supplies, taking all that we could carry in over-laden rucksacks and bags.
Hiking more miles than it felt our legs could take before we found another usable car that we managed to start. We held each other but we didn’t make love in those times, our bodies warning us that we needed to preserve all our energy. Secretly, I wouldn’t have cared, but I couldn’t say it to him, “We’re going to die, there’s no need to prolong it, let’s die exhausted from love rather than wait for the madness of hunger or whatever worse things could be waiting for us.”
The car didn’t make it, but we did.
A community of eight couples waited for us; they greeted us as if we were their saviours and bombarded us with their names. In their eight voices, with much overlapping, they talked about the miracle of survival, some sort of endurance camping trip in the highest of the Highlands, their plans to make boats and contact other people who made it through, which hadn’t come to much so far, but they were so pleased, so very pleased, that we’d responded to their radio message. We were the only ones who had.
‘So what’s your story?’ one of the male voices asked.
We looked at each other, opened our mouths, but we could not speak.
‘There’s plenty of time for questions,’ one of the female voices said.
‘What are your names?’ someone else asked.
‘I’m Daniel and this is Mara,’ my lover said.
He took the rucksack off his back and offered them the contents. I was amazed at the quickness of his generosity, to so soon trust these strangers with our world, but I copied him with an attempt at a smile. They received them like manna from heaven but we soon saw our provisions were nothing to them. We were led through their home which was the old ruins of an abbey, and it was a home, there were paintings drawn on the wall, space divided into rooms with carefully placed stones and a kitchen brimming over with stores. Their foraging trips and whole organisation was on a different scale to the scavenging that had kept us alive.
In the evening there was a roaring fire, someone had found and caught a brace of rabbits which were now roasting in its midst. They told us this was what most evenings were like. Everyone, apart from us, told stories and then as the fire burnt out, settled down to sleep not far from the glowing embers. A couple was left on guard duty, Daniel volunteered us to keep watch. I was relieved when his offer was gratefully declined.
A woman came over and gave us a sleeping bag; she squeezed my hand and smiled. ‘Don’t be scared,’ she said. ‘We’re all safer together.’
Warm wrinkles creased up around her eyes as she spoke. Her and her partner’s names, Joy and Rob, were the only ones I remembered. They looked as healthy and as enthusiastic as everyone else, but they stood out for being older, the confidence of their stance as much as the flicker of grey in their hair.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Now get some sleep.’ She walked back to Rob and I watched as she bent down to embrace him, blushing when she turned back to me and clearly winked.
Neither Daniel nor I got any sleep on the first night of our arrival. We clung to each other and listened. We’d grown accustomed to silence without realising it and now the air was filled with the sound of our new friends’ love making. I tried not to look but sometimes a scream or a moan would make me glance over before my brain could stop me. The couples were not discretely hiding under their blankets or in the darkness of the shadows, their bodies were contorted into all kinds of sexual positions, proud in the remaining light of the fire. Women were going down on men, men were going down on women, their bodies were twined together standing up and lying down, women were bent over in front of their lovers, women were sitting astride their men, grinding for their own pleasure. Joy was in the last category. The practical clothes she’d been wearing earlier