The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

The infirmary is still full. Many of the injured have been sent back to the dorms to rest and heal – mostly those with minor injuries or broken bones. Those with open wounds are kept close because of the risk of infection.

We’re getting low on supplies. We used a lot of clean bandages yesterday, enough that I was shocked when I went to the storeroom today. There are stacks of soiled ones but no way to get them clean enough to reuse. There’s little chance of getting any more.

I told Simon that we needed to get enough water to start boiling some clean and he grumbled at me; it’s a battle he’s had before. I would offer to help, but I think I’ve used up any credits I might have had here. All I can do is hope that Simon manages to win the argument this time.

The fella who lost his arm – Clancy – has been doped up since he got into the infirmary. He moans about the pain even through the haze of drugs and we had to tie his remaining hand down so that he wouldn’t reach over and mess with his dressings. He doesn’t understand what he’s lost yet. A part of me wonders if it would be better to bring him off the painkillers so that he has a chance to realise what’s happened and come to terms with it. I can’t tell which would be worse torture for him.

The acid didn’t touch Clancy anywhere except his arm and Simon took off all the flesh and bone that was affected by it. Now I wonder if removing the arm might have been the best thing to save Clancy’s life in the long run. If the burn is gone, will that stop the poison from seeping into his system, and stop him from getting the Sickness? Is that one way to get away from it? It’s not something I’m eager to test. It takes months for the Sickness to develop, so we won’t know for some time, and he has to make it through this first.

It’s not looking good for him. Simon’s got that grim tautness about him whenever he goes to check on Clancy’s dressings, the one he has when he thinks things are really bad. He’s not a trained surgeon – he told me that he had learned all that stuff ‘in the field’. He’s done everything he knows how to do, but he doesn’t think it’ll be enough. There’s too much bleeding and the risk of infection is so high here. His chances aren’t good.

I can’t help but think of Matt when that comes up. How bad it got, and how lucky he was. How lucky I was that I didn’t lose him. It makes my throat clench and I want to find a way to stop it. I just don’t know how.

Matt feels the same. He can’t stand to be around the injured when dressings are being checked or changed, or when Simon or Peter or I talk about the dangers. I managed to catch up with him between rounds, and he looked so torn. He doesn’t want to watch someone else get sick like he did; it scares him, knowing how close he got. But he doesn’t want to leave, either, and go back to the dorms like cutouts want him to. At first I thought it was because of the Sharks, but it wasn’t. He thinks the cutouts will try to keep him away from the infirmary, away from me. He’s probably right.

There wasn’t anything I could say. It’s ridiculous that we can both be here in Haven and never see each other, but it’s true. The Seekers I see the most are the hurt ones. I had just got used to seeing him every day, used to having that one warm spot in this place. Now it was going away and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

So I kissed him. I don’t know what part of my brain prompted me to do it – it happened in a rush, but it didn’t stop nearly as quickly as it started. It was one of those kisses that gets away from you, all caught up in itself. When it was done, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves, so we just stood there, leaning on each other.

I was called away before either of us figured out what to say. A short while later, he headed back to the dorms on his crutch, escorted by a grumpy cutout. We had time for a short farewell – a word, a wave, that’s all.

Now I remember that morning last year, all those months ago, when I woke up in his bed. I felt this way then, wondering if I’d done something stupid and ruined the good thing we had. Wondering if was a horrible mistake.

This time, I really hope it isn’t.

Matt came to the infirmary to have his leg checked today. Simon says it’s doing fine – just needs time to heal fully and for Matt to stay off it as much as possible.

When I heard he was coming in, my heart beat all out of time, thudding against my breastbone. I’ve never been nervous to see my best friend before – I didn’t get the chance after our last brush with intimacy, way back in the time Before, because the bomb went off so soon after. It took me a moment to realise how scared I was.

I felt like a little girl with a crush, desperate to see that spark of acknowledgement and reciprocation in his expression. Wondering if he’d even meet my eye, or laugh it off as if it was nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing. At the time, the kiss was like a sigh we’d been holding in for a long time. Now that we’ve had a chance to draw breath again, what do we do with it all?

I hovered in the background while Simon checked Matt’s healing stab wound and busied myself with changing the dressing on the arm of a middle-aged man who got caught in the roof collapse. Then I was finished and Simon was wandering off to do something else, and there wasn’t any avoiding it any more.

I walked over to Matt, but while my legs were working, my tongue had abandoned me. I looked at him and had no idea what to say beyond a pathetic, “Hi.”

He didn’t seem to have trouble speaking. He asked how I was and how things had been here. If I was all right after losing a patient. All those things that friends talk about when they catch up. I found my voice enough to answer. I felt like there was a neon sign over our heads and we were talking about the weather. There was a smile lurking around Matt’s expression and a slide to his gaze that suggested he felt it too.

“I hear you’ve been keeping busy,” I said. Even Jonah was sporting shorter, neater hair since the discovery of a hairdresser in our midst.

Matt grinned and I saw my mischievous friend from the time Before. “I have. It’s all your fault, y’know. You started a trend.” He gestured to his own hair, which I’m sure is neater than when I had finished cutting it. He probably fixed it as soon as he had access to scissors and a mirror.

“And I haven’t even got to enjoy it. You do do girls, right?” The question was out before I could censor myself and my mouth formed a little ‘o’, as if it might be able to take the words back.

I don’t know if it was the phrasing or my expression that made Matt laugh. “Sometimes, but I’ll always make an exception for you. Come on.”

And off he hobbled to one of the side rooms. I followed him, not quite sure what we were talking about any more, and sat where he asked me to. He fussed around my head, leaning on his crutch with the ease of practice, and let his usual patter fall around us. Do I want this or that, it could look cute like this. If he had gel, he could make this bit stand up – maybe we could make do with something else like in that movie. I poked him for that.

I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. It was the old Matt. The friend who fixed my hair when I got to parties, undoing the wind’s work, and rescued me after my dyeing disasters. He tidied me up and made me feel pretty. I haven’t felt pretty in a long time, among the dirt and the grime.

When he was done fussing over me, I stood up and thanked him with a hug. He wobbled, so I made him sit down, but he didn’t want to let me go. He had a hand on my cheek and I couldn’t move away.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“I dunno. What we want?” he suggested.

Could it really be that simple? It felt that simple as he wound his fingers through mine.

I looked down at our hands. My head couldn’t hold it all. My oldest friend, the one who knows that I ate worms when I was nine to drive my mother up the wall, who knows about each boy I’ve been with, each success and failure. And I know about his habits, his encounters, the few times he’s got close enough to someone else to get hurt and how badly they ended. Here we were, tangling up with each other. It was crazy and I was bursting with it.

The next thing I knew, we were kissing and winding in close. It was good, and right, and made my heart race.

The clatter of the door yanked us apart and Simon stopped abruptly to stare at us. He said something cutting and left again. The slam made me jump, but Matt was grinning. Then we giggled like kids and I was at home.

Today started about as well as can be expected and then slid downhill at a dizzying pace. Debbie is still Sick, though Simon is unwilling to diagnose her. It could just be flu, he said. We can’t know for sure yet. I wish I shared his cautious hope.

As I was heading towards the infirmary’s storeroom this afternoon, I caught sight of Matt. Simon was checking his leg and seemed to be nodding. Just the sight of my best friend made me feel lighter. Warmth blushed in my chest as I busied myself, wondering if ‘best friend’ is really what I should be calling him now and waiting for him to come free.

The next thing I knew, he was heading for the door. I hurried after him; his head was down and I had to call his name three times before he stopped. His face was taut with a fixed look to it that scared me; it closed him off and I wasn’t used to that from him.

I thought he must have had bad news from Simon. Maybe he’d never get rid of the limp, maybe something else had gone wrong. I touched his wrist and asked him what Simon had said to make him so upset.

“Nothing,” he said. It was so hard to read his eyes. “My leg’s going to be fine.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I know what you did.” He spat the words at me and at first I thought he was angry. My fingers fell away from his arm. “Derek told us all about it.” Not angry: hurt.

“Derek?” I was so lost. I don’t know a Derek.

“The one you were with last night.”

Panic started to claw at the inside of my abdomen. I had no idea what he was talking about; the only fella I spent any time with last night was Jonah, when he escorted me back to the dorms. When I said that, Matt scowled and went to push past me towards the door. I had to latch onto him and beg him to stop before he’d even look at me. By then, we were causing such a fuss that everyone in the infirmary was staring at us, even little Debbie down the far end.

I had to plead with him and practically drag him into an exam room so that we could have some kind of privacy. I saw Peter smirking before the door closed, but I was too scared to make much of it just then. I was losing the best thing to happen to me since I discovered my dad was alive and well, and I wasn’t sure that I could get it back.

It took some prying to get the story out of Matt. He didn’t attack me with it; he was upset and hurt, but he wasn’t angry with me. I think that made it worse.

This fella named Derek had come back to the dorm after the nightly ‘entertainment’ visit and boasted about what he’d been up to. He’d used my name, said all kinds of things about how much fun he’d had and in what positions. In some detail, by the sound of it; Matt wouldn’t repeat most of it.

It was the last part that brought tears to my eyes. “It’s not like we made any promises to each other,” he said. He couldn’t look at me. “I know how things work here.”

He thought I would actually do it. He was excusing it. He thought he had no right to be angry with me, because we had barely started being together. It was hard to tell which part hurt most.

“We might not have made any promises out loud, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there,” I said. My voice was thick and it was hard to push the words past the lump in my throat. “Matt, I love you. I’d never do that to you. Never. You know that.” Not after what Cody did to me. Not after what I thought Ben did. I know how that betrayal feels, so it’s the last thing I’d do to someone I cared about.

I kept speaking, afraid to stop in case he said he didn’t believe me. It wasn’t me. This Derek was lying, or mistaken. Maybe someone put him up to it. Maybe one of the girls lied to him, knowing what it would do. But it wasn’t me. I was being ostracised because I had refused to take part in it. I had no proof to offer him except words and what he knows of me already, and that felt so thin.

By the time I stumbled to a stop, we were standing a few inches apart and both had damp cheeks. My hands were cradling his head, in case that would make him hear me better, wanting to hold onto at least a small part of him. Wanting to stop him from turning away from me and leaving me so alone. He hadn’t looked at me since we had come into the room and I so desperately wanted to know he believed even a little of what I was saying.

“Have you?” I asked him suddenly, not knowing where else to go. “With anyone?”

It was enough to make him meet my eyes. “No.”

I clung to his gaze; I wasn’t sure which of us was drowning, but if I could hold on, we’d both be able to breathe. “Please, Matt. Don’t let them do this to us. It’s not true.”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head towards me. There it was: the sign I was waiting for. He believed me; finally, he dared to let himself believe in me. “When I heard him, I nearly–”

“I know,” I told him. I remembered how it felt when your whole world tips and everything is stained with uncertainty and lies. I didn’t want any more words; I wanted to make it up to him, make him feel better, make him understand how strongly I feel about all of this. So I lifted my lips up to his.

Once we had latched on, we couldn’t let go. Cold, sickening doubt burst into sudden heat. The roil of released emotions burned through us with an intensity that made my head spin. There were only feelings between us; it was all about hands and mouths and bared skin. Giving ourselves up to each other and snatching desperate breaths. Holding on so tight we left marks.

I don’t remember how or when we wound up on the floor, but that’s where we were when it was over, tangled and shivering. I tucked my face in against his neck and didn’t want to let him go.

After we’d stopped shaking, we talked a little. I was worried about his healing leg in all the exertion and he laughed. The least of his worries at the time, he said. I can’t bring myself to mind.

We sobered out of our giddiness when we made promises to each other, putting our feelings into words in the hope of chasing away fears. There’ll be no more doubt about that any more. He asked if I thought I could deny the deal forever, and I told him my answer would always be no. I wouldn’t bow to their pressure. It made him unhappy, knowing that pressure would be there.

I told him the other things I had discovered about Haven. About the Converter and the ‘accidents’. He frowned as he absorbed it all, and then he said something that has been rattling around in my head for days. It was a relief to hear it on someone else’s lips.

“Let’s leave Haven.”

“You two are insane.”

My heart was thudding so loudly that it took me a moment to make sense of the words. I couldn’t see, my eyes narrowed to painful slits in the white light, and I struggled to untangle myself from Matt enough to shield myself from the beam.

“Could you lower that, please?” Matt was quicker than I was to form the question.

The flashlight beam continued to pin our heads for a few long seconds, and then moved down to our bellies. Thrown-up light still illuminated our faces, but we had a chance to let our eyes adjust and see what was around us. It took much blinking and squinting, but eventually the dazzle faded.

I was relieved to see that Jonah was alone. For a stomach-clenching second, I was afraid that he had grabbed some backup before coming up to spring blindness on us. I desperately tried to think about what he might have overheard and when we had last mentioned our escape efforts. He had come in just as we were moving on to more innocent stuff, but I had no idea how long he might have been standing outside. Fear curled up in my belly, cold and scaly.

Jonah was scowling at us over the dipped beam, his mouth set into an unhappy line. The expression pulled at a scar on his jaw, making it stand out in the shadow of his stubble.

“Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in already?” he said. “This will only make it worse.”

“Only if you tell them,” Matt said. That was when I noticed that he was standing slightly in front of me, an arm held out across my front. Protecting me. I stepped up behind his shoulder and took his hand, trying to offer him support and solidarity. I didn’t need protection but I was grateful for the gesture.

“Jonah, we’re not doing anything wrong.” The lie curdled around the snake in my belly and it was an effort not to let it show on my face. I hoped my desperation was coming across as earnestness.

“If I tell the officers about this–”

“If?” Matt moved to take a step forward and I had to hold him back. I tightened my grip on his hand and he stopped, standing tautly. I could tell he was glaring at the cutout.

“We know,” I said quickly. “We know. Please, don’t. You know what they’ll do. You don’t have to, right?”

“Technically, I do.”

“But are you going to?”

Jonah paused, watching us narrowly. Weighing us up, judging our worth. I could feel Matt vibrating with tension.

“What do you want?” he asked before Jonah came to a decision. “For not telling them?”

“Have you got something I want?”

I felt Matt tense when Jonah’s gaze flicked to me. By then, I was holding onto my boyfriend with both hands, just in case. The last thing any of us needed right now was a physical fight – the noise would bring everyone down on us, and if I’m honest, I don’t think that Matt would win. Cutouts have training in this kind of thing, and Jonah knows that my boyfriend has a weak leg. It could only end badly for us.

“Might not get exactly what you’re after,” Matt said.

Jonah frowned. “That goes for both of us.”

“Guys, please.” My desperation was rising quickly – I didn’t want testosterone or pride from getting in the way of us reaching some kind of agreement. I wanted a solution that didn’t mean something awful for any of us. “We have to find a way to resolve this. Jonah, what do you want? To keep this just between us?”

“A promise that you’ll never do this again, to start with.” As demands go, it wasn’t a horrible one, though it still made me shift closer to Matt. I didn’t want to make that promise; I didn’t want this one warm hope to be taken away from me. Even if we were leaving soon. Whenever ‘soon’ was.

Jonah went on to say that he never wanted to be in this position again – that was why he wanted us not to meet up like this after tonight. One secret was all he was willing to keep. The more we meet up, the worse he’ll look for not noticing, or they’ll suspect that he didn’t report it. So no more. For his sake as well as ours.

I hadn’t ever thought of it like that. I hadn’t thought about how our deceptions will reflect on him. What will they do to him when we leave? When I slip away from him and leave him without a charge to watch over? Will they accuse him of being involved, or incompetence? What will his punishment be?

I couldn’t think about that then – the matter at hand was far more pressing. Jonah was talking about us owing him a favour – nothing he would define now, but a token he would call in when he needed to. Matt and I were both nervous about agreeing to it.

We didn’t have a lot of choice. We had to agree now and hope that the request wasn’t too awful later; better that than reaching no agreement at all. Better that than being turned in. So it was wrung from us, reluctant words passed over the flashlight’s beam.

Jonah nodded uncomfortably and left us alone. For a while, Matt and I just hung onto each other.

“Soon,” he promised me. “We’ll get out of here soon.”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him, and we didn’t say anything else for some time. It was almost dawn before we kissed and said goodbye, and he said he’d see me again before long. One way or another.

I haven’t heard from him since. Little Debbie gave up her fight this morning, after such a long battle. By lunchtime, she was gone completely – I don’t know where they took her and I don’t want to ask. I can’t picture her like that, chained up in the basement like a tiny animal. I’d rather remember her pale, still face, greying as the blood settled in gravity’s grip.

I’m trying not to let her fate mean more than it does. I’m trying to believe that it’s not a metaphor for this world After the bombs, succumbing to the poison that surrounds us every day. We can get through this. We have to.

Hey, it’s Matt here. Filling in for Faith because… I’m not sure why. She’s off with the girls. If something’s wrong, they’re not saying. But she left the laptop behind with me, so here I am, whiling away the time without her.

It’s only in these pauses that I realise how much I’ve grown used to being around her. Since Haven, we’ve been living in each other’s pockets and loving it. With some people, you’d get sick of them being there all the time. We’re still catching up on the time we were apart, and making up for all those chances we missed before we realised how much we should be together. I’m still grateful every time she comes to sit next to me, never mind the moments we get to spend alone.

Without her leaning back against me, I’m at a loss for what to do with myself. My hands have nothing to do. I want to go and find her, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Whatever’s going on with the girls, they don’t want the rest of us to know. They’ll tell us when they’re ready.

It’s weird if I think about it too much. Her and me. But right, too. I can’t imagine anyone else I’d want to be with, Before or After. And that’s not something I ever thought I’d be the one to say.

She has hardly said anything to me today. I’m fairly sure it’s nothing I’ve done. Oh God, I’m not turning into one of those guys, am I? Faith isn’t a passive-aggressive kind of girl – if I had done something wrong, she’d tell me. I’m sure I’d know if it was anything serious. I think. Ah, crap.

I should probably just talk about what we got up to today and stop thinking about all that. We’re still heading southwards, creeping around the foothills and hugging against the coast. We’re close enough to the sea to smell it – the salt-laden breeze reminds me of holiday trips when I was a kid. Those trips were about as cheerful and fun-filled as this one. I don’t know if it’s just me, but the air feels tainted, as if it’s not just carrying the salt. Could the offshore wind have scooped up some of the poison out of the seawater, too?

There isn’t much point worrying about it. By now, we’ve all breathed in enough to be in trouble, if that’s the case.

I wonder just how poisoned the seawater is. Unlike the river, it doesn’t seem any different just to look at it; the last time we saw the river, it was churned mud-brown with hints of sickly green. The waves on the shore look as turquoise as they always have, though the reflection of the orange sky lends it an odd cast.

In those times we’ve strayed near beaches, I haven’t seen any dead fish washing up. Has the poison already stripped the fish out of this area? I guess the rain would have cleaned up the sand. That’s one good thing about the acid: we don’t have to worry about corpses clogging up the world. They’re washed away under God’s great new hosepipe.

I wonder if there are zombie fish. Zombie sharks – now there’s a terrifying thought. If we were ever likely to get into the water, we certainly won’t now.

I get why Faith can’t call them ‘zombies’; it is ridiculous. The notion of zombie sharks makes me smile, even while I decide that swimming is not in my immediate future. But sharks don’t exactly ‘shamble’ – what would be a good name for them? Floppers? Not exactly less comic, is it?

I’m getting off-topic again. It’s easy at the moment – there’s not a lot to say. We’re making pretty good progress, though a flat tyre slowed us down again today. Nothing really exciting happening.

It’s all small clusters of buildings down here, picturesque once upon a time but reduced to sad collections of walls and roofs by the After. They’re far enough away from the city to have avoided the destruction of the blast wave, but the rain has rubbed away all the green and softness. Even the paintwork is eroding.

We think a group of shamblers must have passed through here: there are doors and windows broken in, sometimes whole walls, where something determined had wanted whatever was inside the buildings. We’ve only seen one thing with that kind of heedless purpose. There’s no sign of them now, though, or anyone else. Maybe the living are just too scared to come out. I wouldn’t blame them, not with how many we are now and the obvious soldiers riding armed among the group.

I’m still not sure that’s a good idea. Faith told me about her sabotage fears. We’re keeping an eye on them, the five of us – Thorpe, Dale, Jersey, Faith and me. We haven’t seen anything untoward yet but we’re keeping an open mind about it anyway. Just in case.

You know, come to think of it, Jersey has been acting strangely lately too. She has been hanging around the soldiers a lot, especially Jonah. I’d think that she was trying to get close to them to find out who was sabotaging us, but she’s not that kind of girl. I’d expect that kind of thing from Bree, not our little transvestite. The thing is, if I’m not mistaken, she has been flirting.

If I’m honest, I’m glad that she has picked Jonah to focus on. Maybe he’ll get together with her. It’s not that I’m jealous or anything – I know there’s no reason for me to feel like that. But I’ve seen the way he is when Faith’s not looking. Unless I’m way off – and I seldom am – he likes her. So yeah, I’d be happy if Jersey managed to distract him, even though I know nothing would ever happen between him and Faith. I’m sure of that. Everyone would be happier.

The girls are coming back from wherever they went. Faith’s smiling and the rest are giggling. Does this mean that everything is all right?

Oh, stop being silly, Matt. Go and ask her. If nothing else, a kiss would be nice.

I’m gonna be a dad. Holy shit.

I’m going to be someone’s father. Responsible for a little tiny thing, like Sally’s son. I can’t wait! I know I’ll have to wait about nine months – or rather, seven, according to our calculations – but even that seems too long.

Oh yeah – this is Matt. Should’ve said that earlier. I guess it’s pretty obvious by now. I’m all – what’s the word? – discombobulated. I love that word. Also, I can’t stop grinning. She told me last night, and I still can’t stop grinning.

Faith’s terrified. She works so hard to hold everything else together, but she doesn’t do half as well when it comes to herself. Of all the things that have come up in the After, it’s the simplest, most basic human function that has knocked her sideways. I guess it’s always the thing you least expect, huh?

When she told me, my first instinct was to be angry with her. Not for being pregnant, or getting pregnant, or any of that. She thought I might be angry with her over those things, though really, she should know me better. She didn’t do it on purpose – she’s not that kind of girl, to use something like her own fertility against a guy. It was an accident – I believe her and the stricken look on her face when she talks about it.

It’s like they say – it takes two, and we both did it. The two of us, together, we made this tiny little thing that’s just starting to come to life inside of her. If I think about it too much, my head starts reeling, like it’s all too big for me. It’s the most wonderful thing in the whole world.

My impulse towards anger was because she waited so long to tell me. We’re in this together, I told her. She doesn’t have to do it all on her own. Isn’t that what she’s always telling everyone else? It’s especially true with this. She can tell me anything. Anything at all. We always have, our whole lives, and now we have even more reason to. She and me – we’re a pair, a couple, and we’re in all of this together.

Now we both know and we can work together on this. Start thinking about what we need to do next. I don’t know where to start! Gather up more baby supplies, I guess, to make sure we have enough? We’re both as clueless as each other.

I had to stop myself from following her around today and making sure she was all right. She thought that a baby might cause problems between us, that it would change things for the worse. Of course it won’t. She doesn’t understand that she was the best thing in my life yesterday, and today she’s more precious than ever. I’d tell her, but I don’t think she’d believe me.

She doesn’t want to tell the group yet. A lot can happen in seven months, she said. Give it another month, until she’s starting to show. Then we can tell them.

I don’t think she’s afraid of losing the baby, though that’s a worry too (like I said, I keep getting this urge to wrap her up and make sure she’s okay). She needs a chance to get used to the whole idea. There’s no reason for us to tell the others right away, so there’s no problem with keeping it to ourselves for now.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to announce it to everyone. I’d write it on the broken sky if I could. Me, a dad! And maybe I will, but not yet. When we’re both ready.

If she’s not careful, Jersey’s going to beat her to it. Unless I miss my guess.

I think this is the best feeling, after the time when she told me she loved me. How sappy does that sound? I never thought I’d be a lovestruck puppy. I promised myself a long time ago I’d never get here, to this place when another person meant so much to me. I’ve seen Faith get wound up in other people and what it does to her when she loses them. I’ve got close to people and lost them too, but it wasn’t like this. Nothing like this. I think about losing her and it’s suffocating, like all the light and air has been sucked out of the room.

If I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her for making me love her so much. But I can’t hate this.

I’m gonna be a dad. I wonder if it’s got toes yet. Or ears. When do they get ears?

I want to go and hug Faith and our little tiny proto-baby. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.

Last night was awkward. The rain pinned us inside together, so the whole group sat around for dinner and surreptitiously looked at each other.

I didn’t notice anyone seeming particularly guilty among all the furtive glances. There were a lot of unhappy faces, particularly Kostoya who was worried about Conroy. I think he has enjoyed having an assistant, someone to talk to about the scientific stuff, and an able pair of hands that understand the work. Conroy has been in charge of putting the water filter together – they were talking about linking it up to the guttering of the greenhouses to capture more of the rainwater, and then building it into the irrigation system already lacing through the farm. So many plans to make this place work.

Conroy was unconscious for a few hours yesterday, and vomited as soon as he tried to sit up. The head injury made him lose some time but he hasn’t fallen asleep again. He’s on bed rest at the moment and Masterson insisted that someone sit up with him to keep him awake through the night. The doctor isn’t giving much away, but the rest of are are being optimistic anyway.

Bree is delicate but recovering. Mira’s looking after her – those two are very close, and some of the way they talk to each other reminds me of how Bree and I used to be. We were friends like that once. Bree used to suggest to me how to do my makeup just so and what might look nice in my hair. I used to be the person she told everything to, and I shared everything with her. Except that she didn’t tell me everything after all, not until I found out about her sleeping with my boyfriend. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t still sore about that. I wonder if the friendship between her and Mira will end the same way, with betrayal and lies.

When we parted company for bed, we were no closer to figuring out who hurt Conroy and Bree. I know most of the group is looking at Bobby, because he was a Haven soldier and on guard when it happened. But he was riding the bike when the tyre blew out and nearly had a nasty accident. He could have killed himself. If he was responsible for that, he’s either very smart, very stupid, or very lucky.

For my part, I have no idea who to suspect. I can’t believe it was any of the Seekers. Jonah always seemed like a friend, but he was good at keeping secrets. Warren spends half his time rubbing his right arm, which is still in a sling and causing him a great deal of pain. Who does that leave? No-one. That’s all of us. It’s definitely someone I trust.

I don’t think any of us got a lot of sleep. I curled up with Matt and we both felt safer. He has been very attentive since I told him about the baby – our baby – and last night he was all about holding me close and planting kisses in my hair. It felt good, sharing affection without it tipping over into sex. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy the sex too, but it’s nice to know that even if he’s not in the mood, there’s still closeness and intimacy. I think he needed it as much as I did.

Today, we split up again to start the work of getting this place together. The supplies crew piled into vehicles – except for the diesel-soaked one – and went back to the garden centre to fetch the equipment we needed. They’re going to look for food on the way there and take the long way back to explore more potential sources of sustenance. The roads around here are pretty clear, so hopefully they’ll be back tonight.

Masterson, Bree and Mira are looking after Sally and the baby, and sorting out the domestic issues. We’re gradually making the place comfortable, though there’s a lot of us to cater for. Iona won’t come out of the main house, but she is helping with the cleaning and tidying effort. She works with a worrying intensity; I prefer her vagueness to the way she focusses on the tiniest thing now.

The rest of us are preparing the greenhouses for planting. Pulling out the dead plants and digging up the soil. We found some bags of fertiliser, and we’re working that through while we loosen up the dirt. Janice is building a compost heap with the detritus we’re taking out of the troughs.

I love the smell of the greenhouses. The more the dead plants are taken out, the more the scent of freshly turned earth rises up under the glass. I hadn’t realised how much that was missing under the rain’s poison. Sometimes, the changes in the After still surprise me, even though the time Before is drifting further and further away from us.

I hope the others make it back tonight – the rain hasn’t started yet, so there’s time. We’re hungry and I know that Matt gave me his share of rations this morning. He’s feeding me and the baby, and that’s touching, but I don’t want him to hurt himself. If he tries to do it again tomorrow, I’ll refuse.

He has started putting his hand on my belly when we snuggle up together. The silent acknowledgement of this thing we’ve made is adorable – he’d hug the baby if he could, and that’s as close as he can get. He does it when he’s thinking about the pregnancy and if I glance up at him, he gives me the silliest stunned grin. Seeing him look like that never fails to make me smile.

He’s so proud of it and growing fiercely protective of us both. He’s excited by the whole thing, and I can’t mind. The depth of his attachment is reassuring; it washes away all my fears of him running away from this, and away from me. He wants this. Matt, who used to distance himself from close relationships so he wouldn’t get hurt, is jumping in with both feet. He wants this baby more than I do; or at least, he doesn’t have reservations constantly popping into his head like I do.

He’s the only reason I can be at all comfortable with this. He soothes me. He murmurs to me at night about how wonderful our family is going to be and he makes me look forward to it too. He makes me feel lucky. It’s only when we’re not together that the doubts and fears creep in.

Our family. When I’m alone, I think about my father. He would want to be here for this. He should be here.

When we’ve got this place sorted out, when this saboteur is found, I need to fix this. I need to bring our family together properly.

Matt here again. Faith’s off fetching dinner and said I could do this today. I need to feel like talking.

I did a bad thing today. I can’t tell her about it – she’d be mortified, and if I’m honest, so am I. It’s not like me. I hope it’s not like me.

It happened when I went to find some breakfast. I passed the room that we’ve been keeping Warren in and heard something move behind the door. I couldn’t tell what it was, that tiny shuffle, so I paused to listen. It didn’t come again. As if someone was holding their breath, hoping to not be noticed, hoping I’d pass on by and fail to check.

I wasn’t going to let anyone get away with that. I yanked the door open, my fingers strangling the doorhandle, tensed and ready for anything. If he was trying to escape, I was going to stop him. I’d make sure he didn’t hurt anyone again.

He wasn’t escaping. He lifted his arms towards me from his position on the floor and the metal bands around his wrists caught the orange light from the window; someone had got handcuffs from somewhere. A chain snaked around to lash his handcuffs to a pipe anchored solidly into the floor and wall. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Warren. Until that moment, I hadn’t realised how much I hated him. It surged up my gullet and made my teeth clench.

Yesterday, Faith told me off for giving her my food. We’re still on short rations. I can’t remember the last time we had a full meal. Faith’s eating for two now, but she doesn’t want everyone to know, so she’s only getting one person’s portion. Someone has to make sure she’s getting enough to eat and I want to take care of her. Of course I gave her my share.

It’s true that I haven’t been feeling great for the past couple of days. She says I’ve lost weight and not in a good way. I told her why I was doing it, but that didn’t help. She was too caught up in the damage it was doing to me – that’s how she put it: damage.

She was trying so hard not to be angry with me. She failed, but the effort made her crumble at the edges, so upset she barely made sense. Then she did make sense and I felt worse. As if I had let her down in some fundamental way.

“You can’t do that, Matt,” she said. “We need you. We need you here. I can’t do this by myself. We’ll make sure there’s enough. There has to be. Don’t make yourself sick, please don’t. I can’t lose you. I love you, and there’s the baby, and… I need you.”

It’s not like I was trying to kill myself or anything. Of course I want to be around. But she has to come first. She always comes first. That’s how this stuff works, right? What else am I supposed to do?

“I want to take care of you, too,” she said. There isn’t any stopping her when she gets upset, so I just let her keep going. Her hands plucked at mine, restless in her agitation, and tears made clean streaks on a face smudged with dirt from the troughs. “Please, let me. We’re supposed to look after each other. Can’t we just take care of each other?”

That’s when I started crying, too. I’m not too proud to admit it. It’s been a long time since anyone took care of me in any way I wanted, and I’m not just talking about the After. I love Faith – I want to take care of her and the baby. But I wasn’t prepared for her to want to do the same. Which is silly, now that I think about it. I know her, I know what she’s like.

It’s not like when I was sick. That’s different. It’s okay to need looking after when you’re sick or hurt. But I’m all right now – not even limping any more. I can look after myself.

She doesn’t want me to have to. She wants me to lean on her, the way she leans on me. I don’t think she understands what she’s asking.

It’s not because I think I should be the man of the relationship. I’ve never been one of those macho assholes who think that the women need to stay in their place with the kitchen and children. It’s not like that. It’s because… it’s hard. I want to put her first, but she won’t let me. She just keeps telling me that she needs me here.

“I can’t do this without you,” she said. I almost argued with her. She can do all of this without me. She’s strong like that.

I’m not. I’ve never had that kind of strength.

I couldn’t do any of this without her. Not now, not with how much I love her. I saw Warren pointing a gun at her and I knew that he’d kill us both if he fired. I saw it, I saw her lying there, covered in blood, staring sightlessly at the sky. She was going to die, our baby with her. And there was nothing I could do. If I jumped in, he would have shot her. When I spoke, I said the wrong thing, only made things worse. I was standing there, looking at her about to die right in front of me, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

I almost snapped right there under the pressure. It felt like I was bursting with it, but I knew we’d end up in a bloody mess on the ground if I let it go. All I could do was hang on until my knuckles went white.

If she dies, that’s it for me. I don’t think there’s any way back from that.

She tried to tell me that she feels the same about me today. At least, I think that’s what she was getting at. I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve been very good at avoiding that kind of thing – letting someone get this close, needing and being needed; they’re not what I wanted. Now here I am, and it hurts. I’m terrified of losing her and the baby, and one of them hasn’t even been born yet. I feel that black hole opening up behind my heart every time I think about it.

Today, standing in that little room with Warren, that was all I could see. Blood and a black hole. I don’t even remember starting to hit him.

Next thing I knew, Dale was grabbing my upper arms and hauling me backwards. I stumbled but didn’t fight him. Warren was curled up on the floor, his arms over his head to protect it. My hands hurt and my pulse filled my ears.

“What the hell are you doing?” He had me outside of the room by then and shook me to make me look at him. It worked.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t have enough in me to lie. I looked at my hands, at the blood dripping down my fingers. My knuckles were split; I didn’t know if the blood was Warren’s or mine. Probably both.

I felt sick. I guess Dale saw that.

“Go clean yourself up.”

I nodded and walked out. I was halfway to the water filter when I threw up.

After I had washed the blood off my hands, I went to Masterson for something to bind them with. I had to put gloves on so Faith wouldn’t know. No-one has mentioned it, not even the snarky doctor. I guess no-one cares that much about Warren any more, except me.

That kind of thing, it’s not like me. Every time I remember why my hands hurt, I wonder what kind of person I really am. It scares me that I’m capable of something like that.

I wish I didn’t love her so much. I wish this didn’t mean everything to me. But it does.

It doesn’t feel much like a home here. Everyone is walking around armed with guns or bats, just in case. We’re keeping eyes on the perimeter. There have been talks of fences and lines of defense. Traps and trips. Lacing this place with nasty things to keep us safe.

All it does is remind me of the dangers surrounding us: shamblers and intruders; mindless and malicious. It makes me feel hemmed in, penned here like a butterfly on a board, waiting for the pin to nail me down.

I miss the road. I miss the feeling of going somewhere, I miss having a goal to strive for, even one that might not be there when we arrive. Even one that might turn out to be a huge disappointment, or shackles with a kind face.

We’re not Seeking any more. Does that mean we’re still Seekers? Does it matter what we call ourselves? If we change the name of the group, will other things change too? What about the things we’ve tried to hold onto – the aversion to killing, the way we try to help everyone that asks us for it? I don’t want to let go of any of that. I want to always remain a Seeker, searching for something better and never forgetting where we came from.

Whatever we’re called, we’re here and making a go of it. That’s a good thing – I believe in the Farm and what we’re building. There are green shoots poking up through the earth in the greenhouses, plants taking shape that will one day – hopefully soon – feed us. We can sustain a future here. We can build lives bigger than base survival. I truly believe that this place is what we’ve been looking for since the bomb went off.

The Farm is our hope. We have committed ourselves to it, throwing everything we have into it. We’ve promised to make it work. Some of us still go out every day to look for supplies, but this is where we come back to. This is where we rest our heads. Matt and I have our own room here in the main house. The foragers have been bringing back mattresses and bedding over the weeks we’ve been here, and we have our own bed now. We have drawers to put our clothes in and a mirror to brush our hair in front of. We’re gathering those small, personal things that make a place our own. This should be our home now. I’m trying to think of it that way, but for so long, home has been wherever the Seekers stop rather than a particular place. I keep forgetting that we’ve stopped.

Last night, after I finished writing my post, I thought about what it means. Home used to mean my father’s house. Home was the place where I could relax. I could wander around in my underwear. I could do whatever I wanted, be whoever I wanted, with no apologies. I could sleep, sweet and deep, knowing I belonged. I guess it still means that to me; now, it’s only the walls and roof that feel less important.

While I was thinking about all of that, I caught myself turning the ring on my finger. Dad’s wedding ring, the one he didn’t take off for thirty years until he said goodbye to me. It meant so much to him – a promise to his wife, then his family. Even when some of the family left us, he still wore it and kept those promises. I used to worry about him, about how he never went on dates or tried to move on from my mother. Now I think I understand him. I think I’m like him.

Family. I’ve thought about it so much over the past year. I’ve wondered if I love too easily, because of how much it hurts. I’ve found that blood doesn’t matter, not when we share it in different ways. I’ve tried to hold this family of Seekers together despite the After and all that it has done to us. I don’t regret any of it.

Now, I’ve got a closer piece of family growing inside me. I’m starting to look forward to it past the blind terror of the thought of being a mother. I’m not the only one caught up in this joy and fear, struggling to make sense of it: every day, Matt and I slip a little closer together, but neither of us wants to say. Neither of us wants to admit what it means.

We made promises once. In the confusion of Haven, we tried to place something solid between us, something that would hold us together. We had new names for each other: boyfriend; girlfriend; lover; partner. It was what we needed, our next step. But we’ve outgrown that now.

I said yesterday that I knew who Matt wanted me to be. What I didn’t say was that I wasn’t sure if he knew it. We’ve been coasting along for a while. Now it’s time to take another step.

When Matt came to bed last night, he knew that something was going on from the glance I gave him. He closed the door and sat down next to me, immediately concerned. He asked me what was wrong and I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then what is it?”

I didn’t have the right words. My mouth opened and closed, but I didn’t have the elegance to speak. Instead, I reached over and took his hand. I turned it over so that I could place a small object in his palm. Releasing it was like letting go of a great weight. My throat loosened enough for me to get a few words out.

“I think this belongs to you now.”

He stared at my dad’s ring as if he had no idea what it meant. I thought he might laugh, or stare at me, or ask me what the hell; I didn’t know if he would understand. I wanted it to be enough, a simple ring that meant the world to me, a symbol that would say everything I wanted to say but couldn’t get past the lump in my chest. It’s me, it’s my family. It’s his.

It took me a minute to realise he was crying. I didn’t know what to do – I wasn’t expecting that. I touched his cheek and said I was sorry. I doubted everything – the way I’d read his feelings, his readiness to accept a commitment like this. He’d spent his whole life avoiding commitment.

“You don’t have to take it,” I said.

I reached for the ring but his hand closed over it, scraped knuckles turning white. He shook his head. When he looked at me, there was a defensive barrier between us, overrun by tears but still trying to protect him.

“Because of the baby?” he asked.

“No.” I couldn’t answer quick enough. “We don’t need that, not out here. No-one cares about that stuff any more.” I realised that I was starting to babble. Answer the question, Faith. “Because of you, Matt. Because of you and me.”

He looked down at his closed fist as if it was all that was holding him together. “Are you sure?” He wasn’t asking about the baby that time.

“Yeah.” I covered his hand with mine. I couldn’t bear to sit there and not touch him. He was so stricken and I didn’t know how to comfort him. “I love you.” He knew that already, but I thought he might need to hear it. Words matter.

He closed his eyes and let out a sharp huff, somewhere between a breath of laughter and exasperation. He shook his head and my stomach clenched; was that a no? I couldn’t take my eyes off his face even though I was terrified of what I was going to see.

“Isn’t this a bit backwards?” he said. Was he making a joke? He looked like he was kidding, like the lighter Matt was trying to poke through. I could only hope.

“Well, the ring doesn’t fit me,” I replied lamely. “And you’re a bit slow.”

He laughed shakily, like I hoped he would, and it was real this time. He took my hand and gripped it tightly. “Guess I’ll have to tell all my girlfriends.”

“And all your boyfriends.”

“Jeez, you want the whole world.”

“Just this bit of it.” I wanted to say ‘just you’, but that felt like too much and too cheesy to be real. He understood, though. We both felt the solemnity underneath the banter. It was just easier that way.

His hand unfurled so he could see the ring again. “Shit, Faith. You really know how to ambush a guy.” He was coming around to the subject again, trying to make sense of it.

I couldn’t tell if I was pressuring him or not. I hadn’t thought this through enough. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

He glanced up at me with surprise. “You think I’d say no?”

I was so sure when he walked in. I had known what his answer would be. But like any battle plan, my assumptions failed at the first encounter. I felt like I didn’t know anything any more, nothing except the hope burning in my chest, the one outlined in fire and neon.

“I’m asking. It’s… it’s your choice. You have to– you should– it’s up to you.”

He shook his head slowly. “Sometimes, you’re an idiot.”

“Does that mean you’re saying yes?” I couldn’t stand any more dancing around; I needed to hear him say it.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I stared at him. “Don’t call me an idiot.”

“Can I call you my idiot?”

“Okay.”

We laughed, the tension making us both tremble on its way out. He pulled me over to him so he could loop his arms around me and look at the gold in his palm at the same time. He managed to put it on without letting me go.

“Shit,” he said into my ear.

Then he kissed the bride.