The camp is larger than you imagined—about 46 yards across—with its borders delineated by smooth white stones. It is nestled between two rivers, one to the south and one to the east, with a small hill dividing it into two parts. To the north a mountain rests, dormant behind the ramshackle huts, a silent guardian overlooking its fertile valley. Serenity lulls over the land like mist. “Welcome home,” Connor says as he rests a friendly hand on your shoulder. You smile at him and he grins back, chipped tooth peeking out.

The first thing you notice about the camp is the distinct lack of people. You definitely remember Dave and Connor talking about other people, and that they were supposedly living here, so what gives? It’s almost sundown, they should be here.

Dave, reading your mind, says, “Everyone’s out on scavengin’ and huntin’ trips. Sana should be around here somewhere, though, she stayed to watch camp. I told you that already—don’t ya remember?” His ability to answer questions you don’t speak aloud is still off-putting.

You nod and use the time it takes Connor and Dave to unpack to explore camp. It’s nearing the end of the day, and the sun is starting to sink behind the hill, meaning you came from the south. In front of you rests a firepit, a circle of rocks and soot marred only by the pounding of feet. There is an unusually flat log and a stump nearby, probably used for seating and as makeshift tables, as well as a large willow tree sleeping where the two rivers meet.

Everything looks well-used and well-loved; the mosaic of footprints around the remains of many fires tells more stories than any novel ever could. There are a few tarp-covered lean-tos nearby, constructed from garbage bins that have probably seen better days.

It feels homey. You smile to yourself.

Harley is close to you, meandering slowly along the edge of camp, inspecting the plants. She has a broad leaf in her hands and she strokes it as she goes. Her mouth is moving and you hear sounds coming from the depths of her bosom but she is not saying words, or at least not words you understand. She speaks her own language, you gather, a language born of solitude and overstimulation.

Captain is lurking, stalking through the camp like a tiger in search of bleeding prey. They appear to be doing something similar to Harley but it’s somehow more annoying. Their eyes scan every hut and lean-to.

You shake your head and stop watching them. They sometimes give you the willies with those intense, lingering stares and resting bitchface. The second thing isn’t really their fault, you reason, but they certainly don’t try to change it either.

The two men go up the hill, and gesture for the three of you to follow.

Upon the hill there is a half-circle of huts, a lone tent, and a canopy tent with large Tupperwares and garbage bags underneath it. Dave explains, “Since Argo’s not here, y’all won’t be able to get your own huts yet. He’s the one who builds ‘em, and despite a master’s in mechanical engineerin’, Connor can’t make ‘em anywhere near as well as Argo.” Connor huffs good-naturedly at this. “So for now, y’all can crash in your tents. Argo will build y’all huts when he and Rowdy get back.”

That makes sense.

“Oh my, you really did find more people,” A soft voice says from behind you, and you jump slightly, spinning around to face the source. It’s a small woman with dark skin and hair hidden beneath a flowery hijab, face tranquil and nervous at the same time. Honestly, she’s beautiful.

“Everyone, meet Sana. She used to be a lawyer, you know,” Connor announces with a grin, eyeing Sana cheekily.

Sana rolls her eyes, “Oh shoosh, you. Nice to meet you, everybody. I’m Sana.”

You introduce yourself and Harley, who waves happily at the other girl. Captain looks annoyed but still introduces themself after Dave side-eyes them.

Your stomach growls loudly and everyone looks at you, surprised. Dave laughs, “Hungry, huh? Let’s get started on dinner.” You nod, cheeks burning, and follow the man back down the hill.

At the firepit, Dave smiles at you fondly, soft features illuminated with a radiant grin. “So, I’ve been thinkin’,” He starts, head tilted to the side, eyes locked on yours, “Maybe you should take over cookin’ duty. You seem to really know what you’re doin’, and Connor honestly hates cookin’, but he’s been stuck doin’ it because he’s the only one who doesn’t ruin the food one way or another. He’s, ah, certainly no Gordon Ramsey, but he’s doin’ his best. I was hopin’ you could relieve him of kitchen duty.”

The way Dave speaks is almost musical, words cascading from his mouth like the soothing waters of the Styx. His syllables lilt and flow, and you find yourself swept up in the rhythm of his cadence. You have to pull yourself out of the current with a shake of your head. Dave blinks at you.

“What?”

He laughs, a loud and boisterous sound that burrows into your bones. Your cheeks heat up and you look away, but if the affection in his eyes says anything, Dave is unfazed by your distraction. You assume he’s used to it.

“Would you be willin’ to take over kitchen duty? Connor kinda hates it and I’m startin’ to think you were a cook or somethin’ before the whole apocalypse thing started.” He asks softly, doing his best not to pressure you.

At this point, you notice that Connor did not follow the two of you, despite him being in charge of cooking. Maybe Dave’s been thinking about asking you this for a while now.

Honestly, you think he might be right about you being a chef. Something about cooking seems right to you, in the most visceral way.

“Yeah, uhm.” You pause. “I think you’re right about that. I’m not really sure if I was a chef or if it was a hobby or whatever, but I really liked helping Connor, so sign me up.”

Dave grins again, “Thanks, Flash.”

He leads you over to one of the lean-tos made from worn out plastic garbage bins. Dave explains that Connor made it, of course, and his voice brims with pride. The lean-to is covered in a thick beige tarp, which flaps gently in the light wind, and houses all the non-perishable food items the survivors managed to scrounge up. There are towers of cans—beans, spinach, fruit cocktail, corn, chicken noodle soup, spam, you name it—and stacks of cereal boxes, cheezits, hamburger helper, and other dry goods behind the can towers.

Seeing the cans in front makes you wonder if that was a smart move, but you don’t know where you would’ve put them so you say nothing.

Dave admits to breaking the windows of quite a few Walmarts to get all this stuff, but they seem pretty well off for apocalypse survivors living in huts in the mountains, so he can’t complain. “There’s not as much as it looks,” He tells you quietly, “Connor and I ain’t sure this’ll last us through the winter. You any good at makin’ food last?”

You think about it and figure, yeah, sure, you got this. Honestly, you’re not sure, but you can’t let Dave down, can you? You tell Dave you got it covered and he grins at you.

“Alright,” He claps you on the back, “What did you have in mind for tonight’s dinner? There’s only six of us tonight, so we should use somethin’ we don’t have a lot of. We got some deer meat from the last hunt, but other than that all we got are these nonperishables.” He gestures toward the lean-to and you nod, crouching down to inspect the contents.

Way in the back of the lean-to you find packages of dried spices and herbs, courtesy of Sana, apparently. You grin and silently thank the woman for nabbing virtually every flavoring imaginable. You can do a lot with a good curry base and she really came through for you on that front.

“Dave,” You say, more confident that you were before, “I think I can make all this last a good few weeks. If y’all continue to hunt and bring me meat and stuff, we can make this last a long ass time.”

He grins the most radiant grin you’ve ever seen, as if the clouds parted for the first time in the history of the planet and your infant eyes met with the naked sun. “Glad to hear it.”

You blush and you don’t know why.

The two of you go back and forth for some time before deciding to make the last two boxes of hamburger helper. Hopefully it’ll taste okay with deer meat.

Dave leaves you to your devices and wanders off to where Connor is working on what looks like a car engine, wrapping a tan arm around wide shoulders. The shorter man rests his head against the taller man’s deltoid and you can see Connor’s back visibly relax, all tension evaporating. You raise an eyebrow but say nothing, turning back to the lean-to and getting started on dinner.

A lot of the pots and pans you find under a different tarp nearby are rusted and have holes, which—in retrospect—you should’ve suspected, but didn’t. This makes your life decidedly more difficult but you don’t mind all that much. You take mental note to talk to Dave about it; perhaps another Walmart trip is in order. Camping supplies would do everyone a lot of good.

You cook mindlessly, muscle memory taking over as you wonder how close the nearest Walmart is. Would it be empty? It’s been G-d knows how long since the war started, so there might not be anything left. You envision a dark, endless Walmart with broken windows and empty shelves. You shudder.

As it turns out, hamburger helper tastes just fine with deer meat. The meal earns you a masculine pat on the back from Connor and you’re overcome with pride. You beam.

Serving yourself some food, you wander over to where Harley is relaxing beside the lean-to. She smiles warmly at you and pats the grass beside her. You grin and plop down next to her, resting your chipped plate on your lap. She says nothing, of course, and just hums before tucking back into her rice. You find yourself grateful for the silence.

The two of you finish your meals and still do not speak, lounging back to sprawl in the grass. You break the silence to point out the funny clouds and Harley giggles at every one. Honestly, you’re not all that funny, so you’re glad she finds you amusing. Seriously—you said one cloud looked like a dead goat and she still laughed. A warm feeling settles in your chest.

Sana comes over to collect your plates and explains that everybody takes turns doing the dishes. You wonder whose idea that was. Probably Dave’s.

You watch lazily as she approaches the too-flat log by the south river, stacking your plates with the others before wandering back to the lean-to to get a bottle of liquid dish soap. You guess it’s another spoil from many a Walmart trip.

Harley makes a small sound next to you, and look at her, concerned. She is gaping at the sky, enraptured. You look up.

Orange streaks bleed into the blue of the sky as the sun makes her descent, illuminating camp with an otherworldly glow. You sit up, as does Harley, and the two of you stare beyond the hill where the huts lie. You can almost see Apollo’s golden chariot shimmering in the eventide.

“It’s beautiful,” You whisper, mostly to yourself.

“It is…” Harley breathes beside you.

You look at her.

“You can talk?”

She looks at you.

“I can talk?”

You both shoot up to your feet.

“I can talk!!” She beams, launching herself at you for a hug.

You hug her back with everything you have, and you both laugh joyously and spin around. You were really starting to worry about her—Dave said it could take a while but it’s been days.

Speak of the devil, Dave saunters over to you two after hearing the racket. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

You and Harley glance giddily at one another before Harley exclaims, “Dave!! I can talk!”

“Oh my G-d!! That’s great, Harley, I’m so proud of you!!!,” The doctor’s grin is so genuine it makes you feel dirty in comparison. He gathers you both into a great big bear hug. “This works out because I needed to talk to you two! I already told Captain, but y’all need to know too.”

He stretches his back and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, “Walk with me for a second.” You both nod and follow him up the hill.

He gestures toward the large canopy tent in the middle of the circle of huts. It is weighed down with colorfully painted boulders and protects what look like bags of garbage from the rain and sun, and you raise an eyebrow at the doctor. Is this really the best solution for waste management? Dave, of course, reads your mind, and says, “It’s not garbage. The bags are full of shoes! If you do a little diggin’ you’ll find the tupperwares in there somewhere—they have clothes and toiletries and bedding and stuff. You should find anything and everything you need. Just grab whatever you want and take it back to where y’all wanna set up your tents. I’ll get Connor to get ‘em out for y’all.

“He and I are in that tent at the west end of camp if you need anything. It’s obviously not time for bed yet but I thought y’all’d want time to settle in. Meet us out at the firepit when you’re done, we’ll celebrate everyone’s safe arrivals and Harley’s ability to talk,” He walks off with a wave, leaving the two of you to dig through the mountain of supplies.

As you open Tupperware after Tupperware, you slowly but surely find clothes big enough for you. You and Harley are similar sizes, so anything large and feminine you hand to her—you only really want to wear plain shirts and shorts. You end up with a few tee shirts but freeze when you see a large purple hoodie. That’s it, you think to yourself, that’s your new look. You love hoodies and you love purple and you know you will never take that thing off.

You end up with deodorant, soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a razor, your hoodie, 4 tee shirts, 8 pairs of boxers, 3 pairs of shoes, and 5 pairs of shorts. A decent score, all things considered. You’re elated beyond reason about getting your hands on that toothbrush, so all the other stuff is just extra, honestly.

You pile your haul onto a particularly large tee shirt and bundle it all up for the short walk to where you plan on setting up your tent.

Looking around, you spot Connor, watching amusedly as he wrestles with his hiking pack. “Come out, damn you!” He groans, trying to extract the tents from the depths of the bag. “This was so easy before, what the fuck.”

Heading over, you open your mouth to offer your assistance when he falls backward, tent in hand. “Ha!” He exclaims victoriously, “Suck on that!” You try to stifle your laughter but he hears you anyway, turning around with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hey, bud! This one’s yours.”

You bow lowly, “Thank you, kind sir.”

He cackles and claps you on the back, “You see, that’s why I like you, Flash. You’re a riot.”

Blushing, you smile shyly at him and take the tent from his gloved hands. He turns to pull the next two out of the pack and you walk over to where you set down your bundle of supplies.

After the hike from the bunker, you’re pretty much an expert when it comes to tent assembly, and you put yours up quickly. Harley struggles, so you offer her a helping hand. You erect her tent near yours and she thanks you with a big grin, gathering her armload of supplies and ducking into her tent. You do the same.

You sit in your tent for a moment, organizing all your toiletries and clothes. An idea strikes you and you climb out of the tent, wandering over to the canopy tent, intent on finding something to sleep on. After some digging, you find a lime green sleeping bag and two pillows. You deliver one of the pillows to Harley and take the bag and other pillow to your tent.

Now it feels complete, and you smile to yourself.

After relaxing for a few minutes you emerge from your tent once again, following your nose down to the firepit where Connor is trying to pop popcorn in a frying pan. The acrid scent of burnt kernels makes you a little nauseas.

Gently pushing him aside, you take over, dumping out all the burnt kernels and transferring the intact ones to a lidded pot with some oil. Connor complains good-naturedly, teasing you for being a ‘master chef’.

The popcorn is delicious and you all munch down happily. Dave is tossing pieces into Connor’s mouth, and doing a damn good job of it—Connor only misses one piece.

Everyone, save Captain of course, celebrates Harley’s rebirth with white wine. When Dave reveals the half-full bottle of Moscato like an offering to the Oracle, you can’t help but grin, filling your chipped Yankees mug with sweet nectar. You toast, clinking the mismatched glassware together and losing yourselves in the saturnalia.

Connor sings while everyone claps in rhythm, Dave dancing clumsily while Captain stalks up the hill. Harley joins Connor in song with her husky voice, stumbling over the words but grinning the entire time.

It’s dark before you know it but you don’t mind. The crackling fire illuminates the firepit with an ethereal glow, and if you’re being honest you’re a fan of the aesthetic.

The five of you finish the bottle of wine quickly, all buzzed but not quite drunk. Intent to remedy this, Connor whips out a secret bottle of Hennessy, determined to enjoy the night to the fullest. Everyone laughs and cheers and gulps the liquor down.

Sana pulls a deck of cards out from… somewhere, and suggests a drinking game. Everyone agrees and she sets up Ring of Fire. No one can quite remember the rules so you make them up, which turns out to be a lot more fun anyway.

“What’s one mean?” You ask dumbly, realizing a beat too late that it’s an ace not a one.

“Gun!” Shouts Connor and you laugh as he pretends to shoot you with his fingers.

You dramatically grasp your abdomen, “Oh no! You got me!” Fighting to keep a smile off your face, you flop into the dirt, making obscene choking sounds as Connor laughs so hard he wheezes.

“I guess one is gun now, but you have to outdo Flash’s academy award-winning performance,” Sana quips through her giggles. Laughter envelops the firepit as everyone agrees, watching on as Dave draws a card. He holds up a five. There is silence as you all try to come up with something funny.

After a moment, Harley suggests, “Jive?” Dave cackles, standing up and doing the goofiest dance moves you think you’ve ever seen. He reminds you of a white dad at a barbeque.

Realistically, even between the five of you, it’s very likely that no one remembered a single real Ring of Fire rule. That doesn’t matter much anyway—the point of Ring of Fire is to laugh your ass off and drink, and you’ve all done plenty of that.

Soon enough, there are five drunk idiots stumbling around camp, trying to find their beds in the scant moonlight.

You barely manage to collapse in your tent, falling asleep right on top of your lime green sleeping bag.

oOo

You awaken when your stomach rolls, nausea making you curl up into a ball. When it becomes clear to even your ethanol-laden brain that you need to empty your stomach, you manage to tell up from down long enough to sit up.

It’s dark out still, so you figure it’s the middle of the night. The moon casts her pale light across camp and you manage to spot a thick bush.

Clambering out of the empty tent, you stumble over to the bush and puke into it. Bile and congealed booze pass your lips and you choke. Collapsing onto all fours, you retch until nothing but saliva drips from your gaping mouth. You really should’ve drank some water instead of that obscene amount of who-knows-how-old Hennessy.

Flopping onto the cool grass, you hold your head in your hands, dizzy beyond belief.

After a few minutes of stillness, the ground feels solid beneath you, and you manage to stand. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and wander back into camp.

Your head is spinning and your eyes are half closed but you make it into a tent nonetheless, unceremoniously flopping down next to a pink sleeping bag and passing out once again.