We discuss it over breakfast, which we eat while sitting wrapped in blankets. To my relief, Lisa seems to have been thinking over our situation just as much as I have, and she has some ideas ready and waiting.
"What about that town we passed through a few miles back?" she says. "Remember, there was a whole store full of food. It had barely been touched."
"Yeah," I say, thinking back. "There was also a crater right there in the middle of town."
"It's worth a try though, surely?"
I know she's right. Risky as it might be, it's the quickest and most certain option. "You're right. It's still a fair way off though, and I won't be able to carry everything we're going to need in one go. I'll have to make a lot of trips."
"I've been thinking about that too," says Lisa. "You can't possibly get there and back in a single day. You'll have to find somewhere to spend the night out there. There's no way around that. But as to carrying things..."
We finish eating, wrap ourselves in coats and go out into the yard. Lisa takes me to one of the sheds and shows me a lightweight, aluminium trailer stacked full of hay. It's the kind of thing you might attach to the back of a car, about the size of a small desk. I unload it, haul it out into the open, pump up the tyres and oil the rusted axle.
"It's perfect," I say. "All we need is a bit of rope. I can pull it no problem. If I load it full of stuff I reckon I can get enough to last us a couple of months in a single trip."
"We'll need other stuff as well though. Not just food. Things for...for when the baby comes." Lisa sounds almost afraid as she says it, as if unsure whether it's okay to bring up the subject of the birth.
"Sure," I say. "Let's make a list."
And that's how we spend the rest of the day. Between us we come up with a list of essentials: a book to tell us how to deliver a baby, antiseptic, clean sheets, baby clothes and baby food. On top of everything we need for ourselves it seems like a long list, but I know it is nothing more than the absolute essentials.
After we've done that, I have an idea. Fetching a length of rope I found in the yard and my old backpack I set about making a harness so that I can pull the trailer and still have my hands free at all times. It's dark by the time I'm done, but it looks like a good job. We settle to sleep in the middle of the lounge once more, satisfied by our day's work.
"Are you going to go tomorrow?" says Lisa.
"The sooner the better," I say. "Why? Are you worried?"
"No," says Lisa, and then: "It's just we've not been apart since we met. I wish I could come with you."
"I'll be back before you know it," I say, wishing that I felt as sure as I sounded.
"You'll be careful, won't you?" she says.
"I will," I reassure her. And then we fall asleep in each other's arms once more, and the next thing I know it's dawn, and I'm sitting up in bed blinking in the early light. Time to go.