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William Bludworth wasn’t convinced that any place was safe from Death’s reach, but he enjoyed the challenge of fortifying Iris’s cabin. He thought she enjoyed it, too. Ever since she purchased the land, she’d been happier than he ever saw her.
It was something she could control. Something to give her purpose.
From the day she first showed him the property, it took fourteen months to fortify it to her satisfaction. William spent long hours helping her perfect her fortress, and he was proud of the home they'd made for her. He approached it like a chess match, and Death was a worthy opponent. Of course, the job would never truly be done; Death was a clever and inevitable thing.
When she told him she had no intention of leaving her cabin, he didn’t try to convince her otherwise, even though they had a complete enough record of the Sky View survivors by then to estimate she had years left before Death caught up to her. She was happy there, or as happy as she would ever be.
And besides—it would be a cold insult to criticize Iris for trying to preserve her life when she had a family left to lose, and when her survival was the only thing extending his own life.
She still tried to contact the remaining survivors. He was still the only one who’d ever listened to her.
Sometimes, he imagined the path his life might have taken if Iris Campbell hadn’t shown up at his mother’s funeral and accosted him outside the church, raving that Death was after him. If she hadn’t found him, he would have spent his life thinking that the house fire that took his mother was a random accident. Back then, Iris hadn’t been certain about the pattern, and if she’d known how many people were still ahead of them on Death’s list, maybe she would have spared him the knowledge. Maybe he would have married that sweet girl he was dating then, and had his own doomed children. That version of himself was a stranger he couldn’t picture.
He wasn’t proud of it, but at first, he’d resented Iris for upending his life, even if he believed her. He used to envy people who didn’t see Death around every corner. But now he was grateful for what she’d given him. Knowing Death was the cure to fearing it.
These days, he visited her every Saturday. He brought her all the supplies she needed, and stayed for dinner. He was the only one she trusted to come past the gate, and he took that responsibility seriously.
One afternoon, as he helped unload groceries in her little kitchen, she said, “The offer stands, you know. We can always add a room for you here.”
Was he tempted? Perhaps. Not for the refuge, but the companionship. Content as he was with the quiet life he’d built, he had to admit that the dead in the morgue made poor conversation partners.
“I know,” he said gently. “One day, I might just take you up on that.”
But for now, there was more he could do on the outside to help keep Iris alive.