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Several of them are gone now, stolen when our parties were attacked or else taken by the folks who left our group. But we still have a few pickup trucks, a couple of Jeeps, two motorcycles, and a small prop plane as well as a decent supply of fuel.
When that runs out, our vehicles will be worthless because there doesn’t seem to be anywhere to access gasoline anymore.
Because we’re so cautious about conserving our fuel, I’m surprised when I hear an engine start in the garage as I come in. I hurry over to investigate out of curiosity.
It’s Grant. He evidently just turned on one of the Jeeps—it looks like the same one he drove me here in from my dad’s private jet so long ago—and now he’s leaning over the back to rearrange whatever he’s got in there.
“Where are you going?” I ask as I approach. The hunting parties leave early in the morning, and we haven’t done any scouting lately since we pretty much know the lay of the land in our immediate region now.
He jerks visibly, his head still bent over the back of the vehicle. Slowly he straightens up. “New Haven. It’s that farm about an hour away.”
“Oh. Are we trading more supplies?”
Grant’s blue eyes run up and down my body quickly before they return to my face. “Yeah. We need more chickens and more flour. And we’ve got plenty of stuff that they don’t, so we can trade.”
I step over beside him so I can see into the back of the Jeep. Inside the carefully packed compartment are bags of clothes, boxes of mechanical parts, and a few rifles.
“What are the parts in those boxes?”
“It’s a small solar generator. We’ve got several, and we don’t need any of them right now. And the clothes all belong to people who died.”
“Oh. Wow. We should get a lot of flour and chickens with all that stuff.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
This is the longest conversation I’ve had with Grant in months. He nods and says hello whenever we see each other, and he’ll answer a question if I ask him something, but he doesn’t chat.
Not that it means anything. He’s never been a chatter. The only reason we spent time together before was because he was teaching me to defend myself. He doesn’t need to do that anymore.
When I was feverish and sometimes delirious from that virus a couple of months back, I vaguely recall him hovering. He might have talked to me then, but those days are too fuzzy for me to know.
Being with him now makes my stomach flip-flop in a weird way. It’s not a comfortable feeling. Which is why it makes absolutely no sense when I hear myself asking, “Can I come?”
“What?”
“You heard me. I asked if I can come with you.”
“It’s not safe out there. You know that. Do I need to list everyone who has died when they were outside our fence?”
“No. You don’t need to list them. But you’re going by yourself, so I assume you know a route that will avoid the dangerous areas. Plus I can take care of myself. You made sure of that.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just eyes me closely.
“You’ve got nothing in the front seat, so there’s room for me. And an extra gun will surely make it safer than just you.” I pat the pistol I always carry now in the holster at my hip.
I didn’t need it in the bunker, but everyone seems to agree we need to stay armed on the surface.
Grant still hasn’t answered. His jaw tenses slightly. I know because I can see a few little muscles in his face rippling.
He’s thinking of a way to argue, which for some reason makes me say, “I never get to go anywhere. I hardly ever get the chance to even be outside the fence. I’m not seventeen anymore, and I’m not helpless, but I’m still being sheltered like I am. I’m a competent member of this community, just like everyone else. So either give me a good reason I shouldn’t go, or else get out of my way.”
He lets out a short breath and then gives a curt nod toward the passenger seat. “When we’re out there, you do what I say. No arguments.”
“I’m not going to slow you down.” I’m scowling at him, but I’m secretly thrilled. My breathing has picked up and my heartbeat accelerated. I get to go. Do something. See more of the world outside our camp.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Grant mutters, sliding behind the wheel.
I want to stick my tongue out at him, but I manage to suppress the silly impulse.
