He takes it from me and eyes it with obvious skepticism. He plays with the elastic, stretching the waistband, and then it flies from his hands, zooming down the aisle. Dakh gives a snort of amusement.
“Here, take another pair.” I push them into his hands. “Just put them on, okay?” I point at the picture. “Like this, Dakh. Legs go in the holes.”
He regards the picture again, then glances over at me. “Dakh?” he asks, pointing at the man’s briefs.
“Yup. You wear them just like that.”
He tilts his head and then bends over and grabs the hem of my skirt, hauling it up.
I give a little scream, snatching it out of his hands. I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s checking to see if I’m wearing panties. “Oh no you don’t! I’m going to wear some, too, once I get a chance.” I wag a finger at him. “Just humor me, okay?”
He rumbles in his chest again, but this time it sounds rather grumpy. He studies the leg holes and tries to figure it out, studying the picture. While he’s focused, I rip open my own pair of panties and slide on a pair of cotton briefs under my long dress. Too loose again, but I’m thrilled to have fresh undergarments. It’s been years since I’ve had some. They’re definitely a luxury in the After. I study the bra I grabbed and then decide it’s probably too big and move over an aisle or two while Dakh has one leg—or both—in his underwear. I find a new bra—a pretty, lacy thing with pink satin panels and a delicate little bow that makes me feel happy and girly—and slide it on before I return to Dakh’s side a moment later.
The dragon-man’s figured out the briefs—finally—but he looks rather unhappy. He cups his dick, adjusting it, and shifts his weight back and forth on his legs, displeased.
“They don’t look too tight,” I tell him, amused. “Don’t be a baby. And you look good.” Though I have to admit that the sight of him in that underwear makes everything seem a little more pronounced. Heck, the guy on the package didn’t make them look half as mouthwatering as a dragon-man does. “If everything ever turns right side up again, you should look into underwear modeling. Not that there’s much of a chance of that happening.”
He still doesn’t look pleased but follows me when I turn the cart away, walking bow-legged. I’m really trying hard not to laugh.
I turn the cart down another aisle and see another endcap with a lonely can sitting on the end. A food can. A delighted little squeal escapes my throat, and I race forward, cart rattling, and stop to snatch the can. Pinto beans. Oh my god, I love beans. I grab the can of beans and blow the dust off, delighted. The expiration date is four years past, but I’m not picky. I hug the can close. I’m going to open it up and eat it. Even if it’s covered in mold, I’ll still take a chance. Food is food, and you learn not to care how awful or expired the food is when it’s the difference between starving and eating. “I love this place,” I tell Dakh wistfully. “I want to stay here forever.”
It’s paradise.
“Sa-cha?” Dakh comes to my side, eyeing the can.
“This is food, Dakh,” I tell him excitedly. I hold up the can and then make a miming gesture. “Food! We can eat this for dinner tonight.”
He takes the can from my hands, sniffs it, and then lightly flicks his tongue against it and gives me an odd look.
“No, no,” I giggle. “There’s food inside. We have to open it.” All of my gestures to explain that don’t seem to work all that well, though, because he just looks even more confused. “We need more like this! We have to find more.” I gesture at the can again. “More like this. Help me find them.” I circle the endcap, looking for more cans. Clothing suddenly seems less important if there’s food around. Because clothes are one thing, but food is vital.
Dakh starts to look around, too, and then races away a few feet. He returns a moment later, brandishing a can with a look of pleasure on his face.
I take it from him, delighted—only to see the picture of a German shepherd staring back at me. Yick. Dog food. But Dakh looks so happy to give me the gift that I suspect we’ll be having dog food with dinner tonight. “Thank you, Dakh. This is great.” I add the cans to my cart. “Let’s see what else we can find!”
As we head down one of the big main aisles, it’s clear that someone’s been through here before us. It’s not surprising, considering things. Most of the food endcaps are pretty picked over, or they’ve rotted away into inedible messes. A few boxes of cookies look like rats have gotten to them, because there are shreds all over the floor and counter, and not much else.
That’s all right, though. There’s an entire store to explore, and if we’ve found two cans of food, there’s bound to be more that we can eat.
As we venture on, I keep filling the cart. There’s plastic dishes. Forks. Knives. Hairbrushes. Sneakers. Warm, fuzzy socks. Sunglasses—I put them on just because it amuses me, and then Dakh steals them and tries to put them on himself. He looks a bit like a rock star in his tighty-whities and sunglasses and nothing else, until he does that tight, awkward walk that tells me he’s not used to wearing underpants, and then I start giggling again.
I’m still laughing as we turn down another aisle, and then I gasp.
Jackpot.
9
SASHA
I move past the faded rows of magazines toward the paperbacks lined up on the shelves. My hand moves over the once-glossy covers, touching the images of glamorous couples in exciting landscapes. Romance novels. Oh my God, it’s been so long since I’ve read one, and there are dozens here. I clutch one to my chest, thrilled, and then grab another and stick it in the cart. A few of the books have been attacked by mice and rats, but there are plenty that are intact, and I start shoving them into the cart, pausing to read the back descriptions with sheer joy. Oh, a highlander romance. I love those. And there’s one with a sheikh, and a billionaire.
They might as well be fairy tales at this point, but I don’t care. I love them. I can’t wait to escape into their pages for a few hours.
Dakh picks one up, sniffs it—he seems to be sniffing everything—and then flicks at the pages. I hear paper tearing.
I shriek and jerk it out of his hands. “No! Dakh! Don’t rip them! They’re stories!”