Page 36 of My Undead Love Life

Luck barked out a laugh and leaned harder into the door.

The panels stuck halfway. I swore under my breath and dug my boots into the floor. Every muscle in my shoulders protested as I shoved again.

“One more,” I gritted out.

Together we gave one last heave, and the rubber edges met with a heavy thump, followed by a hollow metallic clack as the latch finally caught. For a moment, neither of us moved. Our ragged breathing filled the train car while the doors rattled softly in their frame before settling into silence.

“That's more like it,” I muttered.

Luck rolled one shoulder and winced. “That hurt.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the others.

While we'd been wrestling with the doors, Oxi and Spencer had moved farther down the aisle clearing the benches. Dust floated through the stale air every time they disturbed another seat. Old wrappers, newspapers, and bits of forgotten trash were scattered across the floor.

Spencer set several cans down on a seat while Oxi crouched beside them and pulled a small can opener from his pocket. The opener sliced into metal with a soft crunch.

For some reason, the sound relaxed me. After three days trapped in that service closet, listening for scratching at the door and wondering what waited outside, hearing something normal felt almost surreal.

The faint smell of canned ravioli drifted through the train car. My stomach immediately growled.

“The cans expired a few months ago by shelf date, but they should be fine,” Spencer said.

“Better than starving.” Oxi snorted as he handed me a can.

“Best thing I've smelled all week,” Luck announced.

“It's cold ravioli,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

“Valid point.” I shrugged.

We crowded onto one of the benches together. The vinyl creaked beneath our combined weight while Oxi finished passing the cans around.

The ravioli was cold and thick. The sauce had almost turned gelatinous from sitting in the tin, and the noodles were softer than they were probably intended to be, but we didn’t care.

Metal spoons scraped softly against the cans as we ate. For several minutes, the only sounds in the train car were chewing, swallowing, and the occasional sigh of relief. Food had a way of improving morale. I’d known that for a long time.

Eventually, I glanced toward Spencer. She was eating slower than the rest of us, and her eyes looked distant. The grief was still there. I wasn't sure it would ever fully leave. Every time she relaxed, the pain seemed to find her again. I'd seen people carry loss before. I carried it myself. It never truly went away; it just got quieter with time.

“Can you tell us about everyone who lives in the Oasis?” I asked.

Spencer looked up. “Sure.” She swallowed another bite and nodded. “We all live in our own treehouses. Most of us built our own homes with help from everyone. Keith and I did. We live in our own, um…” Her voice faltered. “I live in it alone now.”

The train car fell quiet. Luck suddenly became very interested in his ravioli, and even Oxi kept his mouth shut.

Spencer blinked quickly and continued. “My parents, Grace and Tom, live in theirs. My sister, Tori, and her husbands, Calix, Micah, and Nathan live in another.”

Luck nearly choked. “Your sister has three husbands?”

A faint smile appeared on Spencer's face. “Yeah. They had a ceremony last year.”

“Three?”

“Three,” she confirmed.

“Like...all at once?”