“I thought you said there wasn’t any danger?”

“No, I said there weren’t any grizzlies,” Koda replies, smirking. “Stay here a second. I’ll be right back.”

Confident in being obeyed, Koda steps easily forward and nudges the door open with the nose of her weapon. It gives way grudgingly, squealing its protest via its one rusted hinge. The strong odor of animal spoor assaults her nostrils, but the scent is nowhere near as strong as it would be had it been currently occupied, so she relaxes and steps inside. Aside from the aforementioned spoor and spiderwebs festooning the corners like forgotten party streamers, the shack is abandoned. Warped floorboards bear dark stains and the walls have jagged cracks running through them, but even so, the place seems relatively sound for all that.

“Wowza. A little ripe, huh?” Kirsten’s voice sounds beside her left elbow and she turns her head to gaze down into the shining emeralds of her partner.

“I thought I told you to stay put?”

“So you did,” is the complacent reply. “The fault in your logic is thinking that I’d actually obey. And since I’m the President and you’re only the chief cook and bottle washer, well….” Kirsten’s tone is light and playful. “Besides, I didn’t want you having any fun without me.”

“Oh yeah. Fun.”

Setting her rifle to stand in one corner, Koda, after a questioning eyebrow toward her partner, liberates Kirsten of her walking stick and walks to the good-sized fireplace taking up almost one entire wall. Squatting on her haunches, she maneuvers the stick up the chimney and pokes. A soft rain of elderly, almost white ash filters down, together with sticks, twigs, leaves, and part of a very old bird’s nest, sans birds. “Flue’s clear.” With a nod of satisfaction, she hands Kirsten back her stick and rises gracefully to her full height, dusting off her hands. “I’ll go out and get us some firewood before the storm gets much worse, then we’ll figure out how to close off that window and get some warmth in here.”

“Hang on a second,” Kirsten says, unshouldering her pack, unzipping it, and pulling out one of their tightly rolled blankets. “Throw this around your shoulders. It’s too damn cold out there to be walking around in just a shirt.”

“Best to keep our blankets dry,” Koda counters. “See if my heavy flannel is in there. I won’t be out long.”

Digging further, Kirsten comes up with Koda’s thick, lined flannel shirt, and she tosses the garment over. She watches as her lover shoulders it on and flips her braid out from beneath the neckline. “Be careful out there, alright?”

Koda responds by kissing her lightly; a kiss which quickly deepens as their bodies realize exactly, to the very second, how long it has been since they have last made love. The nights of late have found them both so bone tired that it has been all they can do just to strip and slide into their joined sleeping bags before falling deeply asleep, huddled closely together. “Hold that thought.” Koda’s voice is suspiciously husky as they finally break for air, hearts pounding in tandem.

“Hurry back,” Kirsten replies on a breath that is just as ragged.

*

The wind howls as it soughs through the trees like an express train headed east. Already, half an inch coats the summer-warm ground, and more accumulates as the seconds pass. Practically snow-blind by the driving blizzard, Koda hunts for firewood on instinct, straying near the deciduous trees with their new growth covered in crystals of virgin white. Within twenty minutes, she has all the wood she can carry bundled in a more or less neat stack, and is silently thanking her father for many such a chore in her growing-up years. She picks her way carefully through the newfallen snow, her inate sense of direction leading her surely to the small shack in the middle of nowhere that they’ve chosen as their temporary—she hopes—shelter.

“Get in here!” Kirsten shouts to be heard over the shriek of the wind, all but pulling Dakota through the doorway. “God, you’re soaked all the way through!”

“That’ll be remedied soon enough,” she replies, walking to the fireplace and setting down the branches she’s managed to forage. Her fingers, quite numb from the cold, are sluggish to cooperate and Kirsten, seeing this, kneels down to help, scowling at her.

“You just get out of those soaked clothes. I’ll start the fire.”

Koda’s stiffening knees send out twin bolts of pain as she rises, and she walks gingerly back to where Kirsten has laid their packs, rummaging about for some warm, dry clothing. She takes in a deep breath, and is pleasantly surprised at the vast reduction in rank odor permeating the place. “Nice,” she hums.

“House-cleaning for backwoods shacks 101,” Kirsten replies, shaking out a wooden match from the waterproof tube and lighting it on the first strike. “Find a branch with dead leaves—instant broom.”

“Learned that from the felonious Martha did you?”

“Ha. Ha. I’ll have you know that beneath my bookish looks and geeky charm lurks a genuine Rosie the Riviter.”

“Mm,” Koda’s liquid voice sounds right next to her ear, “I like your bookish looks and geeky charm.”

“Jesus!” Kirsten utters, as much at the sudden onrush of hormones as at the fact that she has almost burned herself to a crisp. “Honey, I love you, but I think I learned in Girl Scouts that it’s unwise to seduce someone when they’re trying to start a fire. At least…one in a fireplace.”

“Interesting troop you belonged to, canteskuye.”

“You have no idea,” Kirsten purrs, this time managing to get the tinder to light underneath the larger branches and logs.

“What else did they teach you?”

Kirsten shoots her a coy look from beneath partially lowered lashes. “Get out of those cold, wet clothes, and you just might find out.”

“You must have gotten the incentivising for fun and profit merit badge.”

“Frist time out,” Kirsten replies smugly. “Now scoot!”

“Consider me scooted.”

As she turns away, Koda notices another improvement in the shack. Kirsten has used her bright yellow rain poncho as a windbreak, using their roll of duck tape to lash it securely over the hole masquerading as a window. Added to the now burning fire, the warmth is palpable, and Koda lets go a shiver as the pins and needles of sensation rush into her warming skin.

“You okay?” Kirsten asks, moving over to her side and helping her remove the sopping garments.

“Getting better. Nice job with the window, Rosie. Have any more talents you haven’t shared?”

“Maybe one or two,” Kirsten replies, grinning. “However, they still don’t include cooking worth a squat so…any suggestions?”

“Trail rations, at least for tonight. And some hot tea to wash them down with.”

Kirsten’s lips mou. “I could have done that.”

“True,” Koda replies, pretending to consider. “I suppose I could open the door and invite a couple of rabbits to hop into the stew pot—assuming we had one—but I think, personally, that they’d rather take their chances with the blizzard.”

“Mm. You have a point there. Tell you what, I’ll scare up our jerkey and crackers, and you heat up the water for tea. Sound fair?”

“More than.” Slipping on her loose sweatpants, she moves to their gear and pulls out the stacked cooking gear they picked up from the camping store, pours some water from one of their canteens into the largest pot, and sits it on the heath to warm. After setting out a couple of tea-bags, she moves to the door and, with a bit of effort, manages to get it seated more or less securely into its swollen, warped frame. By the time she’s completed that task, the water is gently steaming in its pot, and she returns to the fireplace and pours the water into two travel mugs, allowing the tea to steep.

Kirsten has already laid their sleeping bags atop a thick blanket, and has used a second blanket to cover the blackened floor. Their simple fare sits atop this blanket, several pieces of jerky, a tube of crackers, and some cheese she’d liberated from a holiday basket some weeks back. It’s not a feast, no, but when she thinks about it, it’s not too different from the cardboard tasting microwave dinners she’d used to eat when she was living in the lap of civilization—when she remembered to eat at all, that is.

And, she thinks, looking over at the beauty who comes to sit comfortably by her side, tea mugs in hand, the company is infinitely preferable.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Koda remarks, tossing a piece of jerky to Asi, who sets to with vigor.

“Is that the going rate these days?” She chuckles. “Actually, I was just sitting here thinking that there could be worse places to be than holed up with you in some shanty eating cold food and waiting out a blizzard.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Home, for instance. I mean…the home before all this started.”

Koda thinks for a moment. “What would you be doing if you were there instead of here?”

“What is it, about six or so?”

“Thereabouts.” Neither wears a watch, but, as with many things in this brave new world, they’ve learned to get by without them.

“I’d probably still be at work. I never left much before nine or so.”

“Hillary kept you running ragged, huh?”

Kirsten smiles. “Nah. I was pretty much a workaholic anyway. I was doing something I loved, and there really wasn’t anything for me back home…”—she is interrupted by a rather outraged whine—“except for Asimov, of course, I’d never forget you boy.” She ruffles him behind the ears, earning a grunting acceptance of her oblique apology. “How ‘bout you?”

“Mm, pretty much the same thing,” Koda remarks around a mouthful of tea. “I usually kept my clinic open till late. More often than not, Wash or one of my other brothers would be down helping, and I’d drive them back home and take dinner with the family. I’d usually hang out with them for a bit, see if there were any chores that needed doing, then drive home. One last check of my patients, and I’d head to the house for bed.” She shrugs. “With Tali gone, there really wasn’t much else to do.”