The Last Cabin

Chapter 18

I wasn't sure how long it had been, or even if I slept, but there was a moment when I opened my eyes and felt like I could get up. As I picked up my head, I felt the blood leave my mind, dizzy for a moment. The pain in my leg pulsated, but it wasn't rushing through me like it did before. I looked at the bite to see that it hadn't healed over yet. It was still an open wound, but it wasn't bleeding. I braced myself to get up and limped on my injured leg for a moment before it was stable to walk on. My body ached for food and water.

I went to the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. I turned on the sink to hear the creaking pipes while I splashed water on my face. Finn had come in and stood in the bedroom holding a hand ax, looking at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"Poppy?' he whispered.

"Yeah," I said in a weak voice.

"You're okay?"

"I think so, but this still hurts," I said as I pointed at my wound. He stared at it with a surprised face.

"I thought maybe you had gotten sick. You were in here for a few days. You need to drink some water. How do you feel?"

I cupped my hands under the running water from the sink. The cool liquid refreshed my body, re hydrating every crevice that had been desperate for days.

"I think I'm okay," I said. The roof of that hotel felt like it had been only a moment ago.

Finn put his arms around me with a gentle touch, then guided me to the kitchen to eat something. He kept looking at me like I would snap or fall apart any minute. And if I was being honest, I was thinking the same thing, but as the day went on, those thoughts faded.

Finn showed me the cabin he had bought years ago as a retreat when he was in the area. It had a reservoir of well water we would have to keep filled, which is the only way we would have any running water, but we were in luck, because a creek ran right behind the house. The cabin itself had a few rooms, and most things that we would need. Although Finn did not have it stocked with food; we would have to figure out how to get to the small town nearby.

The cabin sat on 20 acres of beautiful countryside, surrounded by nature - mountains, tall grass, a barn for animals. There was no car or any other mode of transportation. Finn had told me when his friend dropped us off in the helicopter, Finn had tried to convince him to take him into town to grab some food, but he freaked out, thinking I was infected, so he wanted to leave as soon as possible. We didn't mind though, because we were more than grateful that we were here together, surrounded by everything we would ever need, and anyone we would ever want.

A week went by, as we got acclimated to this new place and way of life with each other. There were awkward moments where it was much too early to go to bed; there was nothing to do, it was dark, and we could only see by candlelight. We got so bored we made up games, and spoke about movies and TV shows we would watch if we had the chance. I didn't know if this abrupt, traumatic change would break us or bring us together. I mourned my family and my old life. My phone, my fans, everything that I once had, was now a distant memory. There were no choices in food; we ate the little that we had. I didn't have my laptop to write on. No more internet or TV, so we had no updates. The entertainment was going outside, fixing small things in the cabin or talking of the past. There weren't other people, or anyone, but Finn to talk to. I got nervous, wondering if he was going to tire of me puttering around all the time, unsure what to do with myself. Before I could let myself forget, some days felt like a vacation, taking long walks through the forest and jumping in the creek, spending hours laying outside and admiring the warm sun. Some days memories consumed us, as we huddled together in sorrow, spending hours weeping, unable to leave the room.