text: This is the latest in a series of 4 stories so far that feature a couple in a Post-Apocalyptic setting. They start with "Just another day" and are chronological. They all have "Day" in the title. I enjoy any feedback. She looked over at him and gave a silent look of reproach. He saw the look; he always saw the look. He asked her “What?” And she told him, “I can’t find that can of candied fruit.” “Excuse me?” he asked. And continued with “can of what?” She told him “candied fruit; it’s kind of like jujubes or jelly beans, or maybe licorice”. “I like black licorice” he told her. He watched the love of his life make a face that clearly conveyed one feeling; and that feeling was YUCK! “I don’t see how you can like black licorice” she told him; “that stuff is Nasty!” “One of the best things about black licorice” he told her; “is that you can offer someone a piece of licorice and they see that it’s black licorice and they make that face that you just made, and I get to eat all of my licorice” She nodded her head slowly back and forth and he told her; “I even hold a piece of the black licorice near their face and ask - are you sure?” He grinned as he told her; “I’m generous like that” She smiled at him and said “YUCK!” “So what was it about a can of fruit” he asked? “Candied fruit” she said. “Why do you want some candied fruit my Love?” She told him “I want to make my Nana’s Fruit Cake”. “I think I have most of the ingredients I need, but I really need that candied fruit” She put her hand on his arm and said “I seem to recall you bringing home a can of candied fruit on your first supply run after our Apple pie.” He looked away when she mentioned the Apple Pie. That was several months ago; and he still wasn’t fully recovered from catching on fire and inhaling more smoke than a man should. He didn’t want her to worry so he didn’t tell her that he still couldn’t take a really deep breath without a bit of discomfort. He turned away because he didn’t want her to see his face when she brought up that pie, and the memories of what happened after their day of apple picking. But when he thought of her fruit cake; he did actually perk up and he knew there was a smile on his face. So he turned back to her and said “I do like your Nana’s Fruit Cake”. “Is that why you were up at the break of day, rummaging around the pantry?” He asked. He remembered years ago when they were first dating that she had made a big deal of giving him a Fruit Cake for Christmas. He; like so many others, did not have a high opinion of fruit cake, no matter what time of year. So many reasons not to like Fruit Cake. It is so dense; and why do those candied fruits have to look radioactive. And Fruit Cake is aged. But dammit : Nana’s fruit cake was awesome. “Let me check the pantry” he told her, as he made his way to the back of their future house where the large pantry was. He took his time searching through their extensive pantry. One of the first things he noticed when he entered the pantry was that she had put up a whiteboard and had written “Nana’s Fruit Cake” across the top of it. Figs, Dates, Raisins, Pineapple, Flour, Cinnamon, Cloves, Baking soda, Brown sugar, Milk, Eggs Brandy or Rum, Candied fruit He looked over the list on the whiteboard and saw that Eggs had a little sad face next to it. He thought that the recipe looked pretty complete but he had never been involved in actually making the holiday baked good. He knew they had more than half of the ingredients on the white board and saw that she had actually started a stack of ingredients on one of the shelves in their pantry. He understood why there was a sad face next to the Eggs. They hadn’t seen a live chicken for several years. Although he did suppose that they could find some wild bird nests for their eggs. It probably didn’t matter if the eggs came from chickens or pigeons, or quail or some other bird. “My love” he called out; “I don’t see the candied fruit”. She startled him by calling out “I know; I spent most of the morning looking and didn’t see it” “I think maybe we should check that Piggly Wiggly store we saw last week” she offered to him. “I think maybe it was a Winn Dixie” he countered, “but either way we can check it out.” “Worst case scenario we find more supplies; even if we don’t find the candied stuff” he continued. “Fruit” she said to him; “candied fruit”. “I think I have most of the recipe” she said, “but for some reason I’m thinking I need turmeric”. He didn’t think that sounded right. He did most of the cooking and had occasionally used turmeric in some meals but never for a dessert. They spent the next half hour gathering gear to go out for a supply run and to search for the elusive candied fruit. She was getting ready to follow him out to their solar car and she noticed that he had left the gun in its’ holster across the back of one of their kitchen chairs. That made her stop: until recently he had never left their future house without his father’s gun belted about his waist. She had made a habit of asking him why he carried it every where just to hear his off the wall reasons as to why his father’s gun was a constant companion. Her favorite response from him about it was probably that he needed it for bunnies; because what’s with all those carrots? Why do they need such good eyesight anyway? She knew it was probably because he was forced to use it when a crazy man popped out of their bushes with a flaming bottle (Molotov Cocktail) in one hand and an honest to god Samurai sword in the other. The crazy guy had tossed the bottle into their shed; catching her husband on fire and then came at her with the aforementioned sword. He had put three bullets in the crazy guys back and then collapsed in the flaming shed. She had grown up with a father who was a gun enthusiast and she was very familiar and proficient with pistols and had been hunting many times with her father, a long time ago. She belted the heavy weapon about her slender waist and followed out to their solar car. She was up again at the break of day and made him breakfast: Spam and eggs. His most common comment about the processed tinned meat product was “don’t knock it, it’s got its’ own key”. They had spent a large part of the previous day at that little grocery store that she remembered; it had in fact been a Winn Dixie market. He had actually discovered a cache of candied fruit in the back store room of the market and she had hit the jackpot and found a stockpile of powdered eggs. She did wish that they had actual real chicken eggs or any kind of bird eggs; but she would make do with powdered eggs because that’s what they had. They spent most of the day working in their future kitchen. She wasn’t entirely certain that she had captured Nana’s recipe for the fruit cake but she thought she had come pretty darn close. She laughed out loud when at the end of the day he had exclaimed “what do you mean I gotta wait six weeks to eat Nana’s fruit cake?” “Babe; fruit cake has to age for six to eight weeks before you can eat it” she explained to him. “Well my love” he said, “I know you’re not certain that you got the recipe right; so I think I can wait six weeks to eat Our fruit cake”. “Six to eight weeks” she said. He looked over at her and gave a silent look of reproach. She saw the look; it was one she had given him many a time before and asked him “What?”. He told her with a determined look, “I will wait exactly six weeks to eat Our Fruit Cake”