One evening, Gabe cleared his throat and looked into my eyes. Sunlight glowed against the freckles on his cheeks, reflected from the rifle in my hands, and framed the mountains with pink and orange. It was the end of April, and the evening air held a chill, so we sat close to share body heat. The sides of our legs were pressed against each other’s, and our shoulders were touching.
“So, how does it feel to be sixteen?” His eyes traveled over me as if searching for visible changes.
“The same as being fifteen, except my dad delved into our food storage and gave me a can of warm Coke. I just wish we had ice.” I tried to smile but it didn’t reach my eyes. This was my first birthday without Dean sneaking out to find me a really amazing gift. When I turned fourteen, he brought me an iPod he’d found in an abandoned house. When my mom turned the generator on for me to run on the treadmill, he secretly charged the battery. I listened to a song a night until it ran out of juice. I didn’t even care that it was loaded with country music and show tunes. Beggars can’t be choosers. When I turned fifteen, he raided the library and brought home a backpack full of books.
“And a homeless guy gave me sunglasses,” I added, touching the glasses balanced on top of my head.
Gabe looked west at the form huddled in a doorway across the street. “That creepy guy over there?” He fit a small rock to his slingshot and aimed.
I scowled and pushed his hand down. It’s not like he’d actually hit the guy—Gabe was a terrible shot—but it bugged me that he’d even consider shooting the vagabond. “He’s been coming around my house for a month. My dad says he’s harmless, so leave him alone.”
Tucking the rock back into his pocket, Gabe frowned and looked at me again. “Have you ever wondered if you and I are the only two uninfected, unrelated teenagers living on the wrong side of the wall?” He rolled his shoulders and leaned a little closer to me.
“Yeah, I think about it all the time.” I hadn’t seen an unmarked teenager, besides Gabe and my older brothers, in more than a year.
“Have you ever wondered if you’re going to . . .” When he didn’t finish his thought, I looked at him. He blushed and his gaze moved from my eyes to my mouth and stopped. Taking a deep breath, he leaned toward me and put his chapped lips against mine. I didn’t pull away, but I had to force myself not to. I liked Gabe. He was nice. He was my only friend. And even though I’d never thought of him as more than a friend, his lips against mine made my breath catch in my throat. So I closed my eyes and kissed him back. My first kiss. And on my sixteenth birthday.
His lips were rigid and damp. When he put his tongue in my mouth, he drooled on my chin and I almost gagged. One of his clammy hands touched the side of my face, then moved to the back of my head, into my freshly buzzed hair. Gabe shuddered and jerked away from me like he’d been shocked, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm.
“Are you all right?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my knees and studying him.
He grimaced. “My dad told me to try kissing you to see if there were any sparks. But . . .” He wiped his mouth again and stood. “When I kiss you, it feels like kissing a guy. No offense! You’re really cool, but you don’t seem like a girl anymore. Even a little bit.”
I stopped breathing and stared at him as his words battered against my minuscule self-esteem.
“I’ve got to get going. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving?” I asked, my voice a dull monotone.
“Yeah. We’re going to make the trip to Wyoming. My dad said if I wanted to, I could ask you … now, never mind.” He looked at the sunset. “I probably won’t see you again, Jack, unless your family decides to come to Wyoming. Good luck with everything.” I stood and made myself smile at him. He squeezed my shoulders, and I returned the hug.
“Be careful out there,” I whispered.
He patted my back twice and let me go. “I will be.”
I didn’t watch him climb down the ladder because movement on the road below my house caught my attention. I stared down at the shadowed street, at the man standing in the middle of the road, hands braced behind his upturned head, watching me. I reached for my rifle, but when I saw it was only the vagabond, I took my hand from the gun. He waved at me and lumbered down the street.
When Dad came for me two minutes later, I hid my face from him. Because boys don’t cry.
“Jack, look at me,” Kevin whispers.
I blink and remind myself that I am sitting in a kitchen, in a bomb shelter, and I’ve just been kissed. I take a deep breath and look at him—look at his frowning lips before staring at his eyes.
“What happened? Why did you pull away from me like that?” he asks.
I focus on the table again and wonder if I can tell him. Wonder if I can’t tell him. So I say, “You know I’m not twelve.”
“Of course I know you’re not twelve! Do you think I’d be kissing you if I thought you were a kid?”
I press my hand to my forehead and close my eyes. “Do you know—” I can hardly breathe.
“What? Do I know what?” he asks.
“—that I’m not really a boy?” The words squeak out, as if affirming what I’ve just said.
There’s a long silence that makes my face burn with shame, and tears threaten to fill my eyes. And then Kevin starts laughing. Laughing! My body goes rigid. His laughter stops dead, and he leans in close to me again, staring into my eyes. “Yes, Jacqui. I do realize you’re female. I’ve known since the first time I saw you.”
It takes a minute for his words to sink in. My mouth falls open but no words come out. Kevin puts his finger under my chin and gently closes my mouth.
“Can we try again?” he asks. When I don’t say anything, he stands and takes my hands in his, pulling me to my feet in front of him. One at a time, he places my hands against his chest, palms over his heart. His trembling hands frame my face, warm against my skin, and tilt my head back.
“Why are your hands shaking?” I whisper.
He looks right into my eyes. “Because I’m scared to kiss you.” We stay that way for half a minute, just looking at each other, and then slowly, he leans toward me until his lips come down on mine. They’re warm and firm, like he’s been practicing this very thing for years. I’ve hardly had any practice, but it doesn’t matter. It is as if my lips know what to do, turning soft and supple and moving like they’ve been programmed to respond to his.
I press my palms against his chest and feel his beating heart, feel it accelerate. Fire floods me again and makes me bold. I stand on tiptoes and press my mouth more firmly against his. Kevin sighs and one of his hands leaves my face to rest against the small of my back, holding me steady. His other hand moves from my cheek and circles around to the back of my head, his fingers sweeping over my short hair and sending shivers down my entire body. And then I hear birds singing and smell food cooking and feel sunshine warming me from the inside out.
Kevin’s lips pause against mine and he releases me, but the birds don’t stop singing.
“What is that?” I ask, self-conscious that my voice sounds so breathless.
“The food.”
“What food?”
Kevin smiles, and my knees nearly buckle. “The timer is beeping for the food you put into the oven. Corn bread, I think.”
“Oh!” I peer inside the oven. The corn bread is golden on the edges but pale in the middle. Stepping to the stove, I turn on a burner and put the skillet with the meat mixture onto it. “This should just take a few minutes,” I say, and start stirring the meat with a wooden spoon. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and lick my lips. I press a hand to my heart and shudder with the aftermath of the kiss. Wow. Just wow.
Kevin leaves the kitchen, and I hear the quiet rumble of voices in the other room. A minute later he comes back in, followed by Bowen and Fo. My eyes meet Kevin’s, and my heart skips a beat. Fo looks at me with sleep-blurred eyes, then looks at Kevin. She rubs her eyes and looks at me again. I can’t help but blush.
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br /> “Hungry?” I ask, studiously avoiding Kevin’s gaze.
“Yeah. Famished.” Bowen puts his hand over his stomach. “But where’s Jonah’s backpack? Kevin says you were the last one with it.”
“You mean the water? I left it in a neighborhood somewhere.”
All the color drains from Fiona’s face. Bowen presses the balls of his hands against his eyes. “Please say you’re joking.” He slides his hands down his stricken face and looks at me.
I glare at him. “That backpack weighs as much as me! I was alone, surrounded by raiders, and they had a dog. A dog! I’m lucky to have gotten out of there alive! And besides, we can get more water here. Kevin has an endless supply.”
Bowen’s eyes turn nearly black. He strides to the door leading into the main room of the shelter and quietly closes it, and then starts cursing. His entire body begins to tremble, and he leans against the counter, gripping the edge of it so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “Bowen. It’s okay.” Fo steps up beside him and puts her hand on his back. His nostrils flare and his jaw muscles pulse. He closes his eyes and starts taking fast, deep breaths. “Bowen. We’re both alive. That’s the most important thing.” She wraps her arms around him and holds him close. After a minute, his breathing slows and he lets go of the counter. Turning to Fo, he takes her face in his hands, rests his forehead against hers, and closes his eyes.
“I love you, and we’re both alive,” he whispers. He starts kissing her—really kissing her—and I scratch the back of my head and look at the floor.
After a minute, Bowen and Fo pull apart to walk to the table. Bowen sits in a chair and Fo sits on his lap.
“What is wrong with you, Bowen?” I ask, looking up from the floor. “We can get more water here.”
Bowen growls and leans his face into Fo’s back. “It wasn’t water, Jack.”
As if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, Kevin puts on red plaid oven mitts, takes the corn bread out of the oven, and moves the pan of meat from the burner.
“Then what was it?” I ask, sitting in the chair across from them.
“The cure. Hundreds of doses of it. And the chemical equations to reproduce it,” Fo explains.
Bowen leans back and glares at me. “Why else do you think Fiona and I would leave the walled city minutes after we were married? That’s the only thing that made it worth it!”
“What?” Kevin and I say at the same time. Kevin scoots me onto half of the chair and sits on the other half, draping his arm over the backrest.
“You’re married?” I say, just as Kevin blurts, “You had the cure with you?”
Fo looks at me, Bowen looks at Kevin, and at the exact same time they both say, “Yes.”
I gnaw on the side of my cheek and glower at them. “Gee. Thanks for the vote of trust. You’re married, and you had the cure with you, but you didn’t mention either of those things to me!” I shake my head in frustration. “If you had told me that we were carrying the cure, I would have risked everything to keep it safe.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” Kevin says. “We have to get the cure back.”
“Are you crazy?” I ask, looking at his profile.
A warm hand comes down on the back of my head—Kevin’s hand—and he looks at me. “I’d be crazy not to try and get it. If I could get some to my sister . . .” His face is so close to mine that our noses almost touch. I swallow and look away.
Bowen narrows his eyes. “Do you think we can find it? Do you think the raiders have it?”
“Of course the raiders have it. It was left in the middle of a group of them, and they did have a dog. Their MO is to sweep for dropped possessions after they catch people—or don’t catch them. I don’t know if we can get it back, but we need to try.” He presses his lips to my temple and sighs, and it is like someone has set off fireworks beneath my skin.
Fo’s eyes grow round. Bowen looks between me and Kevin. His gaze lingers on Kevin’s lips, still pressed against my temple. Kevin leans away and clears his throat and moves his hand to my knee. “So, what’s up with you two?” Fo asks, her voice nonchalant.
My throat constricts and I stare at her, unable to utter anything. Because what would I say? I have no idea what’s up with Kevin and me.
“I’ve got a major crush on Jacqui,” Kevin says, squeezing my knee. I jump and Kevin laughs.
Bowen scowls at me, his gaze so sharp it could draw blood. “Kevin, would you mind giving us a moment alone?”
Kevin gives my knee another squeeze before he stands and walks into the other room, shutting the door behind him.
The moment the door latches, Bowen snaps, “Are you crazy? Why did you tell him that you’re a girl?”
“Me? Stop blaming me for everything! I didn’t tell him!” I rub my knee, which is still tingling from Kevin’s touch. “You’re the one who told him my real name.”
“I didn’t tell him your real name.”
“Then Fo or Jonah must have when you guys were walking to the shelter today.”
Fo shakes her head. “We were only around Kevin for a couple of hours, and so tired we didn’t talk unless we had to.”
“And none of us had to say your name except to ask if you were dead or alive,” Bowen adds. We stare at each other for a long, silent moment. Finally Bowen shrugs. “One of us must have slipped up and said it, I guess. There’s nothing we can do now except hope he’s a decent guy. Do you realize how much you’re worth if he decides to sell you to the raiders?”
I shake my head. “No, actually. My mom and dad didn’t tell me stuff like that.”
“A beautiful young woman could buy him several years’ worth of food.”
I rub my hand over my buzzed head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t fit into the beautiful category.” And it’s not like he needs food—not with a warehouse-size room filled with it. He wouldn’t be easy to bribe.
Bowen takes a good, long look at me. “Have you actually looked in a mirror lately? You’re hot. This whole female Rambo look suits you. I’m sure Kevin would agree.”
“Or maybe I just happen to be the last woman on the face of the earth who isn’t married or a beast!” I retort. “Why didn’t you tell me you guys got married? And on the day I found you. So this”—I wave my hand around—“is your honeymoon?”
Fo won’t look at me. Bowen laughs a cynical laugh. “No, this is definitely not our honeymoon. And at this point, I don’t know if we’ll live long enough to have one.” He pulls her gently against him and kisses her hair.
I stand and make a heaping plate of food, setting it on the table in front of them. “Well, eat up. At least you won’t starve to death.”
I go into the bathroom. Just enough light filters through the skylight to show me my reflection in the mirror. The way I am standing, with my arms folded over my chest and my chin thrust forward, screams boy. I drop my arms, throw my shoulders back, and try to smile. It helps a little bit. But I still look like a boy.
I roll my eyes and leave.
Chapter 22
I sleep in one of the chairs, wrapped in a wool blanket, with my feet propped up on the coffee table beside the wire frog and rabbit. I am the first to wake up and smile when I think about taking a shower, even if the water is cold. A cold shower is a lot better than hauling bucket after bucket of well water from the backyard to the bathtub.
My clothes, still laid out in the kitchen, are slightly damp, but I take them into the bathroom with me. With icy water, I scrub myself clean and then put on my damp clothes. Using supplies from the bathroom cabinet, I brush and floss my teeth. I could get used to living here. I could live here the rest of my life. With Kevin. That thought makes me warm despite the cold shower and the damp clothes that are leeching my body heat. I put Kevin’s red hoodie on over my shirt and tackle vest, and pull the hood over my cold, wet hair. Taking the jeans I’d been borrowing, I go into the kitchen and rummage through supply cupboards until I find needle and thread and scissors and some fabric s
craps that used to be a shirt.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I cut the fabric scraps to the right size and start sewing them over the tears in the knees of Kevin’s pants. When the holes are patched, I wash the jeans in the sink, wring them out as best I can, and drape them over the counter to dry.
My stomach grumbles. With way more anticipation than making breakfast should bring, I open the cupboard above the sink and take out three cans: biscuit mix, powdered eggs, and powdered gravy. And then I start to cook.
“Good morning, Little Red Riding Hood.” Kevin is standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me with a smile on his face. I forget to breathe. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, and I hear the water running. And then he starts to sing. A few minutes later he steps out of the bathroom. His hair is wet and combed back, his face is smooth and clean, and he smells like a man—like shaving cream, soap, and aftershave. He smiles, and it feels so normal, standing in the kitchen with him just out of the shower while I make breakfast. The empty space in my heart gets a little fuller.
I measure powdered biscuit mix and water into a stainless-steel bowl. “How did you find this place?” I ask.
“Luck.”
“Was all the food here when you found it?”
He stares at me for a long minute, brow furrowed, before answering, “I scavenged abandoned neighborhoods for food after everyone left. Or died.”
I start to stir the biscuits. “I wish you had yeast. I love fresh bread.” Kevin takes a can of something from the cupboard to the left of the sink. He opens it, takes a measuring cup from the counter, and scoops pale yellow powder out. Without asking, he drops the powder into the biscuit dough. “What was that?” I already followed the directions on the can of biscuit dough, which amounted to adding water to the premade mix. It didn’t say to add anything else. I turn and lean the small of my back against the counter while I stir.
Kevin leans against the counter beside me and folds his arms over his chest. “Powdered butter. It makes everything taste better. A trick to living on dehydrated food.” He watches me stir. I can feel the heat from his arm against my shoulder. It makes me feel too light, his closeness, like I might float away.