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The food wasn’t, you know, good.
But not much was these days.
I hoped that a garden with fresh vegetables and herbs would help change that. Then I could hopefully learn how to preserve those things to get me through the winters.
If you’d have told me a year or two ago that I would suddenly develop survival skills and learn about homesteading, I would have laughed.
Now I was actively hoping I ran across a couple chickens that I could put in a coop on the roof and use for eggs.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Chickens,” I admitted.
“Some of the cans in the pantry say chicken. I’m dubious, but hopeful for the day that comes where I am desperate enough to try it.”
“I meant live chickens. You know, for eggs. I want to find some someday. If they have survived.”
“Seems like most of the animals have. Guess the zombies don’t like their brains. So, you want a tour?” he asked, waving around.
And, somehow, yes, yes I did.
Even though my survival instincts were telling me that it was safer to go home, to lock myself up again.
But maybe Caleb was right.
If it was all doomed to end eventually, why was I denying myself the first thing I’d genuinely wanted to experience in ages?
The mansion was every bit as impressive as it seemed like it would be. And Caleb seemed to have put his mark on every inch of it. From the “murals” on the walls to the indoor slip-and-slide and his movie room.
He had solar panels.
So he had charged portable DVD players to actually entertain himself with.
I’d caught myself watching freaking flies mate once I was so bored.
Caleb wasn’t just surviving the zombie apocalypse. He was thriving in it.
“Come on. You know you want to,” he said as I climbed into his giant ten-person tent that was his movie room.
The floor was padded with at least fifteen blankets, and there were more pillows inside than I used to see on the shelves of big box stores.
It was tempting.
Way, way too tempting.
“I should be getting home.”
“I have rom-coms!” he announced, giving me a big smile.
“Why would you assume I like rom-coms?”
“Because the dark and grumbly chicks always love rom-coms,” he declared. “Luckily, I do too. How about we watch two people fall in love over email?” he asked as he popped a new DVD into the player. “Remember those days?”
“Actually, that is one of the things I don’t miss about the before-times,” I admitted. “Work emails and school emails and endless spam emails…”
“It sounds like you’re just a bit bitter that Tom Hanks didn’t send you mail,” Caleb said. “It’s okay. I’m a little salty that Meg Ryan didn’t send me any either.”
Caleb was a… loud movie-watcher.
