Nate agreed it was worth the risk going back downtown, but we should roll with both the pickup and van. We could load the white van up to the gills with useful stuff and just sort it all when we got back here. It might even be useful trade stuff if we ever actually meet someone who doesn’t want to kill us.
We’re not doing that until the rain lets up though. We need that gear, as we can’t spend every shitty day indoors. This is northern England, and shitty weather is kind of our jam.
“It’ll be fine, just make sure you wear your big coat,” is something of a northern mantra.
We can’t stop clearing houses and gathering resources just because it’s a shit day, but we need proper outdoors gear to make sure we don’t get soaked to the bone and sick. We’re going to wait for the rain to let up and put that at the top of our “shit we need to do” list.
Incidentally, our little “inventory” room has had to be extended to a second one upstairs. We’ve gathered so much stuff that we’ve had to take over a second bedroom in the lodge. That reduces space for any survivors we might find, but as we haven’t found anyone else who wants to be friends as yet, it’s not such an issue.
One thing on my mind is this; if we do start finding survivors and our community grows, what the hell are we going to do with them if we start finding a few? This lodge is amazing, but it has limited size, and the more people we bring back here, the more of a drain on our food it will be. We eat well at the moment, really well considering the shit state of the world, and Norah is keeping a decent garden on the go to supplement our diet, but we still have to be careful with it as it is. Sooner or later, we’re going to need more space and ultimately, we need farming on the go. We can pull in all kinds of food from houses, shops, warehouses, and the like. But long term, if we want human society to continue, we need agriculture.
I have no idea why I’m thinking that far ahead. Pre-apocalypse, planning what to do next week was the way too distant future for me. The future didn’t tend to go past tomorrow for little old Erin Locke, and here I am, musing about the fate of human society and the need for renewable agriculture.
It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Okay, back to the drama. Sigh.
Stuck indoors as we all were, the showdown was inevitable. I could tell the moment I walked into the communal space there was tension in the air. I was greeted by my fellow lodgers, and as I got my various good mornings, eyes immediately flicked from me towards a grim-faced Isaac who was purposefully refusing to acknowledge my appearance. I guess the cat was well and truly out of the bag.
The negative vibes were strong in the room, like a preachy vegan had just turned up to a barbecue and was dragging everyone’s mojo down. There was no avoiding it any further, so I beckoned Isaac to me, said we probably needed to talk, and took him through to the bungalow as Nate was already in the lodge communal space chatting to Maria and Norah.
“Sit down,” I said, gesturing to the small dining table.
“I’d rather stand,” he replied tersely. The tone of our forthcoming discussion was clearly established by the petulant defiance, but I kept my cool.
“Whatever,” I sighed, seating myself. “Look, Isaac, I don’t know what you were expecting to happen afterwards, but I’m going to be blunt. We were drunk, in high spirits, it was a fun distraction, but ultimately it was just a one-time thing.”
“So that’s it? You just use me and throw me aside?”
“Um, I didn’t use you. It takes two to tango, and if you’d care to remember, it was you who kissed me.”
“And you responded.”
I nodded. “I did. I was drunk, I was happy, it had been a good day, and I’m a happy drunk and can be impulsive. Alcohol lowers inhibitions and decision making. It was just an in-the-moment thing, Isaac. There’s no ‘casting you aside’ here, as we were never ‘together’. It was two drunk, judgment-impaired consenting adults.”
“My judgment was not impaired. I’d been thinking about it for a while. I really like you.”
My heart sank. This was going to be harder than I imagined. This wasn’t just an ego hit after being spurned post-sex. Isaac had been sitting on hopes of us being a couple for a while it seemed, and that was just never in my thinking. I liked Isaac as a friend, we had a good laugh, and he had a decent sense of humour, but I’d never looked at him in a romantic fashion when I was sober. Our brief genital-collision had occurred because I was in a good mood, he wasn’t unattractive, he made the first move, and I just wanted to get laid. I didn’t have consequences in my head, just an itch I wanted scratching. A physical thirst that needed quenching.
I relayed all of this to him as gently as I could, but I think the line of, “I’ve never thought of you in a romantic way while I was sober,” was the killer. I probably should have worded that better, or maybe just omitted those last four words entirely, because his sulky, hurt expression hardened the moment those words left my mouth.
“So, do you always just put out when you’ve had a drink?”
And there it was, just as my prophecy had foretold. I
