Every evening at dusk, Ian and I drove up to the observatory. There were so many abandoned cars in LA that we had virtually an endless supply of fuel, as long as we were willing to do a lot of syphoning during the day. We would re-fuel the generator and make sure the floodlight's lens was as clean as possible.
Then we would drive back to the cottage, make a simple meal on the porch, and watch the dark valley below. Every night we kept this vigil until dawn. When the sun rose, we would sleep. When we woke, we would tend our garden and gather fuel, then, at dusk, we would start our vigil again.
Months passed, and we still saw no other lights, no sign of human life. Every time we drove back up the observatory to tend the light, we hoped that we might finally discover someone who'd come to the light. But we never did.
My abdomen started to swell. Occasionally, I would have bouts of pain, but never as intense as before. I learned to tolerate them, even if it was annoying that Ian couldn't help me bear this burden. Still, I couldn't complain, because he'd gone to hospitals all over the city collecting medical supplies until our cottage had become a virtual delivery room and neo-natal ward all in one. He'd even collected plenty of anesthetics, to my relief. He'd prepared for everything.
One night, I crawled into his lap on the porch. I was nervous about my upcoming delivery, and, yes, even scared. I was also increasingly worried that we'd never, ever find any other survivors. But as long as I had Ian, I had hope, and I was content. I yawned and settled into the contours of his lap.
Ian wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight, then rested an arm loosely on my swollen belly.
"If you're tired, I can stay up," he whispered. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll be fine."
"No," I said. "I want to stay up. I like to watch the valley with you, even if we don't see anything out there."
The first light of dawn appeared. Soon only a few stars remained.
"Time for bed."
Ian stood, picking me up, and took us both to bed.
Under the covers, he ran his hand sleepily over my belly.
I felt a light, painless thump right beneath his hand.
He looked at me and smiled. "Was that a . . . ?"
"I think so," I said, smiling back. "That was a kick."
He lay his head back against the pillow, still resting his hand on my belly. I grabbed his hand and laced my fingers into his.
"Ash," Ian whispered suddenly. "Do you see that?"
Outside the cottage window, beyond the city, the gray pacific ocean stretched away to the horizon. Only a few stars were left.
"See what?" I asked.
"There, way out in the ocean. Do you see it?"
Just where the ocean met the sky, a tiny light flashed on and off. It was a signal whose source could only be human, could only be coming from others, others who must have voyaged across the sea. Others who, now, must have seen our beacon.
Or so I hoped.
Then the flashing light was enveloped by the first rays of morning sunlight breaking over the horizon.
— THE END —