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They likely knew, and they chose not to help.

And Julius had used it again to kill the Wastelanders at Ashburn. If it hadn’t been a bioweapon before, it was now, and who had access to it? What other horrifying inventions or experiments might still be tucked away somewhere, in one or more of the compounds? We didn’t even know how many there were.

These questions haunted me even as I tried to return to something like normal life. When September came and I was finally able to walk around a little without too much pain, I busied myself with easy activities like feeding the chickens, baking bread, or knitting winter clothes for our neighbours as a thank-you for all their help. It felt good to put effort into the business of everyday living again; it made me feel accomplished in a way I hadn’t felt back at the Delta.

It was a less convenient life at Summerhurst; nothing happened instantly, and there was always work to do. But it was simple, and quiet, and every night, when I slept in my own bed again with John’s big, warm body curled against mine, I knew I was loved. I knew it when he woke me early one morning and carried me down to the porch for teatime, even as I protested that he wasn’t supposed to strain his still-healing shoulder. He shrugged and ignored me, then snuggled with me on the porch swing until I forgot everything but how his arms felt around me.

I knew it when Kimmy and I chatted and giggled together in the kitchen as she told me all the details about her new relationship with Ayanna, and her wistful uncertainty about their next steps.

“She said I can call her over the radio,” Kimmy said with a sigh. “Set up a way to meet. But she’s gonna have her hands full. How do you date in the middle of a war?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But I know that you’ll figure it out, Kim. And you should—you deserve someone who’s good to you. And it sounds like she’s been very good to you.” I waggled my eyebrows.

She laughed and flushed. “You’re not wrong.”

Underneath our happiness at being home, however, we were all struggling in various ways to go back to normal. Kimmy adapted most easily, throwing herself back into work on the farm and in the clinic. John, unable to return to outrider duties immediately due to his injury, did what he could around the farm, but he was often quiet and brooding in a way that was unlike him. I felt a distance between us, even though he was still affectionate with me, holding me and pressing kisses on my forehead and cheek.

But John’s affection was chaste and somewhat detached. There was no crackle of electricity between us, the way I was used to. A month after we’d returned home, we still hadn’t made love since our last time in the compound. Some of that was because of my injuries; he didn’t want to hurt me. However, on some level, I sensed it was more than that. He comforted me, cared for me, but he never talked about his own feelings or his needs. He never ignored me, but he also never opened up the way he usually did, and when I asked him, he always claimed he was fine. We didn’t discuss the events at the Delta. He seemed mired deep in his own thoughts all the time, and while I wanted to give him space if he needed it, I worried about where those thoughts might take him.

To be fair, John was sinking a lot of his energy into trying to support me as I wrestled with the grief of losing my father—a wound that’d been reopened by everything I’d learned about his death. The loss of my whole family felt fresh again, and I was both afraid that I’d never see them again and afraid that I would. The grief came in random bursts, where one moment, I’d be kneading bread and the next, I’d be sobbing into John’s shoulder, unable to articulate exactly what had caused the turn. It wasn’t easy for either of us.

My nightmares returned with a vengeance. I dreamt of my father again, but we never spoke again the way we had before. Instead, I relived his execution, powerless to stop it. Then, I’d find myself inside the same silver pod, the door closing on me as the life was mercilessly drained out of my body.

“No, no, no,” I repeated, like a mantra. “Please—”

“Baby, you’re dreaming,” John’s soft, weary voice said by my ear. He wiped the tears and cold sweat that’d drenched my face with a gentle hand. “You’re okay. You’re home. Safe.”

I whimpered and snuggled close to his chest, and his arms encircled me. A deep sigh left him, and he stroked my hair idly. The dream hadn’t fully left me, and I buried my face in his bare chest. His warm skin and the soft beat of his heart was soothing. It was a pitch black, moonless night, and I could barely make out the outlines of his handsome face.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered eventually. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Again.”

“You didn’t,” John murmured, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Try to go back to sleep, my love. You need your rest. You need pain medicine?”

When I shook my head, he kissed my forehead and petted me in soft, tender strokes until sleep carried me away again.

The next time I awoke, it was because a forked flash of lightning lit up the bedroom, and an enormous crash of thunder soon followed. I groaned and shifted uncomfortably, wincing at my still-healing ribs. John’s side of the bed was rumpled, unmade, and empty, the bedroom door slightly ajar.

The hardwood floor was chilly under my bare feet as I walked into the corridor and then down the stairs. I didn’t hear anyone in the house; Kimmy was likely still asleep. Heavy rain pelted the windows in the foyer, and another boom of thunder reverberated in my chest.

I found my husband in the living room, reclining on the sofa. He still wore the loose linen pants he wore to bed, and he’d pulled a loose white t-shirt on over his lean, muscular torso. His hair was messy and his feet were bare as he watched the storm through the large windows, his gaze unfocused. He looked lost in thought, but he always did these days. His eyes didn’t move to me, but he knew I was there.

“What are you doing up?” I asked softly, sitting beside him on the edge of the sofa.

“I could ask you the same thing,” John replied, nudging me with his foot. “When I left you, you were dead to the world.”

As soon as he said it, he flinched, seeming to regret his choice of words. I enclosed his hand in mine, and he sighed wearily.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, sensing I wouldn’t let go of the question. “I was already awake when you woke up from your nightmare.”

“Hmm,” I hummed sympathetically. “Mind if I join you?”

John spared me a small smile. “Never.”

He parted his knees, letting me lie on top of him, my head resting on his chest. He’d washed clothes the day before and still smelled like laundry soap. It was oddly comforting—fresh, grounded, and domestic. He smelled and felt like home to me.

His hand came to rest at the base of my neck, cradling my head. Together, we observed the sky split open again with bright flashes of light, and listened to the inevitable crash that followed. The soothing sound of rain hitting the roof was a strange juxtaposition, calm and chaos competing for dominance.

“Nature’s show, Granddad always used to say,” John murmured, and I smiled.