Volume 2 - The Bookstore
The rain continues. Tess wakes softly and stokes the fire back to life. She heats some water and drops in a tea bag we found in the house. It’s become a small tradition—waking up to hot tea. She gently squeezes my shoulder.
“Hey, sleepyhead, it’s time to get up,” she says quietly.
I stir and sit up slowly on the edge of the mattress, shoulder to shoulder with Tess.
“Morning already?” I mumble, earning a small chuckle from her.
She hands me a warm cup of tea. I blow on it before taking a sip. Tess does the same, and we sit in comfortable silence for a while.
When we finish, Tess turns to me.
“I was thinking we should explore more of the city today. I bet there’s a library or bookstore we could borrow from.”
Tess and I both love to read. We found some books in the little house we’ve been staying in, but we finished them.
“That’s a great idea,” I say, a little excited.
She smiles and starts pulling on her boots and jacket. I follow shortly after.
We each grab our backpacks and check our food and supplies, just in case we get lost or can’t make it back tonight. We cover the packs with black garbage bags before slipping them on.
Outside, the smell of petrichor greets us, along with the sound of never-ending rain. Today the rain is heavier, muffling distant sounds and closing in the world, though not by much.
Gravel crunches underfoot as we walk side by side down the road. Our house sits on the edge of the city, where roots crack the asphalt and vines creep across concrete. Nature is taking back its own. We pass cars abandoned on the roadside, paint faded and rust pushing through. The outskirts feel eerie and liminal, though not dangerous. Occasionally, a squirrel or cat skitters away at our approach.
“Those poor animals are soaked,” Tess murmurs as another cat darts off.
“Yeah. They’re just trying to survive too… maybe they know what happened,” I say with a small laugh.
“Maybe,” she replies, eyes on the ground as we walk.
We push deeper into the city, stepping around puddles and streams. The buildings rise taller here—though not skyscrapers. We find an old bus stop with a bit of shelter and sit for a moment. My feet ache, and my fingers and toes are going numb. I rub my hands together to warm them and glance over at Tess.
“You doing okay?” I ask softly.
“Yeah, just… tired.”
I reach into my pocket for the city map. It’s vague and a little faded, but I point out a spot to Tess.
“That looks like a mall to me,” I say.
She nods, and I tuck the map away. We stand and keep moving.
The rhythm of rain, our footsteps, and steady breathing lulls us into a trance. Then—suddenly—a loud crash behind us rips through the calm. A shiver runs down my spine. Tess and I spin around, pulse hammering, breath quick and shallow.
To our relief, a plump raccoon waddles across the road and disappears down an alley.
“Jesus Christ,” I laugh quietly, “scared the shit out of me.”
Tess chuckles too and lets out a long, shaky breath.
Eventually we make it to the outdoor mall. Rain drips from the trees in the courtyard. We spot a quaint bookstore tucked between other shops. We walk over and peer through the dusty windows to see shelves well kept and lined with books.
I pull on the door and find it locked. I huff in frustration. Tess steps over, places her hand on my shoulder, and pushes the door open.
She smirks at me but doesn’t say anything as she steps inside. It smells exactly as you’d expect—old paper and dust. I close the door behind us, muffling the sound of the rain outside. Tess drifts up and down the aisles slowly, running her finger along the spines.
I take off my backpack and settle into a chair by the window, watching the rain fall. It’s easing up now, but like always, never stopping.
Tess finds a book and opens it to the first page. The dryness of the paper feels unusual after living so long in this wet, cold world. She hums softly as she reads.
We spend a long time in the bookstore, sharing a small snack in the chairs by the window as we read. The rain starts to fall heavier again, and the light fades through the gray clouds.
In that moment, I realize I haven’t seen the sun… ever. At least, not that I remember. The thought strikes me harder than I expect. I know the sun is there, but I’ve never seen it. Who told me about it? How did I even know?
“Hey,” Tess says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Still with me?”
I nod and smile. “Still here,” I say softly.
“We should probably get going soon.”
I groan as I stand and stretch. We place our books in our backpacks and cover them with the garbage bags again.
We take one last look around the bookstore, and I pull out my map to mark the location before we open the door and step back into the rain.
On the way home, the wind picks up, cutting straight through us. Tess folds her arms and hunches over to keep warm. I move closer, our shoulders brushing as we walk.
Eventually we make it back. Tess is freezing and shivering. I quickly take off my backpack and jacket and help her do the same. I guide her to sit on the edge of the mattress and wrap a thick wool blanket around her. Then I kneel at the fire and coax it back to life.
Tess’s lips are purple, and she can’t stop shivering. Slowly, the fire and blanket begin to warm her. I sit beside her and wrap my arm around her, using my body heat to help.
“I’m sorry, Tess,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize how cold you were.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a trembling voice. “I should’ve said something sooner.”
I hum softly, a sound of concern and empathy. I stay with her until her shivering subsides and the color returns to her lips. Then I guide her to lie down on the mattress, facing the fire. I stretch out beside her, my back against hers, and write in my journal, logging the day.
I fall asleep mid-sentence, the crackle of the fire and patter of the rain providing an inescapable lullaby.
✍️ Author’s Note
I really enjoyed writing this one! I tend to write as ideas come to me, without setting out with an end goal. This volume shows more of the world around them, but also gives us a glimpse of how the characters find small breaks from it. I especially loved writing the way they help each other through hardship—and, of course, the cheeky little moment with the narrator fumbling a push door.
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