Lily nodded compassionately. “Wow… I never thought that being the Last Man could come with such drawbacks…. It’s like your trapped in a hellish paradise—forced to do nothing with yourself, while at the same time, being treated like a king.”

Nikodemus smiled. “Well. I’m glad someone understands.”

There was no personal conversations while they worked on the washer together for a time. Nikodemus directed Lily, and she obeyed. Nikodemus found that she was very good at following directions, and felt a surge of pride in her. He also felt a brief wave of sadness wash over him when he thought about the fact that she was going to be sacrificed, and then felt downright sick when he thought about how Grace was sacrificed.

I have to have a talk with Ellia again… Nikodemus thought to himself.

“So…” Lily cleared her throat. “Are… are you really my father?”

Nikodemus wondered if he should lie to her, deflect, or tell the truth. He knew that telling her the truth would only bring them misery if they became close, but telling her a lie or deflecting felt like an even bigger sin. He took a deep breath and expelled it. “I think so, yes. You’re young enough that that must be the case.”

At receiving this news, Lily found herself smiling. She whispered, “Wow, really…?” she was looking at him in a new light. “How come you didn’t tell me that immediately?”

Nikodemus massaged his forehead. “It’s nothing against you or anything… it’s a defensive mechanism.”

Lily cocked her head to the side. “A defensive mechanism?”

“Yeah… I’ve gotten close with many of my daughters in the past, just to have them die, and I… well, I’m not sure I can take it anymore.” Nikodemus explained. He turned his palms up. “Sorry.”

It only piqued Lily’s interest. “What daughters did you get close to?” she asked.

Nikodemus pursed his lips and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he should tell her. At her expectant face, he decided he should—especially because it might make her understand why he couldn’t get close. “One of them was named Frey. She was very small for a tribal woman—much smaller than her counterparts—so she wasn’t much use in a fight. She was incredibly smart, though. Me and her liked building things together for the tribe we were at.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“What tribe was that?” Lily queried.

Nikodemus gave it some thought. It had been a long time ago, and his memory was always misty when it came to tribal names. But suddenly, it hit him; it was a distinct name in how simple it was. “The Bears, that was the tribe. It must have been at least twenty-to-thirty years ago… her mother was a woman named Petunia. I had several other children in the tribe, but Frey was the oldest, so I remember the most about her.” Nikodemus went dreamy-eyed, staring into space as he thought of her. “She had the widest, sweetest brown eyes… her hair was as bright and yellow as the sun, and she had these really cute freckles. I could hardly believe I made something so wonderful. Her mother was a really tough woman—I didn’t get along with her well—so I avoided her most of the time, and just paid attention to our daughter and making sure I…” Nikodemus went bashful. He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “well, I made sure I did what the Last Man is supposed to do.”

Lily blinked rapidly, not following. “What the Last Man is supposed to do…?”

Nikodemus looked at his daughter, wishing she wouldn’t make him say it, while simultaneously feeling guilty and sorry for her that she didn’t have any clue what he was talking about. Nikodemus grimaced. “You know…. Preserving the human race.”

Lily blushed. “Oh. Of course.”

I suppose I should be glad that one of my daughters has even grown old enough to ask me about such things…

“Anyway. Me and Frey worked hard and managed to build her a piano out of our extra resources. She played beautifully—she just had an ear for making these peaceful, but somewhat sad melodies… I still remember a lot of them to this day. I wish I could play them, but there’s really no room for creativity in a brain like mine—nor is there room for creativity in this tribe…” Nikodemus sighed sadly.

“Piano?” Lily asked. Nikodemus realized that Lily—and most other women in the Wasteland—were deprived of ever hearing a single bar of music. This realization was harrowing to him. He couldn’t envision a life for himself where he had never heard beautiful rays of music bursting to life from the piano, or singing off a violin, or blaringly brilliant, relaxing notes escaping from a saxophone. Nikodemus regarded her with a sorry smile, “It’s a musical instrument. It has some white keys on it, and the sounds that it makes are…” Nikodemus grinned with a sigh. “Are just magical.” “Music…” Lily repeated. “I think I read a book that mentioned it once. So it’s sound that has a consistent melody and rhythm to it, right?”

Nikodemus thought about telling her that that was essentially what it was, but it didn’t encapsulate everything it meant to him. It didn’t capture the feelings he felt when he listened to it, nor the fact that it enriched his soul. All he could say was, “It’s so much more than that, but you have the basic idea of it right.”

“I’d like to hear it sometime.” Lily said with a sigh.

Nikodemus clapped her on the shoulder. “I’d like to show you sometime, but for now, let’s focus on fixing this washing machine.”