KC brought me back to her campsite, a small little bus decked out with blankets and furnishings. It was a cute little shack, and she offered to let me spend the night in the case that I make her some food the next morning. I delightfully obliged, and she let me sleep in Emmanuel’s old bed.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Nightmares plagued me while I slept and the pain in my foot plagued me while I was awake. Eventually I decided to search the camp for some sort of first aid in the hopes of repairing my wounded foot.

With some paper towel and tape I managed to get it all clean and in working order. I even found a pair of Emmanuel’s shoes to wear as a replacement for my destroyed, bullet ridden boot.

The next morning I prepared KC a meal of bacon, eggs, and toast. She threw up once she smelled the bacon, and decided not to eat. She picked some berries out of a pantry and ate those instead.

“We picked these the day before.” KC said to me, staring at the ground. I approached her, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay. Listen, I know that he was a good friend of yours, he was to me too.” I said.

“Bullshit.” She said coldly. I was taken aback.

“He told me about you. He said you only ever cared for yourself. He told me that you’d left him.”

She was right. I ran away, leaving him in a battle he never could have survived.

“You don’t know what it’s like to miss somebody.” She snarled. It took a lot of effort not to get angry, and I tried my best, but it started to come out.

“I miss everybody. I’ve spent my whole life meandering from group to group, fleeing at any sign of danger. So many people have died, and I remember every single one of them. I miss them all so much, and each one of them left alive would have made this world a better place. Don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like, kid.”

She stopped and looked at me; she saw my red face and my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry.” She said. I calmed down.

“It’s alright.” I said. “I never said I was a good man. Lately I’ve begun losing hope in it all. Before I found you I was about to kill myself. I ran out of bullets, so I couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t you kill yourself with the rifle?” She asked.

“I…I don’t know.” I said to her.

“Listen, I know that life can be a real shit show sometimes. No less than a year ago I was in Beauland living a regular life. It was a life in hiding, but I had a job, and I guess some friends. It was decent. This world is exactly what they call it; Forsaken. But that doesn’t mean that all hope is lost. I have a baby on the way, I don’t know if the baby will survive the birth, or their first year, or their fifth, or their tenth. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to survive this. But I need to try. We need to try.” She said to me.

We finished our meal before she told me of the routine that she and Emmanuel had made throughout the last few months. I tried my best to follow her instructions. She said I was much slower than Emmanuel, but I would do.

I had finished all of the chores by the time lunch had come around, and sitting by the empty fire we had our fill of bread and cheese.

“Emmanuel was reading a lot into child birth before he… well… and he said he wanted to build a nursery and a crib. Do you know what those are?” She asked me.

“Sure I do. What was he reading?” I asked.

“I’m not too sure exactly, he said some books lying around here.” She said, looking around the camp.

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I searched for the books, returning five minutes later with a bundle of fiction novels, magazines, and instruction manuals.

“I believe this is it.” I said, setting the references on the dirt.

“You should try and read some of those.” She told me.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do that later today.”

And that I did. I read through all of the magazines and manuals, the fiction novels were pointless; just old romance books from the early twenty first century. I made notes of all the pieces I’d need, and set these notes inside the appropriate pages.

After that it was time for dinner. I made us some stew that an old traveling buddy of mine had taught me how to make. KC said it was delicious, but I think she was lying just to make me feel better.

I slept once more in Emmanuel’s bed, granted a small snooze before waking up in the dead of night to KC calling my name. I jumped out of bed and ran her way. I could barely see her in the dark that surrounded us.

“The baby… the baby’s coming.” She said to me, panicking. I nodded and ran around, grabbing blankets, water, and paper towels. I didn’t know what else to grab.

I joined her again in the bus, and she was breathing quite heavily. Sweat ran down her face, and her hair was soaked.

I manipulated the blanket into a small pillow and set it under KC’s head. I set a row of paper towels on the ground between her legs.

“Okay, okay… I think we’re all set here.” I said, completely certain that we were not all set here.

***

I’m going to spare you the details of KC giving birth. To make a long story short, she convulsed around as if every muscle in her body had been set to flames. Veins bulged out all throughout her body, and her bones made a strange cracking noise. This went on for hours.

At around six o clock that morning KC had given birth to a baby boy. I spanked the baby, because KC told me that was what Doctor’s did. Maybe that was from one of those fiction novels that Emmanuel was reading.

I wrapped the baby up in a towel that had been lying around, and handed the baby to KC. She smiled with the warmth only a mother could provide.

“He’s beautiful.” She said, tears forming around her eyes. “What do I name him?”

“I don’t know. I’m terrible with names.” I said, forcing a smile.

“Jonathan. I’ll call him Jonathan.” She said after a moment of thinking. “Baby Jonathan.”

KC held baby Jonathan Homstov in her arms, cradling him around as he slept.

“You know, it’s funny how a baby can be so sleepy just after being born.” She said smiling. “He must have worked so hard.”

I smiled back, looking into a new life; something I had not seen in a very long time.

“I’m sure he did.” I said.

Though the birth of baby Jonathan Homstov went relatively easily, there was a major problem; KC wouldn’t stop bleeding. We had soaked every roll of ancient yellow paper towel that we owned, resorting to using our towels and blankets. But no matter how much pressure we applied or dressings we used, it would slow down the bleeding at best.

“Listen,” KC said to me, her face growing pale. “We’re going to need blankets, more padding, and more first aid supplies. We need it now.”

“Where am I supposed to find all of that?” I said in a slight panic before an idea came to mind, an idea of immoral action, but an idea nonetheless.

“There’s a farmhouse not too far from here; maybe an hour long walk. I could go there and bring us back supplies. Do you think you could be okay until then?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine as long as Jonathan is here.” She said with upmost certainty, despite the wincing in pain.

And with that, I left with no more than a rifle.

Unfortunately I had forgotten to bring a watch, so my perception of time became somewhat distorted. The walk felt like much longer than an hour, the sun seemed a lot higher than it was when I left by the time I approached the green farmhouse. I swallowed my pride and walked inside.

The museum of an older world lay intact, nothing moved since I had left it. This time I had not gone for preservation of the museum, but for preservation of me and my clan, my family.

I threw a bundle of small clothes into a large plastic bag, along with some Band-Aids and a sewing kit. There were some old painkillers, but I chose not to take them.

As I threw the plastic bag over my shoulder and began to leave the farmhouse, I decided for reasons unknown to myself to take one last look at the garage. It was just as horrifying the first time.

After a few moments of pity and despair, I pulled back my shoulders and got to work, removing the skeletal family from their seats. The floor of the Bronco was filled with petrified flesh, creating a slick foul smelling surface.

I placed the bag inside the back seat, getting into the driver side myself. I turned the key, and nothing happened. The car was dead.

Frustrated, I began searching the garage. There I had found a new battery and a jerry can filled with what I assume is gasoline. I have never replaced a battery or filled a jerry can before, cars were a primitive technology before Xenopram had been invented, and nowadays they are incredibly rare. Luckily there was an owner’s manual detailing how to replace a battery and fill a gas tank. The words were in French but I used the pictures.

Surprisingly, the car worked. Not great, but it worked. Unfortunately, I blew the garage door off as I backed out. I figured it would have opened automatically.

Spinning all over the place, I manage to get a steady grip of the wheel and the gas. With the farmhouse behind me and the path to camp ahead, I ripped down the dirt in that Bronco, blowing up a sandstorm of dust in my wake.