She gave me a look that showed she disagreed. “Speak for yourself. I, for one, happen to appreciate a little flavor.”
“You’ve had granola bars for two weeks.”
“Luxury,” she deadpanned, and went back to tightening a strap.
Fiona emerged from the storage room, and I took one look at what she was carrying and had to do a double take.
“Jesus,” I said. “Are you planning to open a practice?”
She didn’t blink, shifting the weight of the medical supplies. “Sutures, antibiotics, painkillers. Everything we don’t have and won’t find out there.” Her look didn’t invite debate. “So either you help me carry this, or I’ll follow you out that door and resent you the entire time.”
“Give it to me.”
She smirked. “I do enjoy the rare occasions you agree with me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said. “It won’t become a habit.”
Lily came in last.
Doc Fluffbutt occupied his mesh-windowed backpack carrier with the regal composure of someone who had requested first class and received it. His broad orange face pressed against the window with mild curiosity, taking in his surroundings like a passenger reviewing the departure gate.
“I’ve got his food,” Lily announced, holding up a separate bag with evident pride.
I stared at it. “How much food does a cat need for the apocalypse?”
“Enough,” she said firmly. Then she reached into the bag and produced a small felt mouse on a string. “And I found some toys in the storage room.”
A long silence settled over the room.
“Toys,” I said.
“He needs enrichment, Finn.” She met my stare without blinking. “Mental stimulation is important for his well-being.”
I looked at the cat.
The cat looked at me.
Doc Fluffbutt let out a short, imperious meow that landed somewhere between agreement and mild threat.
“See?” Lily said.
“He’s running this operation,” I said, half to myself. “I want it on record that the cat is running this shit show.”
Lily made a sound that she converted, not entirely successfully, into a cough.
I rubbed the back of my neck and let the humor drain out of my voice.
“Hey,” I said. “Look at me for a second.”
She met my eyes, her expression shifting into something more serious.
“You keep him close and you keep that carrier on your back,” I said. “If we have to move fast—and chances are we will—you don’t stop. Not for anything dropped, not for any sound, and not for him. You move with the group. You understand?”
Something flickered across her face. Not fear exactly—more like the acknowledgment that the real world had just stepped back into the room.
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” I held her gaze one more beat. She may be almost seventeen, but she was still a kid.
