XVI
There’s a house ahead of us. I’ve seen no smoke around it, but it might not be empty. The high fence around it might be enough to keep out the Ragers.
We should reach it by sunrise. A week or two ago, we would have made it in a couple of hours, but Emilia is so slow now that even sunrise might be a push. She stops constantly, clutching her back or head. She’s even started talking to me again, but it’s only to complain that she’s tired. I’m not surprised; she even wakes us in the night with her constant moving.
I think what most irritates me about her now is that she refuses to eat. I suppose she feels guilty about the weight she’s put on. But more than that, when she does eat, half the time she is sick almost immediately. She’s not showing other signs of infection, but I don’t like being near her.
We trudge onward. There are no lights in the windows of the little building, not even the flicker of candles. Perhaps it will be safe after all. Perhaps our biggest problem now is how we will haul Emilia over the fence.
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A Writer's Life for Me 