Cara has highlighted our suggested route in pink, with blue detours if parts of the road are blocked or if we need to get off the main highway. She also outlined the areas where Fort Caroline has already sent out scavenging parties to look for supplies. We’re just past them. We’ve traveled almost forty miles in the twenty-four hours since we left.
And my feet definitely know it. I pull off my shoes, the blisters on the sides burning. Andrew sets down the sticks he’s found and does the same as I start the fire.
“I think we’re okay,” I say, nodding at the road atlas. “We’re out of their area.”
“Thank God.” He winces as he rubs at his foot. “If we have to keep moving at that pace, I think my toes will fall off.” The shoe from his right foot—the leg that was injured—is more worn down than the left.
“Maybe we should try to find a car that runs again.” The roads have been clear, but that was part of Fort Caroline’s cleanup along their scavenging routes.
“My life for air conditioning,” Andrew says, peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt.
I’m staring at him in the low light of the fire. My eyes are unwilling to move away and my stomach does that flipping thing it’s been doing lately.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew asks.
I shake myself from my stupor. “Sorry. Nothing. Just tired.”
“Go to sleep,” he says. “I’ll finish this up and take first watch.”
“Not that tired, I’ll be f—”
“Jamie. Go to sleep. It will be okay.”
He gives me a lopsided smile and I nod and lie back. He’s only a small fire away but it still feels too far. My chest isn’t tight like it was in Fort Caroline, but I still wish he were closer to me. Thankfully, I’m also too tired to worry about it. The last thing I see before I slip into a fitful sleep is Andrew’s face.
And my stomach does the flip again.
We’re slowing down, trying not to burn ourselves out. Before Fort Caroline, we were averaging between fifteen and eighteen miles per day, but now we’re down to nine at most. We travel in near silence during the day, as if we’re trying to conserve energy. EvenAndrewhasgone quiet. It gives me a chance to think about everything.
I don’t know what these feelings are. Is it possible to be bisexual and not realize it? I ask myself that question all the time, but it’s a stupid question, because the answer is,Yes, dummy, no shit. Then I think back—way back—and try to figure out if I knew at any other moments that this might be who I am. But I can’t remember a time I felt like this before him.
Before Andrew, so many times, I was on the verge of just giving up. Scared to leave the cabin, horrified at the prospect of staying alone with all the memories that haunted me there.
Along came Andrew.
I wish my mom were still alive. As weird as it sounds, I could talk to her about this. I know she would be okay with whatever I am and she could help me talk it out so I can understand it myself. She’d just listen.
I don’t have anyone to listen to me now and I don’t want to tell Andrew. I could tell him anything but this. This would be a tease. Then again, that’s me being optimistic. It would be a teaseifhe felt the same way about me, which I don’t know if he does because I don’t talk to him about it. I’m not going to assume that because I’m a guy and he’s attracted to guys that it means hemustbe attracted to me. That’s clearly not the case given that I’m attracted to Andrew but I’ve never felt an attraction to any other guys before.
Jesus Christ, this sucks. I don’t know how Andrew even survived all this constant questioning and back-and-forth as a kid.
“And why is it sofuckinghot?” I realize too late that I said the last thought out loud.
“Did... you just have a conversation in your head and say the lastpart aloud?” Andrew’s grinning at me.
I sigh. “Yes. I did.” Maybe my brain is having a meltdown. I want to empty my water bottle over my head, but relief will be short-lived. And then we’d have to boil more water over a hot fire. We pass a kudzu-covered sign on the side of the road welcoming us to Darien, Georgia.
“What was the first half of the conversation?”
I could tell him. This could be the moment when I say how I feel and ask what it means and if I’m being stupid or needy and it’s all just temporary.
I’ve had three girlfriends in my life: Jessica Webley, Lori Hauck, and Heather Brooks. Jessica hardly counts because it was the summer between seventh and eighth grade and when we went back to school in the fall, we ignored each other.
Lori Hauck was the first girl I ever said “I love you” to. She was the first girl I went to a dance with freshman year, the first girl I took to an actual dinner date. It was Valentine’s Day when we were fifteen and it was just the Mexican place down the street from my house—because nothing says romance like refried beans and melted cheese. Maybe that’s why she was also the first girl to ever break up with me. I wasn’t aware at the time that all those firsts might also be lasts.
Because of the apocalypse. Not because of Andrew.
But maybe because of Andrew, too?
