Walking the Ruins

Bread and honey

Next morning, I get up early, grab a bucket of Kevin's lye, and leave the house to wash at the brook. The water is cold, but I clean myself thoroughly.

It's the first time for weeks that I don't feel filthy.

I let myself dry in the sunshine, its warmth on my limbs chasing away the tingling feeling that the water left there. I haven't felt so good for a long time.

Back in the house, I find Rose and Kevin preparing breakfast. They smile at me. Rose places her finger to her lips, pointing towards the room where Anna has spent the night.

"Is she still asleep?" I whisper.

She shrugs. "I don't know. But if she is, we should let her sleep. Getting some rest is good for her."

We sit down at the table, and I hungrily eye a loaf of bread that Rose has deposited before me. She hands me a jar, a wide grin on her face.

Seeing an amber mass in it, I take a suspicious sniff. "Honey!" I exclaim, forgetting to be quiet and remembering the ointment Rose prepared yesterday. "Do you keep bees now?"

"Nope," answers Kevin, his voice hushed. "We're way more primitive than that. We just found a beehive quite close to here.

"And how did you ... make the bees give you the honey?"

"Well, that's the primitive part of our ... beekeeping. I lit a fire below the hive, with lots of smoke. We literally smoked them out." He hesitates, then shrugs. "Yeah, I know, that's not really nice. But it's them or us ... or whatever."

I dip a knife into the jar and give the honey a try. It does have a smoky tang to it, but it's probably the sweetest thing I have eaten since we've been cast into this world. I spread it liberally on my piece of bread.

Rose's bread making techniques have definitely improved over the last few months. The watering in my mouth is almost painful.

We have nearly finished breakfast when Anna enters the kitchen. She looks pale, but she offers us a weak smile. Rose greets her warmly and leads her to the table, sitting her on one of the chairs. Then she begins feeding her, motherly and obviously enjoying her role as a host.

Kevin starts to ask some questions about the bunker and her life there, but Anna's answers are evasive and short. She seems reluctant to talk about it, so I give him a hard stare. He takes the hint and starts talking about the traps they have set around the house.

After breakfast, Rose checks on Anna's wound, and then sends her back to bed.

Rose, Kevin and I clean up the kitchen.

"We have to go back," I break the silence between us while I am washing the ancient porcelain plates we have eaten from. I scrub them with my hands in a large bowl of lye water that Kevin has placed on a cupboard in front of the window.

"Go back?" Rose takes the clean plate from me, drying it with a much too small towel that looks suspiciously like an old sock, a colorfully striped one.

"To the bunker, in the valley," I say, setting the next plate into the bowl. I turn and look at her.

Placing the plate in a cupboard, Rose glances at Kevin. Then she crosses her arms before her chest.

"Yeah..." Kevin starts, looking from her to me. "We should. But ... first, we need to know what ... we want to do there. We have to make a plan. This will take some time."

"I know," I agree. "We need weapons, provisions. This may take a week or two."

"What about Anna?" Rose asks. "She has to recover. She needs time."