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Bodey’s revelation dimmed under the weight that John didn’t feel about me the same way I’d grown to feel about him. He’d become like my dad which was saying something since I’d loved my own father so much. John had filled that hole in my heart and I was a little disappointed he didn’t feel the same way.
    Shrugging off the pressure of having unreciprocated feelings, I assessed what needed to be done in the camp. I didn’t cook every night. Bodey was in charge of looking for food. After John would set up the fire pit and start the flames, I would help Bodey cook whatever he found – plants of some kind, bugs, animals – if we were lucky – or even bark we boiled in water and drank like broth. We weren’t above anything, if we could pretend it were edible and tasty.
    I dug in my pockets and handed the packets of oatmeal to Bodey who fingered them in surprise. “Oh, this is great. Good find.” We fell into a task-oriented silence.
    “I have a surprise tonight.” John broke the hushed hurriedness around our concentrated work. Was he going to surprise us with a yes? Or a no? His answer was the only thing I wanted.
    Bent over, I didn’t look his way, stacking fallen twigs and broken chunks of wood in my arms.
    “When I was packing this morning, I found a packet of jerky in the bottom of my bag. We must have forgotten the meat was in there when we moved a few weeks ago. I emptied out all our bags to check for excess moisture and repacked them. The jerky was a nice surprise.” He chuckled, scraping rocks on each other as he set up the fire circle.
    Jerky. We hadn’t had meat in a while. My stomach growled on cue and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to eat. For the first time in I couldn’t remember how long, I didn’t want to eat. Nausea blocked my hunger pangs. While I was grateful for the relief from pain in my food-starved stomach, the nausea didn’t feel much better.
    “Oh wow, that sounds great. Kelly just handed me some oatmeal she’d found. Should be a gourmet meal tonight.” Bodey called back from just outside the circle.
    We usually tried being quiet when we made camps in the middle of the woods. The first couple of months we didn’t because there were more people out and about and we needed to set up good trading networks. But as medication became scarce, people ran out of their insulins and other necessities, and the few survivors there were dropped to a small percentage of what they’d been.
    Nine out of ten people died. At least that’s the statistic John threw out at us about eight months ago. He’d been keeping notes of how many bodies we came across versus how many survivors there were. I’m not sure of his mathematical equations, but the numbers made sense considering even minor infections could kill you without access to antibiotics.
    We danced around the topic of Bodey and me. Our future and what John’s thoughts were. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want his opinion to matter so much. But it did and I as long as I didn’t speak, I could hide how much.
    My hands shook and I dropped the wood to the side of the half-finished pit. Pulling out our blankets, I yawned. So much anxiety piled on top of the normal everyday stress made me more tired than normal. One thing I didn’t have problems with, sleeping. I could sleep anywhere and usually did.
    Slight crackling signaled the growth of the fire and I turned from my task. With the sinking of the sun, the September evening chill bit irritatingly through my jeans and at my hands. The warmth’s draw was stronger than my pride. I crouched beside Bodey and we held out our hands to the strengthening flames.
    All three of us watched the oranges and yellows flicker and dance in the growing dark. That was the moment when our situation slammed into reality every night. I wanted a shower, but I wouldn’t get to be extremely clean again until we found water and a safe place to dry completely again. I hadn’t swum since July and I hadn’t