Epilogue

One of the reasons, anyway.

She moved to the back of the house, but it was dark inside and bright outside and no amount of squinting through the backdoor showed her much.

"Nothing to it but to do it," she murmured out loud. It always stung to think too much about her former career, or where her students might be now, but sometimes these things were unavoidable. The phrases, the habits, so ingrained in her that they would rear up at a moment's notice. She used one finger to push on the handle, and the glass door slid open along its track.

Wet breathing. She squeezed her fist around the handle of the knife.

She was coming into the house opposite from where she'd been looking in before, and her shoes touched down on linoleum flooring as she moved inside. The kitchen. A bathroom straight ahead, and to her right...

Her eyes went wide as she saw a shape next to the refrigerator, a shadow that was growing larger. Coming toward her. It had heard her. She reared back and immediately regretted it, blade gripped the wrong way for the kind of downward stab she'd tried to inflict. All she could do was follow through with the motion, swiping and slashing above the outstretched arms. Stainless steel cut through desiccated skin and cartilage, but it was a surface wound at best and she knew it. And then it was on her.

Reese used her momentum to keep twisting, bringing her open left hand around behind the swing to push up and back on the chin. She felt teeth clack together right in front of her fingertips, and knew she had just escaped death by little more than millimeters. Her pushing disoriented her attacker, but it had its hands on her too. Grimy fingers grasped for her hair.

She twisted, pushing, until her left shoulder was in front of her, and pistoned her legs until she was driving it backwards. Her throat and lungs were burning, from screams she hadn't even realized she was screaming. The thing impacted with the refrigerator, and once she had the footing for it she drove the kitchen knife home into its chest, side, and stomach. The fourth stab went higher, wrenching in her grip as the blade tracked into alignment with the ribs it was passing between, but got stuck there, and all the while those fingers were grabbing at her face. Her hair. For her eyes and mouth.

She let go of the blade and got her right hand next to its head to give it a little shove. The thing barely registered her push, staggering to its right, but that was just enough room for her to reach out to grab the shoulder-high freezer door and swing it open with all the force she could muster.

The door caught it flush, high, and knocked it clear over, back down into the hallway, but Reese gave it no quarter. She was right behind it as it tumbled, and she brought down her heel hard just above the center of the forehead. The first time, its skull bounced off the wood board flooring like a ball. The second time, its skull bounced less, accompanied by a nauseating cracking sound. The third time, the skull caved in.

Reese barely made it outside before she threw up. On her hands and knees in the dry grass.

When she sat back on her heels a minute later, wiping her lips with the back of her wrist, the pulsing in her ears had finally quieted down. There were others outside the walls. Not close, certainly, but within earshot of her. She wasn't surprised, but she almost relished the idea of fighting outside, in the street. She could do that all day, and would gladly square off against a dozen in broad daylight rather than one, inside, in cramped quarters, in the dark.

Although food was her priority, and her stomach was very loudly asserting she focus on that, Reese instead got to her feet and dislodged a hatchet from a wood pile on her way to the makeshift stairs. All the noise she'd made had drawn four of them out on the street, and she was back inside the house within ten minutes.

The zombie's leg was still twitching and Reese screamed just a little every time it did, but she made sure to check the kitchen cabinets.

***

Miles startled, and looked up from her sewing when Reese slammed her palm down on the table. Reese was smiling, and when Miles stared at her quizzically she slowly lifted her hand and revealed...

...an object so strangely shaped that it could only be what it was, except that she was sure, at this point, that her eyes were deceiving her: a can opener.

"Ohfinally!" Miles said, and grasped it.

Solid metal felt comforting, and if she had any more energy she might have wept. The table banged again, as Reese slammed down a can of pineapple slices. Miles just stared, open mouthed. Reese snatched the opener from her hand and started to open the can. Miles raised her hand halfway, wanting to protest, wanting to say there might be a time they needed it more. She did not stop Reese, though; she had never in her life wanted a canned pineapple slice more.

When Miles stuffed the first sweet disk in her mouth, a tear rolled down her cheek. Her whole being focused on eating, the flavors, the juiciness, how it felt between her teeth when she chewed it as slowly as she could. Reducing it to a pulpy paste. Reese devoured hers with equal fervor, and only after they had sipped the rest of the juice from the can was either of them capable of focusing on anything else.

"You found something," Miles said.

Reese nodded, the triumphant grin making her features quite striking.

"You found food," Miles continued when Reese stayed quiet. "This wasn't all there was, was it?"

"No!" Reese was all but bouncing now. "I found a house! Like, like a survivor's house! There's supplies! Not a super lot of food, mind you, but, like some tools and materials. Stuff!"

Miles leaned back, a wide smile spreading on her face too. "Is it far?"

"Not very far, no. But it'll take usa lot of trips to get all of it here." Reese paused, looking around hesitantly. "We do want to stay here, don't we?"

Miles glanced around too. They had settled in the master bedroom, and now she viewed their combined possessions evaluatively. "This is closer to the lake, right?"

"I think so. I'll show it to you"--Reese looked out the window--"tomorrow I think? Or should we go now?"

"Show it to me now," Miles said, putting aside the rags she had been repurposing and getting to her feet. She had more energy than she would have believed possible. It hadn't dawned on her how grim her outlook had become, before Reese had single handedly lit a fire in her.

They approached the house cautiously. Miles noticed Reese had killed quite a few, dotted here and there down the street, and where there were a few there was usually more just out of sight. Sometimes she wondered how it was possible that they just kept on coming. Surely they must end, eventually? Once they'd killed the entire former population of Knox County? She snorted quietly and shook her head. This wasn't a time for that.

They made their way in, Reese showing her the ladder, and pointing out the shed she'd used earlier. The sun was setting, and the insides of the four-room house were dark and uninviting. Reese led them to the kitchen, and they stuffed as much food into their bags as they could. Miles had her old backpack and Reese had finally found one of her own, tucked just inside the door.

They didn't stay long. Staying outside after dark was not something either of them wanted to do, and their step was a bit faster on the way home. Reese slung the ladder over her shoulder in an abundance of caution, and neither of them spoke before they were back inside their house, sitting on the dusty bed, admiring all the cans and dried beans and other non-perishables they had managed to haul back.

"I thought you said there's not a lot of food!"

"Well itlooks like a lot," Reese said sensibly. "Itfeels like a lot. Because, you know... we had none. Any amount more than none looks like a lot. This won't take us through the winter. But... we have a chance."

Reese smiled, and something in her expression was new. Miles hadn't really participated in the common activities in the old camp, but somehow she thought Reese hadn't looked that happy in any of them.

"So... how about... bean and spam soup?"

"Oh yes please," Reese said, her eyes glossing over.

Miles got to work with the food. They didn't have good cooking containers, but she repurposed the tins they had already emptied, and soon two very small soup kettles were happily bubbling near the fire. Miles poked them with a stick, making sure they didn't get too close to the fire, so that they wouldn't burn through and ruin the food.

Reese came to sit beside her on the floor. "Listen, um..."

"Yes?"

Reese was chewing on her lip, looking into the fire. She glanced at Miles and then away. "I've been going over it in my head. What if... what if that wasn't the only resident? What if we just stole someone's food?"

"Huh," Miles said. She considered the question for a moment. The idea that someone might come in whilethey were out scavenging and takeall they had was terrifying, and while she hadn't thought about that earlier, she did think about it now.

"I mean, what if it was a, a couple, or... or more people, and the others were out, dunno, hunting or something--"

"Yeeeah," Miles said. "Well. The ladder was up, and there was no other way in--"

"But what if there is another way in and we just don't know?"

They had also started planning their own zombie fences. The trick was to make them impassable for a dead person with zero brain capacity, while they themselves could pass with relative ease. Ducking a little here, twitching through there, that sort of thing.

"Well go back tomorrow, see how it looks," Miles said. "I mean, we're going back anyway for all the stuff, right?"

"I wouldn't say no to some more socks." Reese smiled, though not as radiantly as before. "I just... I'd feel awful if I just took someone's stuff, and theydied because of it."

"I know. You're a good person."

The thought didn't leave Miles. Good as the soup was, and warm as she was settling to sleep, her mind was troubled by the idea of other survivors. She knew herself, and Reese seemed honorable and trustworthy enough, but not everyone was like them.

***

"Ah shit."

Reese bolted up and out of bed, head whipping around. Only a tiny bit of light was peeking in under the curtains, but it was enough for her to have her knife in hand by the time she was on her feet.

"No," Miles said, groaning, as she slid out the other side. "No, it's... I bled."

She got out, "Are you--" before a much earlier conversation drifted up from the depths of her sleep-addled brain. "Oh."

Miles made a kind of flat grunt, as she took wide steps and pulled up on the front of her shirt. "Shit."

Reese pulled back on the comforter, and spotted a couple small spots. "It's not much."

"Yeah, but that ain't comin' out," Miles said, halfway to shouting, "and it's not like we can just pop by the store for another one!"

"Hey hey," Reese said, reaching over and tapping the spot with her middle finger. "I know. I get it."

Miles just stared at her for a moment, somewhere between perplexed and agitated.

"This? This has happened to all of us. There's no... there's no judgment. It's not gross. I'm not grossed out."

"I am!"

"Look, we'll...the blanket is fine, I'll pull this back, and we'll take the sheet down to the lake first thing."

"I've been saving some little strips," Miles said, as she continued to waddle. "I should have started putting them in a couple days ago, at least while I was sleeping. God-fucking-dammit."

"I don't know about you," Reese said, in between grunts as she pulled on the fitted sheet, "but I've completely lost track of the days."

"It's been a week," the taller woman said, as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Yeah, but a week since what?"

"I think it's November."

"That'spart of an answer," Reese said, as she hustled down the stairs, sheets bundled under her arm, "but part of an answer is not an answer at all."

Miles grunted ahead of her, and gave her a look over her shoulder as she rounded the corner toward the kitchen.

"Oh," Reese said, "stop."

"What."

She tossed the sheet down by the front door and hurried after the taller woman. She knew what strips Miles was talking about; she'd seen the pile. She grabbed one, and knelt down in front of her. "Little bit on your thigh." The thick rivulet was just the start of it. Now that she was up close, she could see it was a lot. "Yours are heavy, huh?"

"They start off that way," Miles said, unamusedly. "I'll be alright in a couple days."

She popped up to her feet, but stood her ground in front of Miles. "I've got an idea."

Miles just growled at her.

"We go to the lake... and take a little bath."

"It's," Miles said, in a very sharp and clipped tone, "November."

"There's that little pier on the far side. We can dip in and out. You can get all cleaned up, and we can get these rinsed out, and if they get stained red then they get stained red and who flipping cares." When Miles didn't react, she added, "Mine is coming in a week or so. It's gonna be my turn, and it's natural. It's perfectly natural, and fuck the patriarchy for making us think this is something we ever had to hide. Or that it was dirty."

"It is dirty," Miles snapped, gesturing wildly toward her groin.

"It's not," Reese said, and she felt such a sense of calm as the smile hit her lips. "It's really not. Not anymore, okay? It's just you and me, and it happens to us both, and we both understand. We both understand! It's natural!"

Her smile got wider as she watched Miles think it over. It didn't look like she was ready to accept it, though, so before Miles could argue with her, Reese gave her a little touch on the arm and started moving. "To the lake."

"It's gonna be fucking frigid," Miles groaned. "Oh, and that's a clot. It's moving."

***

"Oh it's so much worse," Miles said, teeth clenched, as she splashed into the water. "Holy shit."

"Keep moving," Reese said. "Don't freeze up. Keep the blood flowing."

"I'mtrying!Fucking hell!"

Reese stood on the dock, gripping the hatchet tightly in one hand as she scanned the entire shoreline. The pier felt solid under her feet, which was good. It might only have been a few years old, which meant it might conceivably last a while before starting to rot.

"I can't wait to s-s-see you jump in," Miles said, hunching forward a little as she reached both hands under the water. Shoulders and arms shifting as she worked her hands over and between.

"I think January will be worse. That's usually when it's the coldest around here." She shook her head. "Next month won't be a picnic either."

"By th-th-then I... oh god--"

"Keep moving," Reese repeated.

"I'm moving!"

"Not so loud," she hissed.

"This is the appropriate volume level for this!" Miles shouted. Then she bit down on her lip, shook her head, and started cursing very quietly.

Reese got down on one knee, head still twisting this way and that, and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have antagonized you, but you're not gonna chase me away. I'm here. I'll protect you."

Miles gave her a mystified look, and then started wading back toward the ladder.

"Are you sure you don't wanna wash everything off? I know, when it's my turn and I'm already in the water, I'm gonna get it all. Pits, tits, face. All of it."

Miles just frowned at her, and pushed herself up out of the water. They had brought two towels; Miles grabbed one and immediately started on her upper body, while Reese started patting down her legs.

"You have the nicest ass I've ever seen," Reese said, surprising even herself.

Miles twisted at the waist, and gave her another look; still mystified and heading toward incredulousness.

"I'm just saying. It's, like, really toned, and it's clear you've done a lot of running."

"Am I supposed to say thank you?"

"You don't have to say anything," Reese replied, shifting down to the calves.

"Fuck this wind," Miles grunted, teeth chattering. She rushed the towel over her and around her lithe upper body, practically scraping it over her small breasts, and reached for the shirt they'd laid out on the bench built into the pier.

"Lay the strips in," Reese said, using both hands to hold Miles' underwear open.

Miles grabbed two strips of cloth and laid them lengthwise over the central gusset.

"Maybe one more," Reese said, giving her a knowing nod.

"Maybe we start looking for dark colored underwear too," Miles said, now visibly shaking as she laid a third ripped sheet down.

"Okay," Reese said, holding her arms out, and keeping them steady as Miles stepped into them.

There was a bit of bow-legged shimmying, and then Miles had them up. Her lips were twisted in discomfort as she turned around, making a few final adjustments, and then gasped in frustration as she reached for the sweatpants and hoodie.

"If we stay ahead of it," Reese said, "check those after lunch, we might be able to get away with just swapping them out for a day or two. I can come down and wash them out, and you can stay inside."

Miles didn't say anything. She looked sullen as they headed back inside, but her gait was a lot more normal.

"I mean, we've got plenty of strips. They're all gonna get stained red, but as long as they feel soft and flexible once we boil them, we can reuse them."

"I hate this conversation," Miles said. "I hate it so much."

"For most of my time teaching," Reese said, jovially, "I was in kindergarten, but I started off in fifth grade, and lemme tell you something. At least five girls, every year, they'd get their first period at school. Middle of the day. Sitting at their desks. They'd get that look, that horror? I was right there, every time."

She could feel Miles' eyes on her.

"I had an emergency stash of stuff. Couple pairs of size-appropriate yoga pants. Nice and stretchy. Some pads. Me and the nurse went through that I don't even know how many times, because the guy teachers would all call me in for their girls too. They all thought the world was ending."

"What a stupid phrase."

"But it's true!" she fired back. "And, like, especially now? We can look back on so much of that and realize how small our problems were. Freaking tiny." She took a deep breath and continued, saying, "Anyway, my point was that I'm not bothered by this conversation. Sometimes, even though we hate it and we wish it didn't happen to us and we wish we could pee standing up too and life is so freaking unfair sometimes..." She trailed off, blinking. "What was I saying?"

"That you hate this conversation too?"

When Reese looked over, she was surprised to see a little bit of a smile creeping into the corners of Miles' lips. "No, no. It's fine. I'm not bothered at all, and when it's my turn I promise I won't talk about it too much."

"I just..." Miles shook her head, jaw working behind tightly pressed lips. "I hate feeling unproductive, or not doing my part. I mean, fuck, we haveso much shit to do!"

Reese shrugged, held out her arms, and said, "Sometimes, the universe decides."

Miles shuddered. "Eugh. Can we hurry? I need to get out of this wind or I'm gonna lose a foot."

"Yup," Reese said. "Yup, yup, yup."

She escorted Miles up to the back fence, and then scooped up all the dirty fabric and headed back on her own. The rinsing was slow and tedious, like everything. It felt like it took an hour, using rounded rocks on either side of the fabric to work the water in and out of the fabric, and the sun was creeping higher by the time she made it back.

Miles had already hung the towels over a piece of twine they'd strung across the living room downstairs. Reese wrung out the sheet thoroughly before taking it back and putting it up, too. In the cold, nothing was likely to dry very quickly, but it would take a month if they started off waterlogged. She got into quite a rhythm, and even though her fingers were cold and very nearly numb by the time she finished, she felt pretty accomplished.