I look down at the Kid, who is still latched on to my hand, and my chest aches with a weird combo of love, frustration, and sadness. Jamie finally let himself love everyone else in our group. He went to kill Rosewood because he doesn’t want any of us to get hurt. He doesn’t want what happened in the Keys to happen again.
Maybe that was driven partly by revenge, but a large part also has to be because he was scared. And not just for himself.
For all of us.
My heart aches again for him—with fear and worry but also so much love. I wish I could have reassured him, found a way to convince him to change his mind.
“Maybe?” I finally say to Henri. Maybe one day I can forgive him. Knowing he finally opened his eyes to our found family and just wanted to protect them. Us. “I think I can. Maybe with more time.”
Henri smiles. “Well, that’s the good news about the apocalypse. Nothing but time.”
Still, her eyes are sad. Like she knows that’s not true.
Not for her.
Jamison
A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER LEAVING FARAWAY,Niki and I have to stop for the afternoon. It’s raining nonstop and our shoes are soaked through. We light a fire in the fireplace of an empty house and raid what’s left of their pantry—there’s not much, but it’s enough to feed us for the night. The following day is clear, so we set out early, looking for a place in town that might have food.
We check a few houses first and come up with five cans—black beans, corn, pears, and vegetarian refried beans—and a tin of sardines. Still not much.
“Maybe the others came through and cleaned out most of it,” Niki says.
I nod. “Andrew would absolutely leave the sardines.”
We check a few more places—gas stations, churches, a dentist office kitchenette—but find nothing substantial.
I go into a discount grocery store while Niki watches the front and double-checks the map. I find a few more cans, but wherever we stop for the night, we’ll have to go looking for more food before we leave in the morning.
“Jamie!” Niki’s voice sounds full of fear, so I sprint through the messy aisles out the broken door. She has her rifle pointed toward the parking lot. I reach back for my gun but stop.
There’s a dog sitting halfway between a light pole and us. Just sitting, their mouth open in a pant and eyes squinting. They’re a big dog, but skinny. Large satellite-dish ears are splayed out on either side of their head and their white, brown, and black-speckled fur is thick and matted.
“It’s okay,” I say, putting my hand on her rifle and pushing it slowly down. “I don’t think they’re going to hurt us.”
“Have youmetthe postapocalyptic dogs? The ones who survived are feral again.”
“Does this one look feral to you?”
“Yes!”
Almost as if to prove a point, the dog yawns and returns to panting. I take a step forward.
“Hey, uh...” I check, just to be polite. “Guy. You hungry?”
“We don’t really have food forus,” Niki mumbles.
“We have enough.” I take another step forward and hold out my hand. The dog stands and takes a few strides over to me, keeping his head down. He smells my hand, gives a light lick, then presses his face into it. I scratch behind his ears, and he starts kicking his hind leg.
Teeny fleas jump off onto my hands. My flesh crawls and I step back, shaking them off. The dog sits down hard and continues scratching behind his ears with his hind leg.
“He’s covered in fleas,” I say. Probably ticks, too. Poor guy. “Wait here.”
I go back into the store as Niki calls out after me. There’s a petaisle, but I doubt they have flea and tick treatment in a discount store. They do have a brush and a small, bristled metal comb specifically for combing out fleas.
I grab both, then a bottle above them catches my eye. Flea and tick shampoo. What do you know. I check the back to make sure it’s going to get rid of the fleas, not just make him smell like lavender. But the bottle says it’s unscented and kills fleas and ticks on contact. Perfect.
“Jamie, hurry up!”
