I clear my throat and stir faster. “You don’t think that might ruin it? I mean, good food’s so rare. I would hate to ruin these.” My words are rushed and I wonder if he knows how flustered I get when he stands close to me.
He turns his body so it is facing mine, and I stop stirring. Slowly, he unfolds his arms and puts one finger under my chin, turning my face up so I am looking right into his eyes. They’re so bright, so focused. He pulls the sweatshirt hood off my head. And then he angles his head to the side, leans in, and our lips touch. I almost drop the bowl of dough.
His lips move slowly on top of mine, and mine respond, like they’re dancing with his. We stay that way for a long time, with both of us holding perfectly still except for our lips. And my heart. It is beating like it wants to break out of my chest.
I hear voices in the other room so I pull away from Kevin and start stirring furiously. Kevin’s hand comes down on mine. I look at the dough. It’s smooth. Biscuit dough is supposed to be lumpy and have chunks of powder in it. If you stir it too much, the biscuits turn out tough.
“Jack.” That’s all he says, but he says it like it is the most important word that will ever come out of his mouth. I look into his eyes and brace myself for his lips on mine again. Instead of kissing me, he says, “If I knew you were going to grace my home with your presence, I would have been sure to have yeast.”
The room seems to darken. He’s lying. He does have yeast. Lots and lots of it in the food storage room at the end of the cave. I turn away from him and scoop twelve even portions of biscuit dough onto a greased cookie sheet.
“Too bad you didn’t know I was coming,” I say, forcing my voice to sound light and happy when I’m reeling with mistrust on the inside.
He steps up behind me, so close that the front of his body is touching the back of mine, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m just glad you’re here. And safe.” I fight the urge to squirm away and tell him I know he’s lying about the yeast, but I stand rigid.
He steps back, and from the corner of my eye I warily watch him rummage through one of the supply cupboards. He takes out a messy tangle of wire about as thick as paperclip wire, and a pair of needle-nose pliers. Sitting at the table, he starts working, bending and twisting the wire, forming and shaping. The smell of baking biscuits fills the kitchen, and my mouth starts to water. I make the eggs and gravy while Kevin works at the table, but I’m more focused on what he’s doing than on the food. After five minutes, he holds something in the palm of his hand and looks at me. “What do you think?”
He stands and hands it to me. I study the sculpture, a silver wire car with curlicue wheels. “Wow. It’s amazing.”
“Do you think the little boy will like it?”
The suspicion I felt a few minutes earlier is whisked away, and my heart warms up. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
He smiles and takes the car out of my hand, letting his fingers linger on mine for half a second before going into the other room.
When breakfast is ready, I dish eggs, gravy, and biscuits onto four plates (all of the plates Kevin owns), and carry three of them into the main room, setting them on the coffee table. Bowen and Fo are still asleep on the sofa, tangled in each other’s arms. Jonah is in one of the chairs, watching Kevin—down on his hands and knees—drive the wire car across the cement floor in front of the child.
“Here. You try,” Kevin says, holding it out. When the boy doesn’t take it, Kevin physically puts it into the child’s hand. The child’s eyebrows pull together, and he looks at the car, but only for a moment. The car clatters out of his hand, he turns his face up, sniffs the air, and whips his head in my direction. In one leap, the kid is on top of me. I scream and put my hand on my belt, but there’s no gun—I forgot to put it back on when I woke up.
“Jack! Don’t hurt him,” Jonah says, jumping to his feet. “He’s just hungry.”
The boy crawls off me, picks up a handful of eggs and gravy, and crams it into his mouth. He licks gravy from between his fingers, off the nine-legged tattoo on the back of his hand, and I feel a sharp, strange kinship with him. I know just how he feels. If Kevin hadn’t been in the kitchen with me while I cooked everything, I would have done just the same thing. Starvation is funny like that.
Fo and Bowen wake, as if they are one collective mind, and untangle from each other. Bowen sits up and takes a plate of food, handing it to Fo. “Thanks, Flapjack.” He smiles a groggy smile at me.
“Jack, you’re the best,” Fo says.
I go back into the kitchen and Kevin follows me. My stomach is growling to hurry up and eat. I put the remaining plate of food in the middle of the table and sit. Kevin sits across from me and puts his hands behind his head, leaning against them and watching me.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I pick up a biscuit and eat half of it in one bite. It isn’t tough. In fact, it is the best biscuit I’ve ever tasted, as if kissing Kevin while holding the bowl of batter added something magical to it. He watches me load my fork like it is a shovel and smiles. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I ask.
“When you eat, your face softens, you sigh, and it’s like you’re transported to heaven for a minute. You look so happy. I eat alone down here most of the time, so when I actually have company, it’s better than food.”
My fork comes to a screeching halt an inch before it reaches my mouth. “Most of the time? You eat alone most of the time, but not all of the time?”
He nods, still leaning against his hands like they’re a headrest.
“Who do you eat with when you’re not eating alone?” I’ve searched this entire place. There aren’t signs of anyone else staying down here. … Except … I set my overloaded fork down and my eyes go wide. There are tampons in the bathroom. And the box has been opened.
He’s still staring at me.
I’m not the only girl he’s had down here before. Am I the only one he’s kissed? I look at his lips. Based on the way he kisses, like he’s done it a thousand times, I’d say he’s probably kissed a lot of girls. Probably every girl who’s been down here.
“What are you thinking?” His question makes me realize I’m staring at his mouth and scowling. I look at the plate, take my fork, and shove the food into my mouth. And then I shake my head.
“You look kind of worried.” He takes his hands from behind his head and rests them on the table, leaning toward me. His knee bumps mine and stays pressed against it. I move my leg away and shake my head again.
He sighs. “If you’re wondering if I bring women down here and mess around with them, the answer is no. Sometimes I help strangers out, and some of them are women. But I never have time to get to know any of them. They just come and go.”
“It’s not like you know me either, though,” I point out.
He opens his mouth to say something, pauses, and then picks up his biscuit and takes a bite. He swallows and says, “But I feel like I know you. I feel like I’ve known you for months.” He leans toward me and whispers, “When I kiss you, I want to get to know you a lot better.”
“Me too. A lot better,” I say without thinking. My face starts to burn, and I press my fingers against my lips before any more accidental confessions jump out, like, I could live down here with you forever! Or, I have such a massive crush on you that I forget to breathe when you walk into the room!
Kevin takes my hands in his and opens his mouth to say something, but Jonah picks that moment to walk into the kitchen, holding an empty plate. He doesn’t look at us, just loads the plate with the remaining food and turns to leave. He pauses and asks, “Is it okay if the child and I finish off the rest of this?”
“Go ahead,” Kevin says, releasing my hands. He clears his throat and picks up his fork. “If you’re still hungry when that’s gone, let me know. I can whip up some more.”
After everyone’s eaten, Kevin and I wash the dishes while Fo sits at the table, sipping powdered milk from a tin mug. “Do you remember when we were ten and our families met at t
he park on the Fourth of July, and your mom made an American-flag sheet cake that I accidentally sat on?” she asks. “I had a frosting flag plastered to my shorts all night.”
I smile at the memory. “And my brother Dean had a huge crush on your sister, Lissa, even though she was three years older than him and two inches taller. And Jonah did some experiment and combined the gunpowder from two fireworks and caught his shirt on fire.”
Fo laughs, but her eyes are sad.
When the dishes are washed and put away, Kevin goes into the other room, and I sit at the table with Fo. “So, you’re married to Dreyden Bowen,” I say, glancing at her empty ring finger. “I never, in my wildest dreams, would have put you two together.”
A smile lights up Fo’s face, making the sadness leave her eyes, making her eyes sparkle—the same look she used to get as a kid when she talked about playing the piano. “I’m so lucky,” she says. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have much to live for. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive.” She glances at her crooked pinky finger and scowls. “So what’s up with you and Kevin?”
“I don’t know. It’s sort of hard to think about the future when you’re not sure if you’ll actually have one.” I glance into the other room. Bowen, Jonah, and Kevin are standing together, their heads close, talking about something. “I really like him,” I whisper. “Which is weird, because I’ve been resigned to the fact that I’d have to pretend to be a boy for the rest of my life, and never allow myself to be attracted to anyone. But now he’s here, and it makes me realize how much I’m missing.”
Bowen walks into the kitchen, carrying one of the leather chairs from the other room. He sets it down at the table and then stands behind Fo, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What are you guys taking about?” he asks.
“Girl stuff.” Fo grins up at him, and he lifts his eyebrows.
“Would you mind taking your girl stuff into the other room? We’ve got to plan how to get the cure back.” He sets a pad of paper and a short, stubby pencil on the table.
Jonah comes in and sits down in the leather chair. Without a word, he takes Fo’s cup and swallows the last of her milk. She gasps and smacks his arm, and the sides of Jonah’s mouth quiver and then turn up the tiniest bit. “Sorry, Sis.” He stands and rinses the cup, and then fills it with water and powdered milk, stirring it before setting it down in front of Fo. “I guess some habits never die,” he says in a quiet voice. Fo stands and throws her arms around Jonah.
“I love you,” she whispers. She kisses his cheek and then leaves the room, forgetting her milk.
Kevin comes in carrying a rolled-up map. He sits in Fo’s empty chair and sets the map down on the table and unrolls it, using Fo’s mug as a paperweight. Bowen gives me a look, and I fold my arms over my chest. “I want to help,” I say.
“Help us plan, or help us get the cure back?” Bowen asks, eyes guarded.
“Both! I’m the one who accidentally lost it, so I will help you get it back.”
Bowen shakes his head. “You can help us plan but you can’t come. I need you to stay with Fo. I need you to protect her while I’m gone.”
“She’ll be fine here. I want to help.”
“I agree with Bowen,” Kevin says. “You need to stay here. It’s way, way too dangerous for you out there.”
His words nearly knock the wind out of me. I tremble with the effort it takes to keep from yelling and very calmly say, “Too dangerous for me? I have been living out there for years, and doing just fine! Let me help! I don’t think I could stand being stuck down here while I worry about you guys!”
Bowen runs his hands through his hair and keeps them there, gripping the roots. “Yes, you have been surviving out there,” he says. “And yes, you are part of the reason we’re in this mess in the first place—and so am I. I should have told you we had the cure. But you’ve been sheltered out there. And you’re … you’re a woman, Jack. It would be too risky bringing you. You absolutely cannot come!”
I open my mouth to fight for the right to come, but my throat is too tight to talk. A warm hand grabs mine. “I need to talk to you for a minute,” Kevin says, pulling me into the other room, past Fo and the child, and to the shelter’s exit. He opens the door and we step out, so we’re both crammed into the small space with the ladder. He shuts the door halfway, so there’s just enough light to see by, and lets go of my hand.
“I want to go with you to get the cure,” I whisper.
His brows pull together, and he looks like he’s in pain. “Jack, no. It’s too dangerous.”
I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“Okay, you’re not understanding what I am trying to say. That”—he points up—“is no place for a woman!”
I bite the side of my cheek and fight off tears of frustration. “I hate being a woman.” My words are filled with bitterness. “It is the worst thing a person can be in this world.” I stare at him, daring him to contradict me.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You are a woman! You’re like an endangered species! Bad men kill to have you as their property. Good men will do everything they can to protect you—even die for you.”
“I don’t want to be protected! I’ll pretend to be a boy. I just don’t want to be left behind again.” Tears fill my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they spill down my cheeks. “Everyone I care about leaves me behind, and then they never come back.”
A hint of sorrow touches his eyes. “That’s because they care about you. Don’t you get it, Jack?”
“Get what?”
He takes one of my hands in his. “Out there, you are just a commodity. You’re something to be bartered with, then used up and discarded. But in here”—he puts my hand on his chest, right above his heart—“you are more precious than the sun, than air, than water, or bees. You are pure life. If I take you out there, you are what I will die to keep safe. Not the cure. If you come with me, I will be useless to Bowen because everything I do will be for you. You are more important than the cure, and so I have to know you’re safe.”
I close my eyes and drop my forehead against his chest. His arms come around me and hold me close. “Please let me keep you safe,” he whispers. “Please stay here.”
I turn my head to the side and press my ear against his chest, listening to the slow, quiet rhythm of his heart. “All right,” I whisper, and wrap my arms around him.
Chapter 23
Someone shakes me long before my body wants to wake up. A blanket is draped over my shoulders, and a warm hand frames my cheek. “Jacqui.” My name, spoken with his voice, makes me smile and wonder at the same time how he knows my real name.
I open my eyes. Kevin is crouching on the floor beside the kitchen table, holding a lit lantern.
“Did I fall asleep?” I rub my eyes and lean my elbows on the table and try to remember the last thing we were talking about—how Jonah, Bowen, and Kevin were going to get into the raiders’ headquarters in the first place. “Did you guys figure out how to get inside?” I ask, stretching.
Kevin nods. “We got it all worked out. Thanks for your help,” he whispers. A tiny smile touches his mouth, but his eyes are sad. He sits in the leather chair that used to be in the family room and I ask him the question that’s been on my mind for a while.
“Who told you my name?” I ask.
He blinks at me, his face unreadable. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. It means one of us wasn’t careful enough.”
“I’ll tell you after we get the cure back from the raiders. Right now there’s something more important for us to talk about.”
My skin prickles with apprehension. Kevin pulls something out of his pocket. He takes my hand and places a paper into it—a neatly folded rectangle.
“What is this?” I start to open it, but Kevin’s hand comes down on mine.
“That is something that could potentially get hundreds of people killed.” I drop the paper onto the table. Kevin laughs and picks it u
p again, closing my fingers around it. He keeps his hand on mine. “It’s what is written on it that is the danger,” he explains. “If the raiders ever read it, I will be dead, and a lot of people will be in danger.”
“You mean dead as in metaphorically speaking, right?”
He releases my hand and leans back in the chair. “No. Literally dead. As in dead.”
I start unfolding the paper but Kevin’s hand comes down on mine yet again. “What? I can’t read it?”
“Not yet. It’s for in case . . .” His voice fades away, and he closes his eyes, still leaning back as if he’s asleep. He stays that way for a long time, breath moving evenly in and out of him. I stare at his face, studying the way his shoulder-length hair frames it.
“It’s sort of like a last resort—plan Z.” He opens his eyes. They’re heavy and dark. Defeated. “If things get to the point that you don’t know what to do, read it.”
“Wait. If things get to what point?”
“If you get there, you’ll know. If you have to read the paper, memorize every single line of it. And then burn it or eat it or tear it into a thousand pieces and bury it under a boulder. But don’t lose it, and don’t let the raiders get it! Can you promise me that?”
All of a sudden I feel sick. What he’s not saying is there’s a chance he won’t be coming back. The paper seems to squirm against my skin, so I curl my fingers over it. “I promise,” I say, and unzip one of the pockets on my vest and tuck it in, right beside the spare suture packets.
Kevin stands and pulls me to my feet. “Come here.” He wraps his arms around me and sits back down in the chair, cradling me against his chest. I nestle my head into the space where his shoulder and neck join, pressing my cheek against his warm skin. Kevin props his feet up on one of the kitchen chairs, and his arms slowly grow heavy around me, settling over me like a blanket. The rise and fall of his chest gently rocks me, and his body heat fuses with mine, making me feel warm and soft and safe.