Chapter 8

Three months later on a Friday,I finish baking bread before lunch and have almost nothing left to do for the rest of the day.

Jimmy isn't even here to fix meals for.

It's early March now, and while it's too early yet to start spring planting, the work around the farms is getting heavier. He's been over at his parents' a couple of days a week lately. He left at dawn this morning and said he'd try to get back this evening, but if he works too late, he'll just spend the night.

It's fine, of course. The reason we're able to live so well is because we share resources with our small community. Since we don't produce much ourselves, our main contribution is hard work.

I take care of the pigs and chickens while Jimmy is gone, in addition to my regular chores. Without him here, my daily housework is significantly lessened, so I still don't have a whole day's work.

That won't continue. It's the end of the winter season, when there's the least work to do outside. For the past few months, Jimmy has focused on hunting and fishing. He's also had plenty of time to go on scavenging runs, returning with rugs and curtains and cushions and other items to make the house cozier. He also found a winter coat and a couple of extra pairs of shoes for me. Anything I've asked for or even mentioned I could use, he's somehow managed to find.

Even with everything he's done since I moved in, he's still had some downtime and some lighter days the way I have.

That won't continue, however. Soon it will be planting time, and the work for everyone will start to increase.

It already has for Jimmy, so I'm not going to complain about being left alone all day and maybe overnight.

Even though I really don't like it.

Jimmy eats a lot, and he comes into the house dirty and sweaty. When something disagrees with his digestion, he'll sometimes stink up the whole house with one fart. He'll apologize and try not to laugh as I run around opening windows even though it's freezing cold outside. He often brings me things like rabbits or fish that I then have to skin, debone, clean, and prep. He makes more work and fills up the house one way or another. But he's also company. He's never turned into much of a talker. He doesn't share his deep feelings or tell me stories about his past. But I'm used to him being around.

And it's lonely and a little bit creepy all alone in this cabin without him.

If the asteroid had never hit Earth, I would have gone to college and started a career and probably lived alone for a while before finding a boyfriend and getting married. But that never happened for me, and in my twenty-three years, I've never once been on my own.

Jimmy taught me to shoot my little pistol, and he makes me practice several times a week. I'm better equipped to defend myself than I used to be, but I still feel small and helpless when compared to all the strong, competent women around here.

I like it better when he's here.

I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of milk for lunch and then fish for a couple of hours, catching one decent-size trout that will be more than enough for dinner for me and also for Jimmy if he makes it back. I keep it in the shade outside in a bucket of cold water so it stays good, and then I go back inside to clean up.

I read for a few minutes before falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up, I'm confused and disoriented, so I go outside to check the sun to see what time it is. Probably not even three yet.

I've got nothing to do, and it's way too early to hope for Jimmy to appear yet.

After wandering around outside and giving the pigs and chickens a little extra food they ask for but really don't need, I finally decide to wash my hair.

I usually do that on Saturdays, but it's sunny today and not too cold. At least it will give me something to do.

I wash my hair in the kitchen sink, comb it out, towel-dry it, and then go outside to sit in the sun. It's a little chilly with a wet head, but my hair always looks and feels better when it dries outside.

When the sun sinks behind the trees, I return inside, then build up the fire in the woodstove so I can warm up and so it will be ready to cook dinner.

I'll be having fish either way. Maybe Jimmy will come back soon.

A sound from outside makes me jump up and run to the door, but it's a young, skinny deer crossing over the gravel driveway. She looks lonely. She should have a herd.

Jimmy won't like it, but I feel so bad for the poor little thing that I throw her a piece of bread. She snatches it up and chews it as she stares at me with big eyes. When she's done, she makes her way back into the woods.

I return to the couch.

It's past dinnertime. I should go ahead and cook up the fish. Jimmy probably worked late, so he'll eat with his parents and then stay the night. Why wouldn't he? It's a hike back here, and he'll be tired after a long day of manual labor.

It will be warm and cozy and cheerful at the farm. Greta always has much more food stocked up than us, and she's a better cook.

I would do the same in his place. He'll know I'm just fine here at home.

I'm pushing myself up off the couch when the front door bursts open and Jimmy's familiar scent and size and presence are suddenly filling the room.

"You're home!" I straighten up, breaking into a smile.

"Yeah. You doin' okay?" He's a mess. His skin and clothes are covered with a mix of dirt and sweat. His hair and beard are stringy, and his shoes are caked in mud.

"I'm fine. I was thinking you might stay at your parents' tonight since it's so late."

"Thought about it but wanted to come home." He's been giving me a close once-over, but now his expression starts relaxing. "It was a crap day."

"Oh no. Just hard work, or did something bad happen?" Since he seems stuck in the entryway, I pull off his jacket and then crouch down to untie his shoes and hold them as he steps out of them one by one. I take off his ankle holster and the small pistol he keeps in it.

"Nothin' real bad. Just nothin' went smooth. Damn tiller kept breaking." He looks down at the dirt and dried mud on my clean wood floor. "Shit, I'm making a mess."

"Don't worry about it. Why don't you get out of those clothes and wash up? I'll start making dinner."

"You haven't eaten yet?"

"No. I was waiting to see if you'd come." I give him a little push toward the bedroom since he still seems stuck. "But I'm hungry and you must be starving, so go wash up and we can eat."

Jimmy does as I say without further discussion. I'm pleased and invigorated as I warm up the pan, melt some butter in it, and then sauté the fish fillets I prepared earlier, slicing some bread to eat with them.

The food is almost done when Jimmy reemerges, wearing his old gray sweats and a thin white T-shirt. His hair and beard are wet, so he must have practically dunked his head.

He slumps into his chair at the table. "That smells great."

"Caught a fish this afternoon. It was pretty good size."

I can't help but be proud of myself as I plate the food. I caught that fish. Cleaned and deboned it. Sliced it into fillets. And cooked it.

All by myself.

Four months ago, I never would have dreamed I'd be able to do something like that.

Jimmy takes his first bite and mumbles, "Yum." Then he keeps making hungry, appreciative sounds as he eats. I served him two times the amount of fish that I gave myself, but he gobbles it up quickly, and I end up giving him the last piece from my plate as well.

He leans back in his seat when he's done, closing his eyes and rubbing his scalp with his fingertips.

He's really tired. I can see it in his face, in the slump of his shoulders, in the heaviness of all his movements.

He's been going since dawn with barely the chance to sit down.

"Thanks for waiting for me," he says after a minute, gulping down the second glass of water I poured him.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you made it home. Do you have to go back and do more work tomorrow?"

He shakes his head. "Not until dinner."

"Okay, good. Well, you can take it easy tomorrow. You need a rest after how hard you worked this week."

"It was fine." He's still rubbing at his head. "It wasn't that much."

I don't at all agree with that statement, but I don't vocalize it. He doesn't appear to have the energy for even relaxed conversation, much less a useless argument about whether he worked hard this week or not.

When I look back up from my empty plate, he's watching me. His eyes are steady on my face, but I can't read his expression, so I don't know what he's thinking.

"What did you do today?" he asks at last.

"Baked bread. Fished. Washed my hair."

"That must be why it's all nice and shiny and pretty tonight." His expression has softened now.

Surprised, I run my hand down the length of my hair, realizing it's still loose rather than pulled back in my normal ponytail. Feeling inexplicably shy, I smile at him before getting up to clear the plates.

"Okay," he says with a loud exhale. "Got to take care of those animals."

"I can do that tonight," I say from the sink. "You're tired. Go on and lie down, and I'll take care of them."

"Nah. I'm okay. You already got to clean up the mess I made in here."

Before I can object, he's striding out the back door.

I shake my head as I wash the dishes and then sweep up the dirt and dried mud from the entryway and the lighter trail of it toward the bedroom. I grab his shoes and take them outside to wipe off as much of the caked mud as I can so he won't continue to track dirt everywhere.

I've returned them to the bedroom when Jimmy comes back inside. "I'm done outside and locked up everything except the back door," he says, pulling off his shirt and sweats and collapsing onto the bed in just his boxers.

After I use the outhouse, I lock the door and secure the extra bar to further brace it against entry.

Then I return to the bedroom to wash up and take off my clothes.

Jimmy watches me as I go through my nighttime routine, and his eyes rake over me with an exhausted kind of hunger as I walk to the bed naked. I don't turn off the lantern yet because he likes to be able to see.

I have to climb over him to get to my side of the bed. Then I push down the covers from his body and ease down his underwear over his half-hard cock.

He combs the fingers of both his hands through my hair to hold my head as I lower it over his groin.

He's mostly erect when I slide my mouth down over the length of him, and he grows and hardens all the way as I make my first few sucks.

He lets out a loud, raspy exhale and holds my head where he wants it. Firm but not pushy. A gentle sort of entitlement that always makes my pussy clench.

I've gotten better at blow jobs because I've had so much practice. I give him one almost every day. I can get more of him in my mouth now, and my teeth don't get in the way like they used to.

He smells like soap with undernotes of dirt and sweat. It's a familiar, natural smell, and it always makes my insides go soft.

His head is lifted up off the pillow, and he's staring down at me as I pleasure him. He guides the bobbing of my head and rocks his hips up toward my sucking with light, shallow thrusts. "Oh fuck, Chloe. You always make me feel so damn good."

I move a hand beneath my chin so I can find and massage his balls. He likes that. And he likes me to rub the sensitive spot behind them.

Tonight when I do, he chokes on a loud exclamation. His hips jerk, and his cock spasms in my mouth. I slide my lips up so he can ejaculate on my breasts.

My body is hot and flushed and pulsing deliciously as I straighten up, reaching for the hand towel we've started keeping next to bed to wipe his come off my chest.

When he collapses back after his climax, his body is limp, boneless. He gazes at me with heavy, sated eyes. "Thank you," he rasps.

"You're welcome." I smile at him and move up his body. He pulls me against him, holding me in a soft embrace. "It seems like you really needed it today."

Because my head is resting on his chest, I can feel his heart rate slow down, his breathing deepen. "I did," he murmurs, sounding half-asleep. "I always do."

I enjoy cuddling against him, so I'm in no hurry to move. But eventually I lift my head to check his face.

He's sound asleep. Already.

I reach over to turn off the lantern and pull the covers up to his shoulders. Then I settle on my side of the bed and get comfortable.

I sleep better if I have an orgasm first, and Jimmy usually gives me at least one. I've actually gotten better about coming from intercourse, so sometimes I get two or three.

But he's exhausted. He worked so hard today, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to do even more work to get me off before he's allowed to sleep.

I like taking care of him. I like making him feel good. I wouldn't have expected to get so much enjoyment out of caring for a man this way, but I really do.

And he takes care of me too.

Because my pussy is still pulsing and it's distracting me, I roll onto my side, facing away from Jimmy, and slide my hand between my legs. I rub my clit with a circular motion, my breathing intensifying and my body tightening until I reach a fast rush of climax.

I'm able to relax afterward. I listen to Jimmy's deep breathing beside me. Then I can finally fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, I insist that Jimmy take it easy. He does his regular morning chores outside with the animals, but otherwise he fishes in the morning and naps in the afternoon. I don't have all that much to do either, so I have plenty of time to read and rest before we go to his parents' for the normal Saturday gathering in the evening.

I have a really good time, chatting with friends and enjoying the large spread of food. Jimmy plays guitar for people to sing to afterward, and that always gives me a little thrill.

That he's so good at it. He's got a warm, pleasant voice, and he knows what he's doing on the guitar.

And he's my man.

I'm in a good mood on the walk back, so much so that I have trouble restraining giggles.

Jimmy is in one of his warm, relaxed moods. I always like when he's this way. He's not often cold or distant, but he's usually focused on everything that needs to be done during the day. He'll always talk over our schedules or give me instructions on how to do things or make sure there's nothing he needs to help me with, but he doesn't usually talk for the sake of talking. He'll occasionally find things amusing, but he doesn't often spill over with good mood or laughter. He loves having sex, and he's never selfish about it. He takes my needs seriously, but it seems to come from his strong sense of responsibility rather than deep, genuine affection.

Occasionally, when he's acting softer than normal, I'll gently ask him about Mary or about the early years after Impact or about his feelings… about anything. He's never mean about rebuffing me, but he always does. He closes down the conversations before they barely get started. He simply doesn't want to open up to me.

It's fine. I've never once expected him to love me or for us to have a normal intimate relationship. What we have began as and still is transactional. A practical arrangement. It's worked well so far and hopefully still will as long as I don't try to force it into something it's not.

Jimmy is a good man who works hard at whatever job is set before him. One of his jobs now is to take care of me—make sure I'm safe and provided for and content. He does that job well, and I appreciate it. I appreciate him.

I want to do my job well too.

I lucked out with Jimmy. Big time. Finding a man like him is a dream come true in a world like this one. So I'm not going to take it for granted or waste time wishing for even more.

He doesn't seem to mind my giggling tonight, and he keeps his arm around my waist for most of the walk. Nothing dampens my mood until, on the dark ascent of the hill before we enter the woods, we encounter two guys walking toward us.

They look dangerous. Questionable. Unkempt and carrying multiple weapons.

I move even closer to Jimmy. I didn't bring my pistol with me since I wasn't going to be alone, but it feels like I could use it right now.

Jimmy draws and aims his weapon as the men get closer.

They look at us but don't make any threatening moves.

When they've passed and are out of sight, I whisper, "Are those the same guys we saw walking through here a few months ago?"

"Yeah." Jimmy sounds sober. Worried. "Don't much like that they're still lurking around."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know. I'll ask around to see if anyone else has seen them." He glances down at me. "Don't wander around on your own."

"I never do. I never go anywhere if you're not with me."

"Good."

"Maybe they're not as bad as they look. They've never done anything questionable."

"I know. But still… don't feel right."

"Yeah. I agree." I shake off the worry and take Jimmy's arm, staying close as we enter the woods and complete the walk back home.

* * *

The next morning, Jimmy decides to go hunting, so I'm left alone.

It's supposed to be a rest day, but Jimmy says he feels like doing something and he'll be back before lunch. He enjoys hunting, so it's more recreation than work for him.

There's no reason he shouldn't go, so I don't resent his going.

I putter around the house for a few hours, straightening things up and doing some mending, and then I go lie in the sun to relax since it's an unusually warm morning for March.

When I hear motion in the woods, I assume it's Jimmy returning. I'm pleased that he wasn't gone for very long and sit up to greet him.

But it's not Jimmy who steps out of the woods.

It's a stranger. A man. Big and rough-looking. Intimidating. I can't tell for sure since I didn't look very closely last night, but I think it's one of those guys we encountered on the walk back home in the dark.

I freeze, sitting halfway up on the blanket I spread out on the deck. I'm wearing my long brown skirt and a loose white top. I don't have my pistol or any sort of weapon close by. Or anywhere in reach.

The man grins when he sees me.

"There you are," he drawls. As if we know each other. "Wondered where such a hot little number been hidin'."

I gulp. My stomach churns. I try to make my brain work since I've got to react to obvious danger, but it's a blank, emptied out from fear and shock.

The man strides closer—still looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. "Saw your man out in the woods earlier so figured this was my shot."

I almost choke. My hands and feet go cold.

It takes every ounce of will I possess to push myself to my feet. I look around, but there's nothing—nothing—anywhere close with which I can defend myself.

Jimmy's not here. He's nowhere close. I could scream, but he wouldn't hear me.

No one would hear me. I'm all alone.

The only person here who can even attempt to defend me is me.

This thought solidifies in my head at the same moment I turn around and run toward the house. I move as fast as I can, but the man is taller. Bigger. With much longer legs. He runs after me and quickly overtakes me.

I haven't yet reached the door when he grabs for me. I tug my arm out of his grip, but his fingers tighten on my top instead, yanking me to a stop.

I scream in outrage more than fear that he's got his damn hand on my shirt, and I throw my body away from his.

The fabric rips. Half of my shirt ends up in his hand, but at least he's no longer touching me.

I can't reach my pistol. There's no way. It's inside, and the man is after me again, right on my heels. But I see the hammer Jimmy was using yesterday to repair a few loose boards in the chicken coop.

He should have put it up, but he didn't. I grab for it and swing it around, blindly aiming for the man's head and screaming again with the force of my blow.

He's much, much taller than me, so I hit his shoulder with the hammer instead.

It's not as effective as it should have been, but it does make an impact. He grunts in pain and swings out with his hand, punching me on the side of the head.

It's so hard and it hurts so bad I fall back onto the deck. He's angry now as he climbs on top of me, holding me down with the weight of his body.

His smell is strong. Terrible. So much worse than Jimmy ever smells, even at his sweatiest. I struggle with all my strength, managing to yank a handful of his greasy hair.

But I can't get away. He's way too big.

I scream again—one more time before my throat completely clamps up in terror—and the scream takes the form of Jimmy's name. But I don't expect any help to come.

Jimmy would help if he was close enough. I know he would. He would protect me even if it meant he got hurt himself.

But he's not here. There's no one here.

No one but me and this terrible, much larger man.

"Hey!" The voice isn't mine. And it isn't my attacker's. It's distant, but I can still tell it sounds rawly outraged. "Get the fuck off her!"

The man must process the voice because he grows still, but he doesn't get off me. He looks surprised more than anything else.

Then it's too late for surprise. Or anything else. I hear a gunshot. A deafening crack.

The man goes limp and falls on top of me.

I squeal as I feel his full weight collapse on me, the scent of him overwhelming and sickening. I squirm frantically, attempting to push him off.

But I'm dizzy from the hard blow on the head and stunned by the fast sequence of events. I can't get him off.

"Chloe!" It's Jimmy. I recognize his voice now. "Chloe, baby. Oh my fucking God." Then he's there. He hauls the man's limp body off me and tosses it to the side.

He crouches down beside me, running his hands up and down my body like he's looking for injury.

"I'm okay," I manage to whimper. "I'm okay."

I sit up and blink at him, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened.

My face is too cold. My hands and knees are trembling. My stomach starts to heave.

I was about to be raped, but now I'm not.

It's like my brain and body can't catch up.