I don’t stand behind her or otherwise put myself in a position of protection, but I do listen to her footsteps to make sure she’s keeping up.
I’m annoyed with myself.
I’ve spent the last seven months with one purpose and one purpose only. Find her. I haven’t aligned myself with anyone unless doing so furthered my cause. Now I’ve picked up a hitchhiker, and I have no idea what to do with her.
I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder and then start heading back south.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I’ve got a place,” I tell her. “It’s safe there.”
She mumbles something I can’t hear, but I don’t bother asking. I’ve never been good with people in general, and I’m not used to talking at all anymore. I’ve never had a taste for idle chitchat, and I’m definitely out of practice now.
Very little else is said until we get to the entrance of my abode.
“What the hell is that?”
“A bomb shelter.” I open up the hatch in the side of a small hill and pull it back. “Watch your step—the first part is steep.”
I watch the woman grab the edge of the opening and carefully navigate her way down the steep stairs to the bottom, then follow her, closing the hatch behind me. When I get to the bottom, she’s staring with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“Did you build this?”
“No, I found it.”
The inside is small and probably intended for only one person. There’s only one room, but whoever built it was smart enough to leave themselves two entrances. Apparently, they weren’t smart enough to be here during the attack. The benefits of being underground include temperature control. Though it’s late into the fall, it is still damn hot outside.
“It looks like something from the fifties.”
“It’s a lot newer than that.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s got fiber optic cable running into it,” I say. “It doesn’t work, but it’s there.”
“You mean to get on the internet?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there any internet anymore?”
“Not as far as I know.”
I go to the locker just below the small food prep center and grab two bottles of water. I hand one to her.
“Thanks.”
I pop the lid off of mine and sit down on the twin-sized bed. There isn’t any other furniture in the shelter—just the bed and storage.
“My name’s Katrina,” the woman tells me.
I don’t respond.
“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to guess?”
“Falk.”
“Falk?”