Page 67

“Hey, girl,” I say to Raisin, kissing her nose and rubbing her neck. “Are you refreshed?”

She bows her head slightly. I press my cheek to her neck, her warmth making me feel a little less alone.

“I’ll find you some apples,” I promise. “And carrots. You’re the best girl and you deserve it.”

I greet Jane the same way, with affection and some gentle rubs of her neck. Evander is on Thunder, giving me an expectant look, so I go over to Raisin.

He walks his horse up beside me, which he’s started doing when I mount. I pretend he’s not even there, putting my foot in the stirrup and swinging my leg up.

I don’t swing my leg quite high enough, though, and I fall back, my foot still in the stirrup. Evander catches me, one hand on my shoulder and another on my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

If he’s irritated, it doesn’t show in his voice. And he says I’m abstract. He’s annoyed when I exist, but not when I mess up.

He supports my waist with his hand, helping me get into place. My instinct is to thank him, but I don’t. I’m too aggravated—mostly with myself.

Why can’t I be as good as he is at silence? At keeping a calculated distance from people? At not caring if anyone ever hugs me or touches me?

We’re made very differently.

I wish I could talk to Briar. I miss her so much. I’ve been feeling off, and she’s my person for talking over things like that. Everything, really.

I have a weird sense that she’s not okay. It has to be my anxiety about never seeing her again. The postvirus world has taught me that getting attached to anyone is a bad idea. But I can’t help who I am. I care deeply about my friends.

Evander leads the way out of the barn, the wet, earthy smell in the air after a rain earlier making me think of the island. I hope Nova, Ellison and all the others are still safe.

We ride for several hours, our days and nights mixed up since we never stop for a full night. The sun has just slipped past the horizon when Evander breaks the silence.

“Were you with someone before the virus?”

The sudden personal question after hours of silence catches me off guard. I glance at him, but he’s still looking straight ahead.

“No. My training and competition schedule didn’t leave much time for a personal life.” I wait to see if he’ll ask me to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “I dated a guy for four months when I was nineteen. And after the virus, there was someone. What about you?”

It takes him a few seconds to respond. “I had a girlfriend a long time ago. But she didn’t like that my job had to come first.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-one. We were together almost a year.”

“And now you’re what—forty-five? Or are you in your fifties?”

That gets me a glance and an almost smile. “I’m thirty-two.”

“I’m twenty-seven, but I never really think about age or my birth—” A faint smell makes me stop.

“What is it?”

I close my eyes, trying to block everything else out. I want to be sure. My stomach turns when I am.

“It’s the smell of burning bodies. I’ll never forget it because we had to burn the bodies after the volcano.”

His brow is furrowed, his expression back to its usual seriousness.

“Are we moving toward it?” he asks softly.

I cover my nose, the smell growing stronger. “It’s moving toward us. I can feel the vibrations of ... wheels. Or tires. An engine.”