March 2009 — Sentry

The rising sun squinted over the smoldering skyline, and Jessie raised her head to acknowledge the dawn. There was no accompanying brightness or warmth with the start of a new day, only a lightening of the gray that permeated the world. The city, the streets, the trees, her skin, everything was of ash. Everything but the warm lump of baby cradled in the crook of her arm. Gray-dyed as he was, Aaron still smiled and then color emerged in her world again.

Jessie sat on a chill concrete floor beside a shattered window. Shards of glass littered the floor, some of the remnants as wide as her hand. It would have been safer to lurk nearer the interior of the building, but the dark scared her even more than it used to, and now there were no nightlights. There was also the man, and he rested a room away barricaded behind two thick tables and a metal desk. He had brought some comfort since he found them three days past. She had been weak, her milk supply dwindling. He guided her here, let her eat from his stockpiles of canned foods, and from behind his camouflage of grime he studied her as she strengthened. She didn’t like his eyes. She didn’t like his bunker or his invitations of shared warmth. She didn’t like the world as it had become, but it was still hers.

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