He brushed his nose against Blake’s, basking in the feel of his breath against Gabriel’s cheek.
Somehow, in some way Gabriel could never explain, he knew he was always destined to end up here. Maybe not in the middle of a trashed DC street, covered in alien guts. But here. With Blake. And if he had to survive wars, guilt, sobriety, and the end of the world to do it, he would.
Because this was more than survival. This was a cabin in the mountains beside a sparkling lake full of fish he would never be able to catch. This was books with half-naked men on the coverand coffee orders they’d never get to make. This was a pocket without a crochet hook.
This was love.
This was living.
EPILOGUE
Chicago, USA
Juan held in a cough as he pressed himself against the corner of a building. His chest ached from running, and he couldn’t feel his legs. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he peered around the corner into the street. Late morning light lit up a pockmarked street full of rusting cars—some still had their doors open. He’d learned a long time ago not to look into the seats.
He tightened his grip on his little sister’s hand. Sofia was fading fast. Despite the fear, she could barely keep her eyes open. He’d carried her all night, but now he didn’t trust himself. His arms felt like lead weights.
When he turned to look at her, her big dark eyes blinked up at him slowly. “Juan?” she whispered. She always whispered now. He could hardly remember the times he’d had to put earbuds in to avoid her yelling.
“It’s okay,” he said automatically. “Mom will be back soon.”
Sofia shuffled up against him, resting her head on his arm. “I’m hungry.”
We’re all hungry,he wanted to say. But Sofia was five. She didn’t understand that he’d given her his bag of chips last night. Or was it the night before? He couldn’t remember.
Emotion burned behind his eyes. Had he already forgotten? A year ago, he would have thought that watching his uncle die would have been unforgettable. Now it was just another memory. Another loss.
He stroked her filthy hair back and kept an ear out for the clicking. It was always the clicking, first. The aliens were getting smarter. They’d been busy with the remaining soldiers and police for a while, but the human guns had been silent for weeks. Now the aliens were coming for the small pockets of people hidden away. He wouldn’t say they were doing well in that warehouse by the docks, but they’d at least had a roof. Food.
Juan was supposed to be on watch the night they came, but his uncle had waved him off. Told him to get some sleep. He was only a few years older than Juan, but he had that way about him. The kind that came with experience. He’d always been that way, even when they were kids. Now he was…
He shook his head. No. Diego had told him to run. To protect his mom and sister, he was going to do that. No matter what it took, he would get them out of Chicago. He’d never lived anywhere else, and he had no idea where they’d go, but there had to be help out there.
Footsteps scraped against pavement, and he tugged Sofia behind him, pressing her into the wall. His mother turned the corner, her steps slow.
She was thin. Too thin. His father always used to tease her whenever she got on one of her dieting kicks, pinching her behind and dodging her swats with a grin peeking out from his mustache. Now she was all angles, her face gaunt and dingy hair pulled back from her face.
“Did you…?” he asked, stepping away from Sofia. She ran to their mom, hugging her legs.
His mom pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No, there was nothing.”
She’d been looking for food and water in some of the busted-out bodegas and corner stores along the street, insisting she could be quieter alone. Juan hadn’t wanted her to go, but one look at Sofia’s face told him she would never be able to keep up.
“Okay,” he said, more to himself. “That’s—we’ll just keep going. There will be something.”
His mother nodded but didn’t say anything.
Juan had never paid much attention to maps. He was seventeen, and he used his phone for everything. On the occasion he left his little piece of Chicago, he could always GPS it. A few taps and he had a cool, feminine voice in his ear telling him exactly where he needed to go.
Now he felt like one of those old abuelos shaking their fists and muttering about technology.
Taking Sofia’s hand again so his mother wouldn’t have to, he checked the corner and crossed the street. His sister was dragging her feet, her ratty sneakers scraping more sole off with every step. They used to light up, but his father had dug the lights out so they wouldn’t give them away.
Sticking close to side streets, they hugged buildings and used every car, dumpster, and broken chunk of whatever to hide behind. The city was almost unrecognizable at this point. It felt different, too. He used to think nighttime in the city felt like it was dead, but that was nothing. There was still a thrum of something. A party here, a late-night television show there.
But this? This was dead and buried. Nothing moved. Not even rats or stray animals. The city was so gone it had begun to decay, weeds creeping in through the cracks, nature beginning to reclaim what it once lost.
His stomach cramped. It felt like it was folding in on itself, so tight it was difficult to stand upright. He tried to lick his lips, but his tongue was tacky and swollen, like it was when he woke up in the morning with the heater on.
