Strangely, although at first glance the Home Depot looked exactly the same as the last time we’d left it after we’d gotten the supplies for the chicken coop, when we went to fetch a trailer to haul the lumber home, only one was still sitting there. The other three were gone.

That did take Jace aback; he stood there for a moment, hand on his chin, staring at the spaces where the trailers had been parked. Finally he said, “What the hell?”

“So you’ll admit they’re gone.”

“Of course they’re gone. It’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Jess. Didn’t mean to snap at you. But this is just weird.”

That was a good word for it. I could see survivors making off with GPS devices and hiking boots and multi-packs of toilet paper. But equipment trailers?

“Well, at least they left us one,” I offered.

That didn’t seem to mollify him much. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, clearly discomfited by this evidence that there were survivors, and that they seemed to be organized enough to make off with most of the store’s trailers. I saw the troubled glance he sent toward the entrance at the lumberyard end of the building, and guessed he was worried that the stock inside would be similarly picked over.

We were here now, though, so we might as well go in and see what we could find, once we had the trailer hooked up to the Cherokee. That didn’t take long, though, and afterward we headed toward the building, both of us grimly silent.

Several big orange flatbed carts sat near the entrance, so Jace took one and wheeled it in, glass crunching underfoot as he did so. It seemed clear enough, even from a quick glance around, that someone had been in here since our last visit. The battery displays were almost all emptied out, and a lot of tools seemed to be missing, too. But at least the lumberyard didn’t look as if it had been raided, so Jace was able to get the supplies he needed. Tools we already had back at the compound, up to and including a belt sander and a jigsaw, so the looters were welcome to take anything that still remained here.

“I wonder what they’re doing with all of it,” I ventured as he began shifting the lumber from the cart and into the trailer.

“Who knows?” he replied. “They’re probably people like us — you know, with a place where they’re holed up and safe but still need assorted odds and ends. Actually, I have a feeling they would need more, since our compound was so well stocked when you found it. And you’re probably used to seeing stores getting restocked on a regular basis. Things can start to look pretty picked over when no one’s coming in with new products all the time.”

Well, that made sense. It was true that I didn’t have much experience yet of a world where stores weren’t magically restocked when supplies ran low. Even so, something didn’t feel right to me. Batteries and hammers I could understand. But the trailers? I supposed if they had enough stuff to haul away, it made some sense. But that would have to be a lot of stuff.

Jace finished tying down the lumber, then threw the nails and fasteners and other small items he’d collected into the cargo area of the Jeep. From the way the corners of his mouth were turned down, I could tell he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to compete with other survivors for supplies we might need to get through the winter.

But no, that wouldn’t happen. We were stocked on food, and now we had milk and eggs and cheese and butter, so really, once we got the goats sheltered, we wouldn’t have much need to come back down to Santa Fe proper unless we were just dying to. And I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

Thinking about our goats made me recall the herd we’d taken them from. They were just as much out in the cold, although I thought I remembered seeing a few ramshackle outbuildings on the property where they were grazing. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check on them. It wasn’t that out of our way.

When I mentioned my concerns to Jace, he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. They would have more shelter there than our own goats, but we might as well look. If they’re in trouble, we can unload this stuff, get the horse trailer, and then bring them back to the compound. It might take a couple of trips, though.”

I said I wouldn’t mind that at all, so we got into the Cherokee and drove off, angling away from our normal route so we could get to the edge of town and the small ranch where we’d first found the goats. But when we got there, the animals were all gone. I would have said they’d wandered off on their own, but I could see tire tracks in the dirt, tracks that were fatter and wider than those of my Jeep. Some big off-road truck, if I had to guess.

Jace seemed to be of the same opinion, because he squatted down to take a closer look, one finger digging into the rutted earth. “Probably a half-ton pickup, judging by the tread and how deep it is.” He stood, following the tracks along the narrow dirt road that led to the pasture gate. We’d come in that same way, but it looked like the truck had turned and headed west afterward, rather than to the east, the direction of town and our own hidden compound.

“Where do you think they were going?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t think there’s much out that way, unless they were headed to the highway. And if that’s the case, their home base could be anywhere.”

“So you don’t think they’re local?”

For a second or two, Jace didn’t answer me. He just stood there, gazing off to the west, straight brows pulled together in a frown. The wind blew his loose hair, turning it into a shining raven cloud around his head, but for some reason, I didn’t find myself quite as lost in admiration as I might otherwise have been. Instead, a shiver of apprehension went down my spine. Whatever thoughts might be occupying his mind, they didn’t look as if they were pleasant ones.

“I don’t know if they’re from around here,” he said at last. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe one of the survivors knew this ranch existed, then noticed some of the goats were missing and came back to get the rest before they disappeared, too. And maybe they’re holed up someplace remote, just like we are.” He turned and began heading back to the Jeep, walking quickly. I practically had to jog to keep up with him.

I almost asked what the rush was, but he seemed to know what I was thinking. Jaw tense, he told me,

“I think it’s better that we get back. We’ve been gone long enough.”

Nothing else, but the implication was enough to make me hurry into the passenger seat, to hold on as he drove faster than he really should have on the way home, the trailer rattling and bumping behind us. It was a beautiful, brisk fall day, but I couldn’t enjoy the scenery. I just wanted to get home and make sure everything was all right.

If anything had happened to Dutchie….

But when we pulled up and opened the gate, everything looked fine. The goats were still wandering around, eating dried grass, and I could hear the hens clucking away in the chicken coop. Jace maneuvered the Jeep around so he could back the trailer up to the edge of the yard. That way, he wouldn’t have to carry the lumber as far. He left it, though, to come with me to the house.

“Let me go in first,” he said, and I did as he asked, allowing him to walk in front of me.

All that did was subject him to the first of Dutchie’s onslaught. She came bounding up to us, panting, tail wagging, nose busily sniffing the bags we carried. Since all they held was the clothing we’d pilfered from REI, she lost interest soon enough, instead hanging out by the pantry, clearly angling for a chewy treat.

“I think it’s safe,” I told Jace, going to get the dog her treat. Maybe she hadn’t exactly earned it, but I was so happy to see her and the rest of the property safe that I didn’t much care.

“Probably. I’ll go drop this stuff in the bedroom, though. That way I can check the rest of the house.”

I didn’t bother to stop him. If it made him feel better, he was welcome to search every inch of the property.

After I gave Dutchie her treat, I paused and surveyed the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of place, unless you wanted to count some water slopped on the floor around the dog’s bowl. The world’s neatest drinker she was not. Otherwise, though, it was tidy enough, the dishes stacked in the wooden drainer on the counter, everything I’d used to make breakfast either put back in the refrigerator or the pantry.

Jace entered the kitchen then, relief plain on his face. “Everything looks fine.”

“Were you really worried it wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I suppose — ” He stopped there, clearly trying to decide what he really wanted to say. “I suppose seeing all that stuff taken rattled me. I’m not sure why. Maybe because the last time we were in town, I didn’t see any evidence of other survivors. Now, though….” His shoulders lifted; I noticed that he’d taken off the leather jacket he’d worn on our expedition. “I know it’s stupid. They have just as much right to help themselves to supplies as we do. But the way they came in and took all the rest of the goats? It feels…greedy, I guess. We only took what we needed.”

I could see what he was thinking, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to ascribe any negative intentions to the people who’d collected the rest of the herd. “Maybe…or maybe they saw them and were worried about them, the same way we were, and took them all because they had more room for them. There could be all sorts of reasons.”

“You’re probably right.” The square set of his shoulders seemed to relax a little, and he came over to me and took me in his arms, holding me tightly against him. Something of the cool juniper-scented wind outdoors seemed to have clung to his hair, and I breathed it in, marveling at how the feel of him could drive all worries right out of my head. Whoever had absconded with the goats, it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. We had enough to keep our own little homestead going, and would have more goats in the spring, once the does gave birth. Really, in a couple of seasons we’d be swimming in animals and wondering what the heck we were supposed to do with all of them.

“I’ll make some sandwiches,” I offered, after I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly one-thirty, past the time when we’d usually eat lunch.

Jace nodded, but I could tell from the way his mouth was set that he was still turning the problem over in his head. Well, if he wanted to brood over it, I couldn’t stop him.

I just knew it would be fine. It had to be.

The days seemed to blur after that, running together until I realized that we were less than a week away from Thanksgiving. Jace had spent long hours building the shed for the goats, doing his best to make sure they didn’t have to be exposed to the elements any longer than absolutely necessary. And they did seem grateful for the shelter we provided, going in there without any urging from us.

As a child, I’d read all those “Little House” books about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family moving from place to place, homesteading, farming, and although I thought I’d absorbed most of the details, it wasn’t until I was doing roughly the same thing myself that I understood how time-consuming having to do everything yourself actually was. And yes, I realized that Jace and I were living in a modern, up-to-date house with a lot of conveniences that Ms. Wilder could never have conceived of. Even so, there was still housework and laundry and cooking and so much more, like making cheese and sausage and butter, collecting eggs, making sure the goats had fresh water and were milked twice a day, tending the plants in the greenhouse and determining what was ready to be eaten and what still needed a few days. By the time we were done with dinner and the clean-up afterward, Jace and I were practically asleep on our feet. Every once in a great while, we’d sit down and watch a movie from the collection in the family room, but that happened maybe every ten days or so, if that. And no, we never watched any of the real estate developer’s porn. Jace had looked at the row of Blue-Rays and chuckled, shooting me an inquiring look.

“No way in hell,” I’d told him, and he’d let it go. I wasn’t about to confess that I actually had tried to watch one of them in the first week I’d been here, lonely and scared and thinking maybe giving myself an orgasm would help to relax me. But about five minutes of looking at the actors with their unnaturally waxed bodies and the women with their fake breasts and equally fake moans made me less inclined toward sex than I’d ever been in my life, and I took the disc out of the player and put it away, knowing I could never watch one of those movies again.

And now, I had no need to.

By some unspoken agreement, Jace and I had begun making love in the morning, while the world was still dark and the day hadn’t wrung every last drop of energy from us. Sometimes one of us would wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for the other, and we’d cling together in a sort of frenzy before passing out again, but it wasn’t a common occurrence.

Even so, it was a good life. The weariness I felt every day when I lay down to sleep…it was a good kind of tired, the kind you got when you’d spent your day doing something that felt useful, worthwhile. I could tell that Jace viewed our existence the same way, that he didn’t have any regrets about the life we were living. In a post-industrial world, this seemed to be the new normal.

Behind all that, though, I still had this nagging sensation at the back of my mind, as if I was missing something vitally important, that if I could only put the pieces together in the right order, I’d figure out what had been bothering me all this time. It was sort of like looking at one of those “magic eye” pictures and attempting to puzzle out what exactly the hidden image was. I was never very good at that, either. No matter how hard I tried, I could only see a blur of color that didn’t mean anything.

In the meantime, Thanksgiving came, and we feasted on pheasant, which I found I enjoyed far more than turkey. Maybe that was simply because, although my mother knew her way around a turkey, my Aunt Susan really didn’t, and so on alternating Thanksgivings I’d had to eat dried-out bird smothered in cranberry sauce to give it a decent flavor.

No such worries with the pheasant Jace brought home, which was moist and delicious, especially paired with a sauce I made from currants he’d found during one of his hunting expeditions. And combined with wild rice and sautéed green beans from the greenhouse — well, it was probably the best Thanksgiving meal I’d ever consumed, even if I couldn’t help looking at all the empty seats around that huge dining room table and thinking it would have been wonderful to have friends and family there to share the meal with us.

But that world was long gone, and if I were destined to spend the rest of my life around only one person, I couldn’t think of anyone better than Jace to share it with. During that meal, he’d gone quiet a time or two, and I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing, that Thanksgiving was supposed to be about sharing, about being with loved ones, and now ours were all gone.

Those somber moments were fleeting, though, and I could tell he wasn’t about to let the memories of what once was ruin what we had now. He joked about Dutchie wanting to eat that pheasant whole before it even hit the back of the ATV, and praised my cooking, raising a glass to honor my efforts. It did feel good. Before all this, I would never have said I was particularly domestic, but I’d risen to the occasion with more success than I could have imagined.

Also, I’d surprised him by putting on the black dress I’d brought from Albuquerque, and my jeweled sandals, and those amazing tanzanite earrings that had so mysteriously shown up in my pocket after my first visit to the plaza in Santa Fe. Actual makeup, my hair styled as best I could, since I hadn’t brought any curling irons or hot rollers with me, thinking I’d never need them again. Jace had taken one look at me and asked, “You expect me to be patient all through dinner with you looking like that?”

I’d given him a sphinx-like smile and continued teetering my way back and forth from the kitchen, bringing food to the table. Funny how just a month or so in hiking boots had apparently killed all my ability to walk in heels.

And after dinner, Jace surprised me by taking me in his arms, actually lifting me away from the dining room table and carrying me to the bedroom, where he proceeded to show me exactly how much he appreciated me, mouth moving with teasing slowness across my skin, his fingers stroking me, finding exactly the right spot to wring moans of ecstasy from a place so deep that before I’d been with him, I hadn’t even known it existed. Then we were together once more, bodies locked, moving in a rhythm that had become second nature to us by now.

That was really how it felt…natural, as if my body had been made to fit with his, and the reason it had never worked with anyone else was simply that they hadn’t been the one. We fell asleep in one another’s arms, a perfect end to a perfect day.

A week after that, we had our first snowfall. At first, I didn’t even know what was happening, only caught an odd flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye while I was clearing up the breakfast dishes. The skies had been heavy and gray when we woke up that morning, and Jace said it smelled like snow. I’d laughed at him over that remark, although really, he would know more about it than I would, since he’d grown up in Taos. When I was in high school, Albuquerque had been hit by a freak snowstorm that basically shut the city down, but that was my only real experience with snow, save for a light flurry here and there that didn’t stick around long enough to cause any trouble.

This, though — it drifted downward, light and delicate, the flakes settling on the goats’ shed and the chicken coop and the evergreens in the backyard, giving everything a soft sugar frosting. I stood at the window, a dish still in my hands, and stared at the miracle of it, how beautiful it was.

I was so transfixed that I didn’t even realize Jace had come up behind me, not until his arms wrapped around my waist and his breath came warm against my neck as he said, “Looks like winter is really here now.”

“And we’re all safe and snug inside,” I responded, setting the dish in the drain before I could drop it. The sensation of having him there, pressed up against me, was enough to send all sorts of tingles up and down my spine.

“That we are. I’ll go out and check on the goats in a bit, just to make sure there aren’t any leaks in the shed or anything, but I think we’ll ride this out just fine.” He shifted, as if glancing up at the ceiling, then added, “But we may not have lights for much longer. With cloud cover this thick, the solar’s not going to do us much good.”

“Then we’ll spend our day by candlelight,” I replied. “I’ll turn off anything extraneous — maybe that way, there’ll be enough of a trickle to keep the refrigerator going.”

“Not a bad plan. You may want to go scrounge some extra candles from the basement.”

“I’ll do that as soon as I’m finished with these dishes.”

His lips brushed against my cheek as he gave me a soft kiss, an acknowledgment of my words. Then he let go of me, heading toward the laundry room and the mudroom beyond that, where he could get into his jacket and gloves and brave the snow to check on the livestock.

There really weren’t that many dishes to do, so I was done in the next few minutes. After that, I went from room to room, making sure we hadn’t left any lights on. In general, we were pretty careful about that sort of thing, but I did realize that I needed to put the computer in sleep mode so it wouldn’t draw any more power than was strictly necessary. If something happened to set off one of the periphery alarms, it would turn back on right away, but in the meantime it could hibernate.

After that I got a flashlight from the drawer in the kitchen where we kept them, and headed down into the basement. It had its own lights, of course, but if we really were in for a snowy day, I didn’t want to turn them on and waste more power. The flashlight would do well enough, even if it was a little creepy to be wandering around down there with only a narrow beam to show me what I was doing.

I’d come down here once before to fetch the candles, but that had been weeks ago, before Jace had even shown up at the compound. The basement actually was very organized, with rows of metal shelving and the items on them arranged according to use. Even so, I couldn’t exactly recall where I’d found the candles that last time. On the left, about five rows down?

Figuring it was worth a try, I shone the flashlight’s beam in that general direction, but saw only bins of what looked like bundles of wire and cable, possibly intended for repairs to the home’s electrical system, should the occasion warrant. Undeterred, I moved to the next row, only to have my foot bump into a cardboard box sitting on the ground next to one of the shelving units rather than placed directly on it. That was strange, simply because everything else I’d encountered in the basement so far had shown an almost fanatical adherence to order on the part of the person who had put it there.

I frowned and moved the flashlight’s beam over the box. It had clearly come from some kind of a manufacturer; there was even a shipping label still affixed to it. Crouching down, I read the name and address.

Cory Berman. So was that the name of the developer from Phoenix who’d built the property, or the caretaker who’d kept watch over it? Maybe it didn’t really matter. They were both gone, after all.

What did matter, as I read the lettering stamped on the box itself, was what had been sent to him.

Yaesu FT-857D Amateur Radio Transceiver

Holy crap.

A ham radio?

A way to make contact with other survivors.

Heart pounding, I shone the flashlight around and saw another package, a much longer one, that seemed to contain the antenna to go with the radio. Damn.

I didn’t know the first thing about setting up a ham radio, or its antenna, but maybe Jace would. Or at least could puzzle out the instructions. We’d have to wait for the snowstorm to blow over before we could go up on the roof to mount the antenna, but in the meantime we could read up on how to use the radio itself.

This could change everything.

I was halfway to the cellar stairs before I remembered I’d come down here in the first place to pick up some spare candles. After going up and down a few more rows of shelving, I found them — pack after pack of shrink-wrapped pillars and votives and tapers, the sort of thing you’d buy in bulk for a wedding or some other large event. I grabbed a flat of pillar candles and headed back to the stairway, then hurried up to the main level of the house.

Jace was nowhere in evidence as I set the package of candles down on the breakfast table in the nook. When I peered out the window, though, I could see him hauling something from the garage to the shed. A sack of the pellets we used to supplement the goats’ diet, it looked like. That made sense — they probably weren’t going to head out to forage until the snow stopped.

About ten minutes later, I heard him come in, then waited as he stopped in the mudroom to get rid of his coat and scrape the snow from his boots. In the meantime, I’d gone around the house and lit a number of candles, as it was clear from the lowering skies outside that we probably wouldn’t see any sun today. Actually, it was so dark that it almost felt as if dusk was coming early, which of course was ridiculous. At this time of year, the days were short, but they weren’t that short.

“What’s up?” he asked, almost as soon as he entered the kitchen. I supposed he could tell I was fairly dancing with impatience.

“Guess what I found in the basement?”

One brow lifted slightly. “You know, that question generally doesn’t have a good answer.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” But I could tell by the twitch at the corner of his full lips that he wasn’t…not really.

“A ham radio,” I announced. Jace appeared nonplussed by that revelation, so I went on, “It’s still in its original packing…I think it was delivered here but never used. And there’s an antenna, too.”

“And?” he asked.

I felt a stir of impatience. “What do you mean, ‘and’? With that radio, we can try to reach out to any other survivors, find out where they are, how they’re doing.”

“Maybe they don’t want to be found. It seems as if they’ve done a pretty good job of hiding so far.”

“So have we,” I pointed out. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t want people to find us. Or…do we?”

Without replying, he went to one of the cupboards and got out a glass, then filled it with water. He drank some, his gaze not fixed on me, but on the increasingly snowy landscape outside the window. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “You wouldn’t think there’d be much of a struggle for resources, not with so few of us left, but after hearing what happened to you in Albuquerque, I’m not sure I’m willing to trust anyone right now. What if there’s a bigger, more organized group out there, one that decides what we have here is better than where they’re living? We have weapons, but there are only two of us. Would you be willing to risk that?”

When he put it that way…. Involuntarily, my mind flashed back to the man in the Walgreens, to the greed in his watery brown eyes, and I shivered.

“No,” I admitted, hoping Jace hadn’t noticed my shudder. “Of course I don’t want to do anything that would put us in harm’s way. But maybe if we set it up and just listened, didn’t transmit?” That seemed like a good compromise to me, but Jace’s grim expression didn’t change. After a perceptible pause, he said,

“Maybe. But we’ll have to wait for better weather. No way am I climbing up on the roof in a snowstorm, just so I can install an antenna.”

“Of course not.”

“And it may need hardware we don’t have, so then we’d have to go back into town.”

A prospect I didn’t particularly relish, and it seemed clear enough to me that Jace wasn’t looking forward to it, either.

“Well, we can figure out the logistics later,” I said. “It’s nothing that has to happen right now.”

He nodded, and I let the matter go, instead went on to ask him what sounded good for dinner that night. Something in the tense set of his shoulders appeared to relax. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was glad that I didn’t intend to press him on the issue.

Exactly why, I didn’t know. Was he really that worried about the consequences of contacting other survivors?

Or did he have some other reason why he wanted us to stay isolated here?