Free Days of Love and Blood by R.S. Carter Page A

but was now a state-of-the-art wine cellar. When I pulled the cord for the overhead light, I saw Ivy’s curious face brighten.
    “Wow. I had no idea your parents were alcoholics.”
    “They weren’t. But I am.”
    “Thank God. Me, too. What’s good?”
    “It all is.” I selected a thick bottle of Chianti from a bottom row. “Will this do, Madam?”
    “Sure. That and about five more. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since before the virus.”
    “Well, come on,” I said with a wink. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
    During the first bottle, we snuggled into the couch on either side of Ronan while he watched the cartoon lions, warthog and meerkat dance and find their way in the landscapes of Africa. I let him lean into me and massaged his scalp with the tips of my fingers. He fell asleep with his head in my lap and I carried him to bed shortly after. We opened the second bottle with the television off and jumped back into our huddled position under thick blankets and at opposite ends of the couch.
    “So what happened to your parents?” I began. “Can I ask?” Ivy nodded and sighed all at once. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it.”
    “No, it ’s alright. They both got sick at the same time. I ended up calling an ambulance for them and that was it. I never heard from them again. That was right at the beginning. But, my Dad, he…”
    “I’m sorry, Ivy.”
    “I know. Thanks.”
    “How about Marcus?” I asked. “Any word from him?”
    “No, no word. The divorce would have been officially finalized five weeks ago. But we weren’t speaking at all because everything had to go through the lawyers. I’d been living back on the farm with my parents for - oh - four months or so before the virus hit. I imagine he’s gone, like everyone else. The weird thing is, I don’t even care. Not the slightest amount of concern for him. Am I a horrible person?”
    “No,” I chuckled. “The guy stole all of your savings to pamper his mistress. He isn’t worth an afterthought.”
    “I wish I could take back all of those tears I ever cried for him.”
    “So when did the first person show up at your farm?” I asked, lightly steering the conversation. “I mean, after the virus?”
    “Oh, that was Marianna and her two kids. I heard her car driving down the road and so I ran outside to flag them down. I was desperate. I hadn’t heard from anyone in so long.”
    “Before they came, did you have any encounters with the homicidals on your own?”
    “Almost. I heard about it on the news before I lost power. There had been a few strange people looking at the house from out in the fields. They just stood there and stared at the house in this really weird sort of drugged out way. I stayed indoors, kept quiet and they eventually left. When Marianna got here, she sort of filled me in on what was happening. She came from Memphis. She saw a lot.”
    “I’ll bet. It was crazy out there on the road.”
    “And look at you. Swords? When did you learn to use a sword?”
    “I was taking lessons from my neighbor. It was just for fun, really. I didn’t take it too seriously but I wish I had. It wasn’t exactly a skill I thought I would ever use - or need.”
    “But why did you start? Taking the lessons, I mean?” Ivy rested her jaw on the palm of her hand with her mouth slightly open in anticipation of my story, a tale which unfortunately lacked any excitement or extraordinary details.
    “For no be tter reason than curiosity. My sensei was a martial arts expert. His name was Mr. Sho. Real good-looking for an older guy, too. He was always at our neighborhood block parties, real nice guy. When he found out I trained in Muay Thai and kickboxing at the dojo a few towns over, he asked if I wanted real weaponry training. It sounded like a cool thing to do so I jumped on it.”
    “Did he call you grasshopper?”
    “He didn’t even have an accent. And he never let me train with a real sword. Not once. He made