Page 119 of Doomsdate

Maisie bursts out laughing. “Jesus, Everett!”

“You played the long game, Nurse Bennett. And you won.” I pause, then frown. “I guess we’re lucky that Gramps had this cage.”

“You can’t smell why?” Maisie’s broken smile is lopsided and exhausted. “That was Bo’s old crate.”

I sniff the air. “Was Bo a—a dog?”

She nods. “A giant hound. Very slobbery, Gramps always said.”

“That explains the smell.”

“He liked to roll around in deer shit,” Maisie says through a sobbing laugh.

“This apocalypse just gets better and better.” But hearing Maisie laugh, though it’s tired and ragged and loaded with despair, does help. There are tiny joys to be had even now, while the unknown number of remaining hours, minutes, seconds ticks down the last dregs of my human life.

“I love you, Maisie,” I whisper as I lay my head back on my arm. She’s already laid out a neat bed of blankets in front of my cage, and a pillow. She lies down on them now, across from me, smiling at me through the bars. I extend my hand through the cage again, and she takes it gently in hers. “The second my eyes start to glow, you cut this thing off,” I say, nodding toward my hand. “Got your machete ready?”

“Yeah.” She laughs a little, the sound thick. “I’m prepared.”

“I’m so, so glad my stupid, amazing, irreplaceable best friend catfished you.” I smile, a tear sliding over the bridge of my nose. “I’ve lived more this week than I have in the last three years.”

“Well, I’m so, so glad you were too nice to cancel and stuck around even after I bungled Shayla’s monologues from Dreamsdate, episodes one through four.” Maisie runs the back of her hand under her nose. “This is the best date I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, come on. This has easily been the equivalent of the first six months of dating! We had our first date, first kiss, first fight—”

“First shopping trip, first road trip,” Maisie adds, smiling crookedly. “First camping trip.”

“First camping disaster, you mean. First movie night, first night together.”

“First sex,” she says quietly. “My first love. First marriage for me, at least. I even met your parents.”

I exhale. “It’s not fair, Maisie. None of this is fair to you.”

“It’s not,” she agrees. “But you opened the whole world to me. You slowed it down and cracked it open and helped me look inside when I’d always been too afraid to before. You showed me beauty and places I would’ve never known, and you showed me myself. The person I can be, when I let others in. More than a prepper. More than my fear. You showed me how to trust. This week was a gift, Everett.”

“But I never wanted to hurt you again,” I say, my voice breaking as I squeeze her hand in mine. “And I’m hurting you now.”

“I’d rather carry the hurt of loving you for the rest of my life than one more second of the nothing that came before.” She brings my hand to her mouth, brushes her lips slowly across my knuckles. The tears are flowing freely down her face now. “I’m so sorry, Everett. You saved my life, but I hesitated, and now—and now—”

“Stop. I’ll never be sorry for protecting you, Maisie.”

We hold each other’s hands, while we still can. We feel each other’s warmth, while we still can. We carry the weight of our love and our grief together, while we still can. When the radio static crackles and flares, and Gemma’s timid voice checks in, we celebrate that I’m still here, while we still can.

“Can he hear me now?” Gemma asks. “Can I talk to him?”

Maisie drags the microphone as close to me as possible, then sits at the desk to operate the talk button.

“I can hear you, Gemmy.”

“Evvie, I love you so much. Can I ask you some questions for science?”

I bray a single, loud laugh. “Of course, Dr. Greer.”

She proceeds to ask a barrage of medical questions interspersed with tearful anecdotes of our lives together, and I know this is how she’ll get through her pain. By studying this virus, by dismantling every deadly piece of it, vengeance for her lost friends, for her colleagues, for me.

Mom and Dad come on next. After an overly detailed accounting of Plan B’s incredible success (“Over three hundred zombies dead, son! We might be able to reopen the athletic fields for football again!”), an awkward, halting pep talk begins.

“Just say no to the virus, son.”