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“That’s how I feel too, now that my dad has died. The folks in the bunker are my people, so I’m going to stick with them.”
* * *
In another half hour, we make it to New Haven Farm, which is a sprawling property surrounded by a fortified, makeshift wall.
It’s well guarded, which is the only way to survive in the world these days, and the people who greet us seem efficient and competent but also friendly.
It’s nice to see new faces. Grant introduces me to someone named Faith, who looks to be about my age but also seems to be in charge. She already knows Grant and appears happy to meet me. She walks us around the main house and into the yard behind that leads to the barn, introducing us to various people we pass.
There are too many of them, and it’s been too long since I met new people. I can’t remember anyone else’s name.
“We’ve already crated up these chickens for you,” she says, gesturing toward stacked crates of loudly discontent poultry. There’s a lot of flapping and clucking and feathers, so I can’t really tell how many chickens we’re getting.
But it looks like a lot. We can use them. We need to have enough to breed and also to produce enough eggs for our community.
Grant eyes them stoically. He always looks like he knows what he’s doing, so I’ve always assumed he does. “That’s good. But if we’re giving you the generator, we’ll expect more than just this.”
“Yep.” She gestures for us to follow her. Faith is one of those ultracompetent people like Grant is. She’s very pretty with strawberry blond hair, plus boobs and hips I can’t help but envy. But she has a brisk manner like she’s used to getting stuff done and doesn’t waste time.
I can respect that. I wish I was able to give off the same air of innate authority. Maybe then I wouldn’t still be treated like a princess.
Grant and I follow Faith to another outbuilding where we find sacks of flour and dried beans and boxes of canned fruits, preserves, and tomatoes. My mouth waters at the look of some of them.
I can see Grant assessing the amount. The trade looks like more than fair to me since none of the things we’re giving away we’ll need to use anytime soon.
He finally nods. “Looks good. Thanks.”
I’m relieved. I’d bet Faith is a tough negotiator, and we definitely don’t want any hard feelings with these people.
With the business done, Faith smiles. “Do y’all want a snack before you head out? It’s still plenty early for you to get back before dark.”
I perk up at this but glance over at Grant before I respond. He meets my eyes and gives a little nod.
“Thanks,” I reply. “That would be great. I’d love to see more of the farm too, if you don’t mind showing me. Or I can just wander around if you’re busy.”
“I’m happy to give you the tour,” she says, glancing over at Grant. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind making sure Jackson knows how to put that generator together? He’s pretty good at mechanical stuff, but just to be safe…”
“Sure. No problem.” Grant heads over toward a couple of guys who are lifting out the parts of the generator from our Jeep.
Faith and I are left alone. I’m still smiling at her. It’s been years since I’ve met anyone new—especially someone around my age.
I have a good time as she shows me around the house and farm. They’ve got impressive facilities—including well water and manually pumped plumbing. The place is comfortable and productive, and everyone looks busy and content.
Hopefully, we can turn the camp and bunker into something like this. There’s no reason we couldn’t.
We’ve finished the tour and are sitting on the front porch, eating bread with jam and tart, juicy apples when I ask Faith, “So do you have a boyfriend?”
She smiles, her face looking even softer than before. “Yeah. Jackson, who Grant is talking to over there.”
I look over and see the man she’s indicated. He looks to be in his late twenties. He’s got dark, wavy hair and a strong, rough look that certainly has its own appeal. I can see why she went for him.
My eyes move over to Grant automatically. He’s a little taller and exudes a different, cooler kind of power.
Jackson is attractive, but he’s a stranger to me and he feels like one. Grant is different.
He feels like mine.
It’s a ridiculous thing to think. To feel. To even flicker through my mind. I brush it away immediately the way I do all other inappropriate stray thoughts.
