactating anymore.

It irritates me that I'm doing this more for Kara's body image than medical necessity. Still, I'd rather Amelia drink real breastmilk than formula, so I do it.

My room is quite cozy because half of it is still stacked to the ceiling with carefully sealed cardboard boxes. While Caiden did indeed move a few of the smaller ones to some high closet shelves around the house, for the most part Kara said there really was no other place to put them, so they're still here.

I wondered at first how they had managed to accumulate so many possessions after arriving only nine months ago. I quickly learned, though, that the boxes were left by the previous residents, perhaps vainly believing that they'd be back for them someday. Kara hasn't had the time to go through them, much less get rid of them, but she doesn't want me to unseal any of them myself.

Half of the smallest bedroom in the house is still more space than I need. Everything I own still fits in my duffle bag. It's an intimate space, especially late at night when I lie down to sleep on the twin bed, complete with a bright pink headboard featuring anatomically unlikely cartoon ponies. Gregory sleeps in a small bassinet next to my bed.

It's nearing midnight and I've fed my son, changed his diaper, and rocked him to sleep. By the moonlight streaming in the window, I watch him. He's beautiful. I'm not sure how I got so lucky, having a child like him.

I slip into the bathroom to do my nightly ritual, then pad quietly back to my room. All is quiet in the house and I'm sure Caiden and Kara have turned in for the night down at the far end of the hall. I stretch my muscles one last time, working out the kinks that come from handwashing a week's worth of laundry for five people. I've got the best arm and shoulder development of my life now. My forearms rival Popeye's.

I get undressed, sniffing each piece of clothing as it comes off, making executive decisions on which can be worn again, and which really need washing. (Certainly not something I bothered to do when I had a functioning washing machine.) Then I slip into the long nightshirt that, with my panties, is my usual sleep apparel.

It was an unusually warm day and it's still a bit stuffy in the house, so I leave my door open a few inches to get the air to circulate through my single window. The covers would be too warm, so I fold them down neatly at the foot of the bed.

I can tell immediately that this is going to be one of those nights where sleep will not come quickly. My thoughts are swirling like the winds, at first thinking about how incredibly blessed I am to be safe and out of the bunker with my beautiful baby boy.

But then they turn darker and begin to contemplate all of the things I've lost, and not just in the war. My grandpa's fatal heart attack, the accident that took my parents and grandma. The worldwide cataclysm that killed nearly everyone I knew, and most everyone else for good measure. I don't cry this time, but still I mourn.

It's Greg I miss the most. His ridiculously handsome face, his massive and finely sculpted body, his quick wit, good heart and deep compassion. I miss running a ranch with him, raising kids with him, sharing a bed with him and yes, I miss his impossibly long, thick cock.

I find that I've slipped a hand under my panties, gently massaging my nether lips. I slip one, then two fingers inside, rhythmically squeezing them with my Kegel muscles. I do this every night, working to replace with muscle tone what I lost in childbirth. I imagine that it's Greg inside me and bear down, working my ever-strengthening muscles hard.

I try to remember the feeling of his hands, and then his mouth on me, the one and only time we got to do that. I recall how he teased my little cinnamon ring with his tongue, making me jump from the surprise. He'd licked and tongued his way across my taint, driving me wild with anticipation, then penetrated me just a little with his tongue, having to hold me down to stop me from wiggling right off the bed. Then he'd stuck his tongue way down inside me, making me gasp at the sensation.

But then he'd sucked my hard and needy clit right into his mouth. He'd made me shriek from the overload of erotic sensations that coursed through my body. I'd grabbed fistfuls of his thick, curly hair, keeping him right there, not wanting to risk his going anywhere but where I needed him so badly.

Oh how skillfully he'd worked my clit. Despite my fevered imaginings, I'd had no clue that it could feel like that, and I'd orgasmed so hard it hurt. But he hadn't stopped, instead sliding a long, thick finger inside me. I'd nearly screamed from the hugely erotic sensation, but when he'd added a second finger and started fucking me with them, I'd gone to another time and place, one where the ultimate pleasures were obtainable. I'd drunk deeply of them.

And before I'd even left that place, he'd had his impossibly big and beautiful cock at my entrance. We'd decided that if we made a baby, it would be a beautiful thing. And indeed, it was beautiful, as confirmed by the child next to me. The pain of his entry had been intense, but nothing to rival the force of the passion that swept through me as the virgin became the woman.

We'd moved together strongly, both learning in our first coupling how this went, and falling into the ancient rhythm. Oh how deep he'd been, and oh how tightly I'd held him within me as we went on and on, glorying in the sensation of finally making the ultimate love with the ones we knew we were always meant to be with.

I'd run my hands all over his magnificent body, glorying in the knowledge that he was mine and I was his and that we'd be doing these things together for the rest of our lives. I'd climaxed hard as he stroked, then urged him to use me, to go hard, to make me fully his woman. He had, pounding into me so hard and so deep that I'd been lost in the sensation.

Then he'd whispered that he was going to come, and we'd climaxed together, him filling me fully with his precious seed. Maybe I'd known, even in that moment, that we'd made his only child. Then I'd looked up into his face and...

The fingers that are stroking inside me stop. I can't picture his face. I search my memory, but it's gone. I pull my hand away as if stung.

I've forgotten what Greg looked like.

I can't help myself. I sob, my heart breaking, as I realize that I may never again be able to picture the face of the man I was born to be with. Of all of my losses, this one hits me the most personally. Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to die? Why must I be alone?

"Lana, are you all right?" a soft voice asks.

I look up and see Caiden standing in the doorway, Amelia cradled in his arms. He's heard me sob, but he almost certainly heard me moaning as well. I should die of embarrassment right here and now, but my sorrow and loneliness have overwhelmed me.

My need overcomes my shame. "Would you hold me Caiden? I... I just don't want to be alone right now."

I really expect him to tell me that it isn't a good idea, but instead, he nods and walks in. He settles Amelia into the bassinet right up against Gregory. Then he walks around the foot of the bed and lies down beside me, indicating with a warm hand on my hip that I should move onto my side. I do, and then he spoons up gently, wrapping an arm around me. He's bare-chested, wearing only a pair of sleep pants. Amazingly, this doesn't feel at all sexual.

"Is it something you'd like to talk about?" he murmurs. I can't believe the chance he's taking, being in my bed, however platonically, with Kara at the other end of the hall.

"No," I say. "I just need you to be with me for a little while. I'm so sorry about this."

"Please don't be, Lana. I care about you and I want to be here for you."

With that, neither of us says anything more. Caiden isn't Greg, and I don't expect that he'll ever be my lover, but being in his arms really helps. We're almost exactly the same height, and his body fits against mine perfectly. I feel no guilt. This is just one human being comforting another.

After a while, my thoughts have calmed, and I realize I'm becoming drowsy. I should let Caiden know that his mission has been accomplished, but selfishly, I don't want this to end.

I wake when I hear Gregory begin to fuss. The sound of it is so soft that it always amazes me that I can hear him. We're very well in tune.

My internal clock says it's three or four in the morning. It's time for his feeding. I don't think I've moved, but I feel Caiden's hand cupping my now rather full breast through my nightshirt. Oh God, that feels good. I can't help but wonder if this is something he always does unconsciously in his sleep, but I can't imagine that Kara would let him.

Perhaps I throw a different vibe to his subconscious, telling him that with me this is okay. Because it is okay.

But just maybe he waited until I was asleep and purposely went to cop a feel. I find that I like that idea best of all. I want him to desire me, just like I realize now that I desire him. Too bad he has to be so damn faithful. Well, too bad he's faithful to her anyway.

I feel him jerk just slightly and realize that he's woken as well. Sadly, his hand slips away, but he doesn't make any move to get up.

There's a sheet over us now, but I pull it down so I can get to my son. Gregory and I are practiced in this middle-of-the-night feeding thing, and I'm able to lift him without even sitting up. Caiden's arm withdraws as I shift to face him, lying my son down between us. Somehow, it feels so comfortable having Caiden in my bed with us that I throw modesty to the wind and deftly wiggle my nightshirt up over my breasts.

Caiden doesn't ask if it's okay for him to stay. He seems to know that if it's not, I'd gently tell him so.

Gregory is on his back, but he knows how this works. He turns his head and takes my proffered nipple into his mouth, beginning to nurse. Caiden gently strokes his little cheek with the back of a finger. "He's a beautiful boy, Lana," he murmurs. "He looks a lot like you."

Gregory also looks like his father, and in watching him, I can suddenly picture the details of Greg's face again. I'm flooded with relief.

"Yeah, he's beautiful," I say. "He's the best thing I ever did."

We watch in silence as my son eats from one nipple, then the other as I roll a little to bring it down to him. When he's done, I check his diaper, then gently maneuver onto my back and place him on my bare chest, settling his cheek between my breasts. Knowing our routine, he'll be asleep and ready to go back in his bassinet in a couple of minutes, which leaves me with the question of what Caiden and I should do. What we've done so far feels innocent, but, to me, his staying longer would not. I can see that he's thinking the same, but then we hear a soft babble from the bassinet. Amelia is awake and will need to be fed shortly.

Caiden smiles, but I feel for the guy. The way I fed Gregory was relaxed, cozy and convenient. Caiden, on the other hand, is going to have to carry Amelia down to the kitchen, put some water on the stove to warm her bottle, then sit down in a chair to feed her. He does this every night.

"Caiden, my offer still stands. It would be a lot easier if you just brought Amelia to me for overnight feedings."

He nods, but he's agreed to Kara's edict that I not give a nipple to their child. He's a man of his word. "I deeply appreciate that, Lana," he says, "but we both know we can't do that."

I nod. "You're right of course."

There, that's my way of gently saying that he shouldn't return to my bed when he's done feeding Amelia. Not because I don't want him to, but because I'm painfully aware of just how insane a risk we've taken tonight. We've both got too much to lose to make a habit of this.

"It was the least I could do, Lana, and I hope it helped, but I don't think we should do this again."

I'm glad he sees it the same way. "I agree, but thank you for this one."

He gets to his feet, lays a soft kiss on Gregory's forehead, then mine. He walks around the bed and gently picks up his daughter, then closes the door of my now-cooled room as he leaves.

MacDill and the refugee camp are slowly emptying out. Ships and planes are coming and going, bringing in food and materials, then leaving with evacuees. I'm told I won't be offered a seat on any of the planes, which are taking Air Force personnel to what the Australian's call "bare bases" in far-flung parts of their country. These are evidently Royal Australian Air Force bases that are only used during occasional exercises (or in the event of war) and are normally manned by skeleton crews.

I'll probably be able to get on one of the ships that are taking larger groups of displaced people to huge international refugee camps in South America, but the thought of doing that hurts. I will again find myself not knowing anyone around me and, well, I'll miss Caiden.

I've just gotten done cooking dinner when I see the back door slowly opening. I nearly yelp in alarm until I see that it's Caiden. I take a breath to get my reflexes back under control. Normally he makes a lot of noise locking up his bike under the deck, then stomps like crazy as he very slowly comes up the wooden steps. Kara wants to be the one to greet him when he gets home, and he tries to make sure I have time to call her down to the kitchen before he opens the door. Tonight is obviously different.

Caiden has his finger over his lips as he comes in, rather unnecessarily. His stealthy entrance would be enough to keep me quiet. He walks over to me and speaks in a low voice.

"Lana, I just got word that a small cruise ship has dropped anchor in the harbor near the refugee camp. They're offering to take a load of people to Patagonia."

"Wow, that's a bit of a trip."

"Yeah, and-" He stops cold, looking over my shoulder.

I know what that means.

"Hi sweetheart," he says, smiling and casually walking over to give Kara a kiss. She hands him the baby. He's on kid duty until work tomorrow. Gregory, for his part, is nestled up against my chest. He feels so natural there that once I even went to check on him in his crib and nearly panicked for a second before realizing I was wearing him.

"Where's Patagonia?" Kara asks, her voice completely flat. Oh shit, she's obviously heard the whole thing.

"It's the southern part of Argentina," he says, and I can tell how he's trying to keep his voice relaxed. "Down at the bottom of South America. I was just saying that a ship has arrived to take a load of refugees there."

"What's it like there?" Kara asks him. Her expression says she's trying to hide her jealousy from me. I won't envy Caiden the next time they're alone.

"I don't know," he says, "but it's early fall there."

"I've heard it's beautiful," I volunteer. "A lot like Montana, but with more llamas."

Caiden chuckles, trying as hard as I am to seem casual. "Here's the thing, guys. They're going to be doing interviews tomorrow morning in a warehouse near the yacht club, and they only want people with farm and ranch experience."

"Really?" Kara and I somehow manage to say in unison.

"Yup. They're saying that due to the numbers of refugees coming into Argentina, they need to expand their meat production in a big way."

"Do you think we should do this?" I ask. I feel like I'm being kind of presumptuous, including myself in "we," and I'm sure Kara wouldn't want me to come along if the rest of them went, but he did start by telling me about it. Would he have told her if she hadn't walked in when she did?

"I can certainly see the attraction," he says carefully.

"So do I," I say. "I'd much rather be on a ranch again than in a tent in the middle of the Outback, let alone a squalid refugee camp in the Amazon."

"Well I'm not living on a ranch," Kara says with finality, ending the conversation cold.

I quietly take a plate of food and disappear into my room, per our usual arrangement. I eat while feeding Gregory, then briefly poke my head into the dining room. Yeah, things are tense. "Hey guys," I say, "I'm going to take Gregory with me for a long walk."

"Oh," Kara says, "how long do you suppose you'll be?"

"No less than two hours." Yeah, and maybe two weeks if I had anywhere else to go. That ought to give them time to talk (or scream) this through.

"We'll see you when you get back," Caiden says with a careful smile.

The C-5 Galaxy was the heaviest plane in the world when it was introduced in 1968, and it's still hauls a bigger load than any other exclusively military transport in the US arsenal, what's left of it. I wouldn't have made this trek just to see it, but it's definitely impressive.

An impossibly long line of people is filing aboard with their bags. Mostly young men, but plenty of women and children. Some look apprehensive, but most are jubilant. They are part of the lucky one or two percent of Americans who have survived this long, and even luckier to be heading somewhere safe.

I'm not sure hot and humid northern Australia would be my first choice, but at least these folks will stop picking up the radiation that is slowly adding up in the bodies of myself and my infant son. Hell yeah, I wish we were on this flight.

I turn and begin the long walk home. Gregory has been in his breastmilk coma the whole time, but I'm really starting to feel his weight. I'm also lugging the backpack that doubles as his diaper bag. I know it's overloaded, with extra diapers, a changing pad, clothes, and even Amelia's breast pump, but its weight helps as a counterbalance. The temperature is just perfect now, an hour before sunset. It's not Montana, but I haven't minded the climate here.

I'm not looking forward to walking in on the scene that might be unfolding at the house. Kara can't have been pleased to find that her husband had snuck into the house and was quietly talking to me about a trip to South America. She probably imagined that Caiden was suggesting we leave her behind.

Thing is, maybe he was.

So, if we hadn't been interrupted, and that really was what he was thinking, what would I have said? I liked Caiden back in the bunker but, except for one dishwashing session and his platonic visit in the night, he's been so distant and formal since then that I haven't gotten to know him much better. I suspect that I would really like him if we could spend some time together, but that's neither here nor there. He's married, and I'm not the kind of girl who's going to mess around with a married man.

As I climb the stairs, Sergeant Williams, from the attached unit next door, wheels his old Schwinn out from under the house. I return his big smile and wave as he hops on and rides away. He should be smiling. He doesn't have to walk through this door.

Just as I reach for the handle, I hear the big jet engines of the C-5 spool up. It's amazing how much better you can hear distant sounds when the normal buzz of a high-tech society is missing. I've never actually witnessed one of these behemoths taking off, so I decide to give my hosts a little more time to have things out. I retrace my route a bit to watch the takeoff.

I don't go far, just walking up to the corner and then out across the grass to view the event through the tall, chain-link fence that surrounds the apron. The huge plane taxis to the end of the runway, then turns and points to the northeast. The engines spool up until they're screaming, then the crew releases the brakes and it lumbers down the runway.