Page 96 of Doomsdate

Corinne agrees to let Everett’s presence remain secret for now. With a deep breath in through her nose, she rises from the table. “Okay, I’m satisfied. You can bunk with us tonight, and Julio will help you back to your kayak in the morning. I have one question left, though.” She pauses, her hands on her hips. “What possessed y’all to come to New York today?”

“It’s Maisie’s birthday,” Everett says, his arm wrapping around my shoulders like he’s done it a thousand times. “And she’d never been.”

“I know it was dumb,” I rush out, a hot blush enveloping me head to toe. Corinne is clearly a cunning survivalist, both caring for her family and building a community in the middle of an impossible situation, all while planning their safe way out. And here I am, wearing an I NY shirt pecked to shreds by rabid zombie pigeons.

Corinne’s eyes are warm, though, not judging. “Did you have a good time?”

I clear my throat. “We were almost eaten by rats.”

“Not what I asked.”

The events of the day sweep over me, but it’s the sensations of it that stand out most. The city’s silver reflection rippling like silk as I cut my oar neatly through the river. The feel of wind in my hair and Everett’s laughter in my ears as we coasted down the middle of Thirty-fourth Street. Coming loudly with Everett deep inside of me, the whole world laid out before us, not lost to us. Not yet.

“Yes,” I breathe, and Everett holds me tighter.

“Then it wasn’t dumb,” Corinne says matter-of-factly. Kindly. And somehow her permission to enjoy the day I asked for is just what I needed to hear.

“It’s her birthday, Mami,” Ayana says, the first words Corinne’s older daughter has uttered in our presence. She faces her, a question in her expression.

Corinne tilts her chin to the side, a small smile growing on her face. “I hear you, baby. Let’s introduce the Shenandoahs to the community.”

Corinne and her daughters lead us to the large window in the living room with the fire escape beyond. A well-used welcome mat lies in front of the window, along with a pile of shoes, as if this is the family’s main entrance to their apartment now. Beatriz cranks up the window and steps out through the frame. Beyond the fire escape’s railing, a clever setup of scaffolding and platforms links the Acevedos’ apartment to the hotel’s fire escape next door. With greenhouse tenting over top, they’ve formed a sheltered passageway between buildings, safe from the tallest zombies and bloodthirstiest pigeons, removing any need to use the street below.

The window on the other side deposits us into a ballroom full of round tables, flamboyant carpeting, and blown-glass chandeliers in whimsical colors. Several groups sit casually around the room, their conversations pausing when we come in. The sight of so many living, breathing survivors not wearing yoga pants is uplifting in a way I didn’t see coming.

“Everyone, this is Maisie and Everett Shenandoah. They’re staying for the night,” Corinne announces.

Not knowing quite what to do, I lift a hand and wave tentatively.

Everyone waves right back. Tears prick my eyes.

Corinne stops at each table, introducing us around. “This is Erica—she’s the leader of the Chelsea vegans—her delegation is visiting for a couple of days while they weigh their options.” The Chelsea vegans smile and tell us their names, and it’s honestly the nicest reception a group of rich women in their twenties and thirties has ever given me. They don’t look put off by the fact I’m wearing a stolen space suit, or suspicious of my amateur haircut. They just look happy to meet me. Happy that we’re all alive here, in this safe place, together.

Apocalypses—bringing formerly judgmental women together since 2027.

“This is Ellie, gluten-free,” Corinne says, tapping on a thirtysomething white woman’s shoulder where she’s filling up at the complimentary coffee station. The baby-faced woman turns around, her brown hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head, and again, we’re greeted with real enthusiasm.

“Hi, nice to meet you. Congratulations on being alive!”

I laugh, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you.”

“Ellie’s a feminist romance podcaster,” Corinne says, her hand still affectionately on Ellie’s shoulder. “Her show’s Rebel Ever After, ever heard of it?”

Everett and I shake our heads. Ellie sighs good-naturedly. “Well, nobody’s perfect. I’ve temporarily converted the podcast to apocalypse news and survival tips while the Wi-Fi holds out, but if you’re interested in my backlist, it’s still available for now.”

“She has quite the audience,” Corinne says. “I know it may feel otherwise on the road, but based on Ellie’s comments section, there are many people out there still living, trying to figure out their next steps for survival, too.”

“That’s wonderful.” Everett meets my eyes, his brimming with a lovely, tender hope. Hope for what exactly, I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine a scenario where the world bounces back from what’s happened. Is a happily ever after even possible in postapocalyptic America? I almost ask Ellie, since she’s the expert on HEAs, but Corinne’s already moving on, still taking us on the meet-and-greet tour of the survivors’ colony. She introduces us to the Korean family that owns the market next, the chaotic remnants of a high school field trip, and some poor Germans who picked the absolute worst time ever for their first visit to New York.

Everyone is completely, unequivocally lovely.

Ellie invites us to sit with her and brings us coffees, and soon we’re all chatting, sharing our wheres and whens and how we ended up here in this chain hotel’s ballroom in the middle of Queens. The fact that these kind people are sharing their refuge with us, their food, company, and trust, with nothing promised in return, is astounding. A testament to what humanity can aspire to as well as an ironclad rebuke to the part of me that feels safest believing other people are inherently dangerous.

After dinner is served and cleared, a group effort through and through, the lights are suddenly dimmed. My pulse picks up erratically, fear sliding through me for the first time since we arrived, but then Ayana appears in the doorway, illuminated by flickering flames atop a beautiful tiered cake. A cake for me, I find out, which she spent the afternoon baking from scratch when she heard that it was my birthday. The love of it all takes my breath away. Because even with as little experience as I’ve had with it, I can still see that’s what this is.

Love.

Freely, recklessly, heedlessly given love.