The Pilot (ON HOLD)

Part 9

Picking up a third piece of wood off the pile, I eye it carefully, looking for unwelcome hangers on.

"Valora, it's too damn cold for spiders this time of year," Warren says, taking the wood from my arms. "Grab three more and get back in here before your toes fall off."

I stack three more pieces in my arms and head back into the kitchen where he's got a cheery fire going. He takes the wood from my arms and I'm treated to a view of his exceptional ass flexing as he squats in front of the fire and stacks the extra pieces.

Brushing off my shirt, I look at the stove and try to drum up the desire to cook something.

Warren wraps an arm around my waist, nuzzling my neck, "It's too early for breakfast, come back to bed." His hands slip under the t-shirt I'm wearing and between my legs. "It's been too long."

Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I ask, "How far west did you get last year?"

His sigh ruffles my hair and he lands a stinging slap on the side of my bare thigh. "Ten months Valora, ten months and you want me to tell you stories."

"Don't act like you're not heading down to see Rachel tonight." I say, shrugging him off and rubbing my leg.

"I am going to see Rachel tonight, like I do every night after I've been with you."

"Yes, I've heard, she's very beautiful."

"Brendan still pining for her, is he?"

I watch Warren's bare ass disappear around the corner into the hallway. Slumping down on the recliner by the fire, tucking my feet under me, I mutter, " Fuck the apocalypse, I hate her."

Warren comes back in wearing jeans and a t-shirt, "I made it to the Mississippi."

That definitely gets my attention, "Are you serious?"

He turns on the stove and starts peeling strips of bacon into the frying pan. "I headed south after I left here in October. I stayed in the 95 corridor, avoiding the bigger cities. The freeway was still clear enough to travel on, plenty of cars to siphon gas from. I wasn't planning to go all the way to Florida but around Raleigh I started hearing rumors about a ranch outside Orlando where people could barter or work or food. I went down and checked it out, stayed there until just before Christmas." He finishes dropping slices of bacon into the cast iron pan, rustles around in the drawer under the oven until he finds a splatter screen. He retrieves the bucket of eggs from the fridge, asking, "Did you bring any cheese down?"

"In the tin foil. So, there is a ranch and you worked there?"

He finds the foil wrapped cheese and closes the fridge door with his knee, "Turns out dad taught me a useable skill when it comes to the end of the world. They were very happy to employ a butcher. I trained a guy the whole time I was there but they made it clear I was welcome to stay indefinitely. Those Mormons, they're an interesting lot. You know that ranch is close to a million acres and it's true, they are giving out food for people able to trade or willing to work."

"How many people did you see?"

His broad shoulders shrugged, "Not many. I stayed out of cities, but I get the idea most of them are ghost towns anyway. In Florida they were talking about the virus in Europe. Their attempts to contain it have failed and it's working its way across southern Europe. Unlike here, it's decimating the south first, with few cases in the north."

"Did it evolve? How do they know all this?"

Warren digs into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, "I can't believe I kept track of this for all these months." He hands it to me.

Scrawled there in his heavy hand is CW9DRF.

"I didn't want to give out your handle, but I thought you might like a connection in Florida."

I smooth the wrinkled paper, "This is the ranch?"

"Yah, the church has a network of Ham operators apparently." He is slicing goat cheese, his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrates.

"So, why did you leave Florida?"

"I wanted to come home, baby."

"Four months ago?"

"Well, I made a detour or two and ended up in St Louis, thought I'd go see the Arch."

Laughing, I say, "You're such an idiot."

He winks at me over his shoulder, "Oh, wait till you hear about St Louis."

I bite, "Okay, what about St Louis."

"That's where the Minute Men stopped China."

"Oh for pities-," I start, but the look on his face stops me cold.