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I get off the barstool and pull a gold New America coin from my pocket. Hiro and Abby are going to be so pissed at me. I’m shooting myself in the foot, because now Melissa will recognize me if I try to go into my father’s office as myself, and I’ll be discovered.

“Speaking of work, I have to go,” I say, setting the coin on the counter.

Her expression drops with disappointment. “Okay.”

“If I lived here, I’d be asking for your number. If phones existed, I mean.”

“You know where I work now, if you ever want to find me.”

I nod, getting my head covering and scarf out in preparation for the ash storm I’m about to walk into.

“You want change?” the bartender asks me.

“No, I’m good.”

“Good night, Rebecca,” I say.

“Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime.”

Her wistful expression ratchets my guilt up another notch.

“I hope so,” I say.

39

“My greenhouse is my sanctuary. Having my hands in fresh soil is renewing, and my flowers remind me that nothing can be in full bloom all the time. I hope the smoke and ash don’t destroy it.” – Mae Murphy

Evander

For nine days, Amira and I have only left our little cabin paradise when we had to.

There’s an outhouse we have to walk out to, and I set snares for small game every day. We’ve been living entirely on smoked rabbit, water from the cabin’s well, and each other.

When I move out from beneath the covers, she pulls me to her, purring like a contented kitten.

“You’ve gotten great at that,” she says, cupping my cheek.

“I’ve had a great teacher.”

She’s been sleeping more than she needs to, and I’m an earlier riser than she is. I get up right around sunrise to set and check my snares and walk the cabin’s boundary to make sure everything looks the way it did the day before.

We haven’t seen or heard signs of anything but us and the animals who called this area home a long time before we got here. Still, in the back of my mind is the fear that the Deadmen will show up out of nowhere and take Amira from me.

A higher power must be looking out for us, because not only have we been safe hunkered down here, there’s a shed on the perimeter of the property with the postvirus equivalent of gold in it. The shed is old and rusted, but it’s airtight, and inside I found an old pickup truck full of gas. There were several more full gas cans in the shed, too. Finding gas is unheard of anymore. So if we need to run, we have transportation out of here.

I’ve never felt happiness like this. It’s not just the sex—though it’s more incredible than I ever thought it could be—it’s just being. With her. We’ve learned so much about each other over the past few days.

I thought I needed to help the ILF bring down Whitman’s regime. The scars on my back are a permanent reminder of New America’s brutality.

When I’m lying with Amira, though, her hand gently stroking over my scars with the same tenderness she touches the rest of me, I know this is all I need now.

My gunshot wound doesn’t bother me anymore. It healed well, probably because Diego sedated me for a week.

I want to keep in contact with my brother. Isaiah and I both have to go off-grid for long stretches due to our undercover work for the ILF, but I’m sure he’s heard by now that I left the organization.

There was no resignation letter. I think helping a detainee escape and going silent for as long as we have should be an automatic ejection. Not only don’t I mind; I’m happy about it. I’ve been following orders my entire adult life. Amira showed me what it’s like to choose something different. Something better.

It’s freezing this morning. Our little propane heater ran out of fuel, so we stay bundled up or under the covers. I lie beside her and tuck the covers around us. She snuggles into my side.