Annabelle didn't move. Neither did I. In the next room, a floorboard creaked. Sherry, still awake.
"Not here," Annabelle said quietly. "Thin walls."
Sherry, I thought. Impeccable timing as always.
Annabelle looked toward the door, then back at me. "Any suggestion?"
"Bathroom." My brain had already solved it, the way it always solved things, quietly and without being asked. "It has no windows. Fan covers sound."
The only problem was that I was a virgin. But I had read a book once. Outside, books were free if you didn't mind the torn pages.
She stood. Her legs held steady, which surprised me. Day seven of an incurable plague and she was still walking under her own power. Either it was slower on her than most, or she was just built stubborn. I respected both possibilities.
I led the way. The bathroom was barely wide enough for two people standing close, which under the circumstances was either a problem or not a problem at all. Shower, toilet, sink, mirror. I closed the door and turned on the fan. It hummed loud and consistent, the kind of sound that covered whispers and probably more.
[Whatever you're doing, do it quickly. She's day seven.]
Relax, I told it. I'm working on it.
Annabelle leaned against the sink. Hands shaking slightly. Eyes clear. "What do you need me to do?"
That was the question, wasn't it. I had no script. No manual. No reference point of any kind. Just a system that said recharge and a dying girl who had agreed to try something neither of us could guarantee.
"Follow my lead," I said.
The flow? I thought immediately after. There is no flow. How exactly was I supposed to have learned this when sixty percent of the population outside were infected and the other forty were focused entirely on not joining them.
She raised an eyebrow. "You've never done this before."
Not a question.
"No," I said. "Outside the walls, the opportunities were limited. People were mostly focused on not dying."
A small sound escaped her. Almost a laugh. We were bonding in the strangest possible way in the strangest possible location and I was choosing to count it as progress.
"Inside either," she said quietly. "Not like this. Not with a stranger. Not with..." She gestured at her leg. "This."
The fan hummed. The room felt smaller than its dimensions.
[Stress levels elevated. Recommendation: initiate physical contact to build comfort.]
And now you're a dating coach, I thought. The apocalypse really does have everything.
I stepped closer. Slow and deliberate. Outside, sudden movements got you killed. Here they just made you look desperate, which was a different kind of problem.
"I'm going to touch you," I said. "Is that alright?"
She nodded. I reached up and pushed her hair back from her face. She had soft skin. This was the closest I had been to any girl who wasn't trying to survive something at the same time. It felt different. Warmer. More present.
Better, I thought, surprising myself.
"Is this going to take all night?" she asked. Not impatient. Just tired in the specific way of someone running out of time and aware of it.
She reached for the hem of her sweater.
"Then we should stop wasting it," she said, and pulled it over her head. Underneath, a thin tank top. Her arms were pale, goosebumped from the cold or the fear or both. She reached for the tank top next.
"Wait," I said.
She stopped. Looked at me.
"I need you to know something first." I held her eyes. "I don't know if this will cure you. We could do this and I could still fail. My ability isn't something I've tested."
Annabelle stared at me for a long moment.
"You're telling me this now," she said.
"Yes."
"While I'm half undressed in your bathroom on day seven."
"Yes."
She was quiet. The fan hummed. The mark on her leg, was not being quiet. It was spreading by the minute.
"You're an idiot," she said finally.
"Probably."
"If it doesn't work, I die anyway."
"Yes."
"So there's no downside for me."
"That's one way to look at it."
"It's the only way that matters right now." She pulled the tank top off.
I tried not to stare. I stared anyway. She was beautiful in the way of someone who was fighting to stay in the world one more minute and knew it. Medium-sized breasts with light pink nipples. The kind of shape that made my mouth go dry.
"Your turn," she said.
I pulled off my shirt. The scars on my torso were old geography, a map of everything the plain had done to me over twenty years. She looked at them without flinching, which told me something about her.
She stepped closer. Her body was warm despite the plague, despite the cold, despite everything. I could feel her breath against my chest.
"Tell me what to do," she whispered.
I didn't know. I had no experience, no practice, no frame of reference for any of this. Just a system that had handed me an ability I barely understood and a topless girl who was trusting me with the only thing she had left.
So I did the only thing that made sense. I kissed her. It was clumsy. Neither of us had practiced for this particular moment. My nose bumped her cheek. Her teeth caught my lip. But it was real in the specific way that clumsy things are real, no performance, no pretense, just two people trying.
Her hands came up to my shoulders, cold fingers pressing into muscle. I pulled her closer and the warmth of her breasts against my chest was a shock I hadn't prepared for. Skin to skin. Soft and full and warm.
She pulled back just enough to speak. "Is it working?"
"Slowly," I said. "But yes."
Who wouldn't lie in that moment?
"Then don't stop," she said.
She reached for the button on her skirt. I covered her hands with mine.
"Let me," I said.
I didn't fully know why I said it. I just said it. She dropped her hands.
I unbuttoned her skirt slowly, fingers brushing the warm skin of her hips as I eased the fabric down her thighs. She lifted her ass just enough to help me, the movement small but deliberate. The skirt pooled at her feet.
Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her black panties and slid them down, letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. It was the first time I was seeing a pussy up close like this,
smooth, slightly puffy outer lips, a hint of glistening pink between them.
Last time I saw one, it belonged to a zombie squatting in the dust to piss before trying to tear my throat out.
The system pulsed in my vision, waiting. I was going for my first full charge now.