The Remnants of Yesterday by Anthony M. Strong Page A

it really from Jeff? I had no idea. It was certainly his number, but that only meant someone was in possession of his phone. Hardly rock solid evidence of his survival, especially since the connection only seemed to work one way. For all I knew there was nothing waiting for us in New Haven, or worse, we were walking into some kind of trap. What other choice did we have? We had to take the chance. We couldn’t stay where we were, and south seemed as good a direction to go in as any. Maybe they had power. Maybe things were normal down there.
    “Any sign of trouble?”
    I turned to find Clara standing there. She quietly pulled the door to within a crack of closed and joined me at the railing.
    “Not so far,” I replied. “I haven’t heard or seen a thing in hours, unless you count a cat that ran across the parking lot about thirty minutes ago.”
    “Good.” She hugged herself. Once the sun went down, the temperature had gotten surprisingly chilly for the time of year.
    “You should probably be sleeping.”
    “I tried,” She said. “I laid there for over an hour staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t shut off. Darwin’s snoring didn’t help much either.”
    “He snores?”
    “Like a freight train.”
    “That sucks. Sorry about that.”
    “Just my luck. Emily didn’t seem to notice. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.” Clara paused for a moment as if trying to decide if she should continue. “What do you think about Darwin?”
    “He seems okay. A little flakey perhaps.”
    “Yeah.” She blew on her hands, and then rubbed them together. “I think we should be on our guard when we come across new people. We’ve been lucky so far, but there might be others out there with less altruistic motives.”
    “I was thinking the same thing. When we found that barn yesterday, I was sure Clay was going to shoot us. Thank the stars he had the good sense not to shoot first and ask questions later.”
    “The next time around we might not be so fortunate. If people are encountering those Crazies, they might not want to chance it.”
    “Food is going to get pretty scarce too. I don’t know how many survivors there are, but at some point they are going to start squabbling over provisions,” I said.
    “That thought occurred to me too.”
    “We might have to defend ourselves from more than just Crazies.” I touched the butt of the pistol.
    “I don’t want to think about that,” Clara said. “Can we talk about something else?”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, how about your book. The one you are going to get published.”
    “You mean the one I was going to get published. I doubt the offer still stands under the circumstances.” I felt a pang of regret at those words. For the first time it hit me that my labor of love, the novel I’d spent countless hours slaving over for almost two years, would never sit on a bookstore shelf, or reach the bestseller lists, or even have a single reader other than me.
    “Tell me about it, the book.” Clara moved closer, her arm brushing mine. “What’s it called?”
    “Promise you won’t laugh?”
    “Why would I?” she said.
    “When Dreams Were Done.” I spoke the name of the book, and that flicker of disappointment returned. “It’s a mix of fantasy and love story set in the twenties. My stab at literary fame.”
    “Sounds interesting.”
    “You haven’t read it yet.”
    “I’d like to.” She looked at me. “When this is all over.”
    “This might never be over,” I said. “Besides, I left my laptop locked in the trunk of the car back at the gas station.”
    “Too bad.”
    “What about you. How did you see your life going?”
    “Not like this, obviously. I’m not sure I had any concrete plans after school. I took literature because I love books, not because I had any great ideas for my future. Sounds kind of short sighted, huh?”
    “Not really. I’ve spent the last three years serving coffee. Hardly a stellar career