DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 14, SECTION 3

When we reached southern California, LA seemed like the most likely place we'd ever find any other survivors. The city had once contained a huge population, which increased the odds that a small number had survived the TGVy outbreak. We also realized, by then, that driving from city to city and briefly searching random streets wasn't going to help us find survivors any better than staying put in one metropolis and scouring every neighborhood and suburb. Unlike large cities such as New York, where survivors might not make it through the cold winters now that all the power plants had failed, LA's climate was mild. The year-round sunshine also meant that we'd be able to forage for food in overgrown gardens month after month. Soon, we'd be able to grow our own food throughout the year.

What really made LA a kick-ass place to stay in, though, were the Santa Monica mountains overlooking the city. We drove around them for a few days until we found a slope in Los Feliz where virtually the entire city, and even a large portion of the ocean, were visible.

When we first came upon the cottage, I saw right away that from its porch, on any given night, when the whole valley was dark, we'd be able see the light of any potential car or camp fire for miles.

Ian looked over the cottage one more time and nodded with approval.

"Okay." He squeezed my hand. "This is it, then. This is where we'll live." He smiled and took in the view. "You're right," he said. "It does feel like it's ours already. The whole damn world feels like it's ours from here."

As soon as we'd settled into the cottage and gathered enough yams, okra, oranges, and walnuts from gardens all over the neighborhood to last at least a month, I stole a motorcycle.

Well, technically, I didn't steal it, I guess, considering that its former owner and all of their family were definitely dead. I spotted it in a driveway a few blocks away, secured with a heavy wheel lock. But it sure felt like theft when I found a chain saw in the garden shed, cut a hole through the house's front door large enough to walk through, and found the motorcycle keys on a hook in the entryway.

There were definitely perks to being one of the last living people—okay, technically, one of the last animated dead people—in the world. You could do pretty much whatever the hell you wanted.

Ian didn't like the motorcycle at all.

"You know there aren't any ambulances anymore, right? No more cell phones? If you wreck that thing, Ash, you know you're pretty much screwed, right?"

"I'll wear a helmet," I promised. "Besides, my boyfriend's an EMT. So if I ever have to come limping home, he'll patch me up."

"Boyfriend?" Ian laughed. "I hadn't ever thought of it like that."

"What else are you, then?"

Ian shrugged. "I'm your Ian," he said, smiling. "You're my Ashley. And I'll love you forever. So please, please be safe. . . Okay?"

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