Jamison
CARA SHARES HER FOOD WITH US ANDwe eat a dinner that manages to fill all three of us up, though Cara doesn’t really eat much to begin with.
“Why did you come after us?” I ask. It’s the question Andrew asked me, and I lied, so I’m fully expecting her to lie to me now. I’m not entirely convinced she isn’t still working with Fort Caroline.
She shrugs, using her right hand to squeeze the space between her middle and index fingers of her left hand.
“Not good enough,” I say. Cara turns to me and for an instant I see what could be interpreted as annoyance, but it quickly dissipates and she looks back down at her hands.
“Jamie,” Andrew warns.
“No, you left your home—with plenty of food and safety—to come after us. So you can tell us why or you need to go right back.”
“Fort Caroline wasn’t my home.” She looks right at me when she says this, briefly, and I see annoyance return in her eyes. Then she’s back to staring at her hand, tapping her fingers lightly on the Formica tabletop.
“Where is your home?” Andrew asks.
“Easton. It’s in Maryland. On the Eastern Shore.”
Andrew keeps the rhythm of the conversation going. “How did you get to Fort Caroline?”
Lightning flashes and I can see her eyes are filling with tears. “I... lost everyone.”
Andrew and I share a look. She’s alone, like us. It’s not a unique trait in post-superflu America, but it’s something.
“So did we,” Andrew says.
She shakes her head quickly and I give Andrew a questioning eyebrow.
“Did you go looking for Fort Caroline?”
“No. They found me.”
“How?” I ask. “They said they only got as far as Virginia.”
“I... left.”
“Your house?” Andrew asks. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Again her head shakes. “It wasn’t there anymore.”
I can’t tell if she means physically or emotionally, but neither of us has the chance to ask. Wiping at her eye, she looks out the window and starts talking faster than I’ve ever heard her. “I left and I was trying to go to Houston because my aunt lived in Houston and I liked to visit her there before... before... And then they found me.” It seems like she jumped over a bit of story to get to the end.
“Fort Caroline.”
She nods once.
“Why were you the only one working the motel?” Andrew asks.
Her voice turns grave and slightly resentful. “I was out of the way. They didn’t want me there at first, but Grover told them to let me stayand help with the motel.”
Grover Denton, the sheriff. The one who brought us into town.
“Why did he want you to stay?”
“Because he’s nice.”
I barely hold in a scoff. He couldn’t be that nice if he associated himself with them—the people who came after us for a few cans of food and threatened to kill Andrew. Fort Caroline is much worse than Howard’s group by the cabin.
