wormwood, pt. 32

Rosalind woke feeling refreshed, and for a while wouldn't open her eyes so she could pretend she still lived in a world that wasn't ending. For that moment, she was still in their apartment, Nicole playing guitar, and everything was right with the world.

It wasn't a particularly compelling fantasy. She opened her eyes, stretched, and sat up. Nicole was on the hood of the guitar, picking at the strings with a screwdriver, lost in a world that was probably a lot more pleasant than the one everyone else currently occupied. She glanced up and smiled when she heard the car door open, but didn't stop playing. Rosalind decided to take a look around.

The car was parked pretty well out of sight, hidden in a dark place but without anything likely to collapse on top of it. This was probably ideal, as the city had picked up a fair amount of foot traffic--she could dimly see shapes moving around, and fending off looters wasn't exactly her idea of a good time.

Then again, neither was waiting. This new world was full of unpleasant things. Too many variables, not enough control over any of them.

She kicked at a pile of rubble irritably and turned back to the car. Winston had probably got lost or killed, but she was still waiting for him for some reason--because he had some harebrained plan to get out of the city on some guy's boat. A plan she was sure would fail, but which had the advantage of being a definite way out of the city and away from the rest of civilization.

If it worked. It galled her that the only alternative she could think of was "drive out of the city" more than the fact that every scenario she envisioned ended in disaster. She had to have better ideas than this. Something which might end positively for all involved.

So she paced, never straying too far from the car, and thought. So much for the benefits of a restful sleep.