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“Eat first. We’ll talk later.”
Nova went over to the stovetop, where a cast iron pot and frying pan were sitting. She dished out potato porridge into the bowl and topped it with two runny eggs. The moment she set it in front of me, I murmured a thanks before wolfing it down, and it was easily one of the best meals I’d ever had.
Alongside it, she served me a glass of bittersweet apple cider and a tangy glass of goat milk. She gave me a few pills for pain, and I took them without too much hesitation, because I really doubted that she would waste food on me if she meant to poison me.
Nova went into another room and came back with a homemade first aid kit. Gingerly, she propped my injured leg up on another kitchen chair. The good news was that the swelling had gone down enough that she could roll my jeans up to my thigh. The bad news was that it still hurt like hell.
“So… is it just you living here?” I asked, making conversation to distract from the pain as she began cleaning my knee with a rag and alcohol.
“Me and the animals. My grandma died four years ago, and she left me and my sister a small inheritance. Sage’s was in cash, and mine was this old farmhouse. I always wanted to be a hermit who lived off the land and helped animals, and when the virus spread, I got my wish in the worst possible way.” She frowned at that. “But at least I was already set up for the end of the world.”
“How many animals do you have here?”
Nova began rattling off a whole list: “A mule named Vince, that I also inherited from my grandmother. The two wolfdogs you met, and a few goats and a small flock of chickens and ducks, which you can probably hear. Then there’s the opossums, a skunk, and half-a-dozen rabbits in the smaller barn. So however many that is. I used to have more, but the whole zombie apocalypse made things much harder.”
“That does seem like a lot to care for by one person,” I said.
“It’s not too bad except when it comes to planting season.” Her dark eyes were filled with something that might have been hope. “But with you, it could be a good year.”
After she cleaned it up, she wrapped my knee with a bandage. I grimaced at the pain, but she assured me that it needed to be tight to stabilize and support the knee.
“Your leg might never be right again, but this is the best I can do to help,” she said. “If you want to rest now, I can show you to your room.”
Once again, Nova helped me to my feet, and I had to lean on her to walk. Fortunately, it was only a short distance from the living room to the room at the back of the house.
The bedroom was rather small, with peeling chartreuse and pink floral wallpaper and newer windows that suggested a 1970s addition to the old farmhouse. That also explained the tiny half bath attached to it, with a toilet, pedestal sink, and chipped tiles.
A narrow twin bed was pressed against the wall (with my red backpack sitting on top), a rocking chair was in the corner, and that was it for furniture. The only other décor was semi-sheer drapery, and a large painting on the wall of a wolf.
The most peculiar thing was that the windows had bars over them. That wasn’t unusual given the zombie epidemic, except that I hadn’t seen any bars on any of the other windows. Outside, though, I could see everything was covered in a thick layer of snow, just as Nova had told me.
She helped me over to the bed, and I sat down. I wanted to go through my backpack to make sure all my contents were still intact, but that seemed rude with Nova standing there, watching me.
“It’s not much, but you can rest and clean yourself up.” She motioned to towels and clean clothes that she’d left folded on top of the rocking chair.
“No, it’s more than enough. Thank you.” I forced a smile at her, but she didn’t return it.
After an uncomfortably long silence, she finally said, “I’ll leave you to it then.” When she left, she closed the door behind her.
As soon as she was gone, I tore through my clothes and supplies, and I let out a deep breath of relief when I saw Harlow’s sketchbook. I pulled it out and flipped through it slowly, ensuring that it was still intact, and a lump formed in my throat.
I wiped my eyes roughly with the palm of my hand, and then I set the book aside because I didn’t have time to cry right now. This was my first time with my stuff in days, and I had to find out if Nova had taken anything.
All of my clothes appeared to be there, along with the two other books that had belonged to Harlow, but my machete was missing (unsurprising) and so were all my food and water (slightly surprising).
“What the hell is she up to?” I muttered to myself, because I still couldn’t figure out Nova’s game.
On one hand, she’d kept me chained up in her basement for days, ransacked my stuff and took my valuables, and now she basically forced me into indentured servitude.
On the other hand, my belly was full for the first time in weeks, the bed was so comfortable I was already feeling drowsy, and without her help, I would certainly die on my own with my current injuries.
Nova’s hospitality was a mixed bag really, but I didn’t have any other options but to accept it.
Before I could nap, I forced myself up and limped over to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink was cracked, but I still had the chance to see my reflection for the first time in ages.
My face was sallow under my dusty beard, and I had a fading bruise on my cheek the color of pea soup. I pulled off my shirt and got my first real look at my body since the moose had kicked my ass, and the bruises across my ribs were still purplish in places.
In the absence of a shower or tub, I used a washcloth and the sink to give myself something of a sponge bath. Back when I was a touring musician, I had cleaned myself up the same way in truck stop bathrooms on occasion. This was much more refreshing, and I actually felt clean when I finished.
