Page 210

Now it feels like the last stop before the rest of our lives.

I don’t trust safe anymore, but I want it badly enough to hurt.

We stop on the edge of town beside an old auto parts store with faded yellow letters and a cracked front window. The vehicles idle in a loose line, exhaust curling into the cold air. Everyone climbs out slower than usual. Shoulders stiff. Faces pale. Fingers fumbling with straps, zippers, magazines, and gloves. Still, a strange current runs through the group, quickening glances and sharpening movements. Hope, maybe. Or the closest thing any of us can stand without naming it.

Jacob claps his gloved hands together. “Quick stop. Supplies only.”

Lyla starts dividing us. She sends Carlos and Wesker with her and Earl toward the hardware store and the feed supply next door. Jacob takes Barbara and Joanie toward the pharmacy and diner down the block. Trish ends up with Clair and me to check small shops along the way.

Jacob points down the street. “One hour, people.”

We move along the sidewalk with our boots crunching over old snow and broken glass. The town has that dead winter smell. Cold dust. Rot under ice. Gasoline soaked into pavement. Somewhere, a loose sign creaks in the wind, swinging from one rusted chain outside a closed motel. The rooms stare at us with dark windows and half-open curtains.

Clair walks beside me, one hand tucked into the crook of my elbow, pretending she isn’t limping if she does it gracefully enough. She can’t. Every third step catches. Her jaw locks before she smooths it away. Pain flashes behind her eyes, bright and quick, and she buries it before anyone else can see.

She catches me watching and narrows her eyes. “Don’t start.”

I lift my brows.

She points at my face. “I know that look.”

I sign with one hand, slow enough for her to follow. “What look?”

“The you’re-about-to-carry-me-even-though-I-said-I’m-fine look.”

I press a hand to my chest, offended.

She snorts. “Do not pretend innocence. You are a very large, very silent menace.”

A very large, very silent menace who would absolutely carry her if she stumbled one more time. I keep that to myself. Mostly. I sign, “You hurt.”

She signs back, clumsy but getting better. “You annoying.”

Her fingers are still unsure, her movements slower than mine, but she’s been practicing. Quietly. Stubbornly. Usually when she thinks I’m not watching. She wants to meet me in my language, and every time she does, some ruined piece of me lies down and rests.

Trish walks a few steps ahead, scanning the storefronts with her pistol raised. “I can feel both of you being cute behind me.”

Clair smiles. “Is our cuteness too loud?”

“Never, but let’s keep it locked down until we get back, yes?”

Her voice comes out light, but her shoulders sit high around her ears. They have been like that since we left Chicago. Trish checks every doorway twice. Touches the gold chain at her throat when she thinks no one is looking. Counts exits under her breath. Last night, she stared west so long her coffee went cold in her hands.

The farm is close.

So are whatever ghosts she left there.

I glance at the faded sign in the window beside us. BEACH FAMILY EYE CARE. One of the front windows is broken. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses lies crushed on the sidewalk, one lens missing.

Clair’s smile softens as she looks at Trish. “How are you feeling?”

Trish doesn’t answer right away. Her thumb drags over the chain at her neck once before she drops her hand and tightens both palms around the pistol. “Anxious.”

Clair squeezes my arm once, then lets go so she can step closer to Trish. “About the farm?”

“About all of it.” Trish exhales, and the breath fogs white in front of her. “About getting there. About not getting there. About finding the place empty. About finding it not empty in the worst possible way. About my parents being fine and me falling apart the second I see them because apparently I have been keeping my entire personality together with caffeine and spite.”

Clair’s voice gentles. “That tracks.”