2 Rms Riv Vu
By Jeff Baker
“Very nice,” Marjorie said.
“I thought you’d like it,” Trey said.
“Spacious living room,” she said, glancing at the hole in the carpeted living room floor.
“The hole’s a nice touch,” he said.
“Any electricity?” she asked.
“No, but look at this.” Trey twisted the handle of the kitchen faucet which spat and gurgled until water flowed in a steady stream.
“Running water!” Marjorie gasped.
“They must still be manning the water works I guess,” Trey said, turning off the faucet.
“It’s not safe to drink is it?” she asked.
“We could boil it,” Trey said. “Build a fire outside. That’s how we’d have to cook anyway.”
“Just as well this place isn’t hooked up for gas,” she said, glancing at the old electric stove there in the kitchen. “Anyway I think I still have one of those water testing kits in my bag.”
“I knew there was a reason I married you,” Trey said with a grin. The two of them sat by the big hole in the living room and kissed.
“Love, honor and cherish,” Marjorie said between kisses. “’Till Armageddon do us part.”
“And here’s a surprise,” Trey said reaching into the hole. “Ta-daaaa!”
He pulled out a large, blue suitcase.
“Just the thing for the couple on the go,” Marjorie said. “Let’s see if it opens.”
It did and the couple spent a minute staring at the neatly folded clothes in the suitcase.
“Someone was planning on going somewhere,” Trey said.
“Before all Hell broke loose,” Marjorie added, glancing out the front window at the shattered remains of the distant city skyline. “I wonder what they were like,” she said softly. “The people who lived here, I mean.”
“We could actually stay here for a while,” he said.
“Or at least long enough to take a bath,” she said.
“Oh, a real bath,” Trey breathed.
“Be it ever so humble,” Marjorie said as they kissed again.
Trey glanced up at the empty walls.
“At least there are no pictures,” he said. “I don’t think I could bear it if there were pictures.”