Flesh (Flesh 1)

Her mind wouldn’t stil . The adrenalin surge from this morning had crashed, leaving far too much of everything bubbling around inside her brain, none of it good.

Daniel would find them. He would. Deep down inside it almost felt like a test of faith or some such. She just had to believe and be patient, find something to occupy her mind.

Not fixating on the door would be a positive start.

There was a rainwater tank outside. A big modern number; the type everyone had scrambled to install during the drought. She pondered the basin beside the washing machine, the pipe jutting out from the brickwork above it. They both needed a bath after lying in the dirt last night and crawling beneath the train this morning.

“You should try to sleep.” Finn’s eyes were open, half-lidded, but he hadn’t moved otherwise. He watched her with a preternatural stillness and a calm most probably fake. Guilt slid through her.

“Hey,” she said.

“It’ll be okay, Al.”

“He’ll be okay,” she corrected.

Finn gave no response.

For a long, tense moment silence reigned supreme, almost as if they were giving the dead a minute’s tribute. Only Daniel wasn’t dead.

Not even a little.

She wrestled the panic back down, subduing it one more time.

“We should go upstairs, see if there’s food,” Finn said.

She shook her head. “No.”

His high forehead creased, and his nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. “If we’re quiet, keep our heads down, we’l be okay.

It’s a risk we need to take.”

“No, Finn.”

Like magic the thing upstairs chose then to bump and grind, as if it knew it were the topic of conversation.

“Shit.” Finn straightened himself and stretched, rolling his good shoulder in slow motion. “Give me a sec. We’ll try the neighbor’s house.”

“Finn, there’s no need. This lot was getting ready to run. The car has a box of groceries, not all of them have gone off. There’s not much else, a couple of blankets, some bottled water and beer. A stack of photo albums …” She cast her eyes toward the second story, wondering. Not a good place to go. “Anyway, we’re good for the immediate future.”

“Alright.” This one word finished on a weary sigh. It seemed to say this man’s reserves were running low, and the blame lay with her.

Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes and lines bracketed his mouth. They were stil in danger because she refused to move on without Daniel, and he might not be coming.

Except he was. Nothing else was acceptable.

“He’ll come, Finn. You don’t know him. Dan is very resourceful.”

Finn did the raising of one brow thing, giving her a long look. The type that said nothing and everything. The type bound to piss her off.

“I know you think he’s—”

“We should put a sign out, something only he’d recognize. What do you think would work best?” He cut her off neatly, face expressionless. Nothing to see here, move along.

“Oh. Wel , I already took care of it,” she admitted.

His green eyes hardened, lips flat lined. “Al …”

“I think we have a decent water supply. The tank seems to run in to the laundry.” She waved a hand in its direction, a blatant bit of distraction. Who had the energy for subtlety? There was no softening of his glare. “Don’t go there, Finn. I was careful. It needed to be done. You needed to rest.”

The man raised a knee, draped an arm over it. It had the feel of another cop thing, the silence and watchfulness as he waited for her to stumble into his trap. He observed her, elegant face cool and composed despite the dirt and stubble.

Two months ago, his level of scrutiny would have shaken her down to her shoes.

Now, not so much.

Things took on a different perspective when you knew what real fear was. A good cop face wouldn’t send her running for cover anytime soon.

“Do you have a spare shirt I could borrow? I want to give my clothes a wash while we have the chance.” Ali stood, brushed off her hands and butt. Like a few specks of dirt would make an imprint on top of everything else they’d been subjected to. “Anything you want done?”

“Laundry wise?”

“Yes, laundry wise.” She needed to keep busy, keep her hands occupied.

Ali wandered over to the basin, said a silent prayer and pushed in a plug. Slowly, she turned the tap. There came a trickle of rust-colored water. A dirty dribble could be accounted to water sitting in the system, nothing to get excited about yet.

She turned the knob farther. Oh, yes. Out it came. Stupidly, her eyes welled. Daniel was missing, and she was crying over running water. How messed up. Everything inside her had been rewired wrong.

Her entire life, running water had worked just fine, her love life, not so much. Where was the balance? It served her right for letting Daniel be her crutch. Now her weak knees were quaking.

Running water didn’t begin to fix the wrongs. But, it did give her hands something to do. A bar of old yellow soap, cracked with age, sat on the sink just waiting for her. She set to it with a vengeance.

Ali scrubbed her arms and hands, built up a lather to attack her face. The need to get the grime was all consuming. When he walked in, she would be waiting, in one piece, not looking as if she had been rolling in mud.

Fuck no, she would pretty herself up for her man. Hope was a sly bitch.

Strands of hair stuck to her wet face and Finn’s hands were there, puling them back. He resurrected her ponytail. She could feel the warmth of him at her back, not quite touching, but near enough to soothe and scare.

She wanted Daniel, and she wanted to feel safe. These days, she wanted all sorts of shit she couldn’t have.

Finn took a step back and she breathed easier.

“I get that you needed to do it. Just wake me next time. You can’t go out on your own, Al.”

“Shit. I’ve got soap in my eyes.” Ali fumbled around for the threadbare hand towel that had been hanging from a hook beside the trough. “Damn it.”

“Hang on.”

Something soft and dry dabbed at her face. She dared blinking. That was one thing that hadn’t changed – getting soap in your eyes still sucked. “Thank you.”

Finn’s face was solemn, mouth set and eyes decades older than they should have been. His gaze made her feel juvenile, foolish. Like she had hurt him somehow, disappointed him.

Making the mad dash outside had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Why did she feel yet more guilt creeping up on her?