I helped Carmen wash the dishes in the quiet of the garden.
The night air had become colder since the sun went down. The Boardwalk beyond the damaged fence was mostly quiet now, though I could still hear distant voices from the night watch and the occasional scrape of someone moving supplies near the barricades.
Carmen had placed a torchlight on a shelf beside the back door.
Its weak yellow glow spread over the bucket of water, the dishes, and the small patch of garden that had survived the Screamer attack. The light flickered whenever the wind picked up.
Even though things were still awkward between Carmen and me, it felt better than before.
Not normal.
Not completely.
But better.
At least we were talking.
At least she had not shut me out.
I rinsed another bowl in the bucket, then looked toward the torchlight.
"I wonder how long these things will last," I said.
Carmen glanced up.
"The torchlights?"
"Yeah."
She gave a quiet chuckle.
"Hopefully as long as necessary."
