Dating After the End of the World - 13

Dad leads the way down into the basement, past the food storage and the holding cells, which I thought were completely unnecessary back when we were building them, but now I think they just might come in handy. Maybe I’ll lock Blake up in one of them and throw away the key. I try to tamp down the smile that starts to spread across my face at the thought of Blake behind bars.

We continue through an arched doorway and a tunnel, carved deep into the earth, illuminated by the warm amber glow of incandescent lighting. Up ahead, it opens up to a large, well-lit room, one that wasn’t completed when I was here. I enter behind my father, finding two people, a man and a woman with their backs to us, dressed in denim tuxedos, polishing guns at a table in the center of the room.

The walls are full of enough armaments to supply a small militia—hunting rifles, semiautomatic rifles, shotguns, handguns of all variety, and an assortment of melee weapons. There are rows of storage lockers and chests of drawers filled with what I’m sure is more of the same. Dad clears his throat and the two people turn to face us.

“Casey!” Aunt Julie says. It comes out like a question, like she can’t believe I’m standing in front of her.

Uncle Jimmy smiles at the sight of me. He’s a man of few words, always has been, so a smile is like having a whole conversation with him.

My aunt wipes her grease-covered hands on her jean jacket and embraces me. “We were all worried sick about you. I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says.

“I’m glad you both are too.” I smile as she releases me.

Uncle Jimmy pats me on the back and nods, sharing the same sentiment, no words needed. Growing up, my aunt and uncle lived more than two hours from us, so we only saw them for holidays and occasional birthdays for myself, Greg, or JJ. Even when we couldn’t make it to one another, my aunt Julie always sent gifts and cards in the mail, reminders that she and the family were thinking of me and my dad. They’re the salt of the earth, just good, hardworking, honest people. We stand in silence for a few beats, letting the moment seep in.

“What are you two up to?” Aunt Julie finally asks.

“Casey needs to practice shooting,” Dad says. “She’s rusty from living in the city all these years.”

“She can’t be any worse than Greg,” my uncle says with a smirk. When he does choose to speak his few words, it’s usually a joke or a small piece of wisdom.

Aunt Julie slaps him on the shoulder. “That’s your son you’re talking about.”

“Don’t remind me.” He chuckles.

She rolls her eyes, trying not to laugh along with him. Dad and I exchange a grin.

“We’re gonna head out to do some shooting too,” Aunt Julie says. She and Uncle Jimmy pick up their freshly polished guns, complete with suppressors to silence their gunfire. She slips a box of target ammo in the pocket of her oversized jacket.

“Sounds good. We’ll meetcha out there.” Dad steps out of the way to let them pass, their footsteps echoing through the bunker as they leave.

My father walks to one of the drawer chests and rummages through it, grabbing a couple of items. I can’t see what they are until he returns to the table positioned in the center of the room and sets them on it. Metal clinks against metal. He lifts his hand, revealing a stack of gold throwing stars. My fingers immediately begin to tingle at the sight of them. They were always my favorite.

“Think you still got it?” Dad raises a brow.

I pluck one from the table and flip it around in my hand, feeling the smooth, cold metal and the sharp, pointy edges. It’s like having a finger I thought I’d lost sewn back on. With these, I know I’ll be out on a supply run in no time, and I’ll prove to my father and Blake that they were wrong about me. I’m ready, I’m prepared, and I am more than capable. I know these woods like the back of my hand, and I’ve been training for this since Blake was still going through puberty.

So his days of bossing me around are numbered.

“Oh yeah,” I say with a smile.

Dad grins back proudly. “Well, let’s go find out.”