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He still has one final supply run to make before we’re snowed in. But it’s not like he can push a cart through a store and stock up on enough food to feed four grown men for six months.
He can’t even step foot in a store. I don’t know if he’s a fugitive, but given his crimes—breaking and entering, theft, kidnapping, rape, murder, and hell knows what else—he has to stay under the radar.
Rather than shopping for supplies like a law-abiding citizen, he resorts to stealing. Always in small quantities. Never in the same place.
Or so he claims.
We wonder if someone on the outside helps him. He won’t confirm that, but there’s no way he can steal all the shit he brings back without getting caught.
He gathers enough to fill the crates in the Beaver, provisions we can’t hunt or grow, such as medicine, grains, ammo, alcohol, new books and movies, and clothes, including the weird shit Wolf wears.
Denver’s supply runs are as vital to our nutrition and food security as subsistence hunting. We need both to survive this unforgiving land.
It’s our way of life.
“We’ll endure.” Apathy lurks in the upturned corners of Denver’s mouth. “It’s what we do.”
With that, he strolls out of the room, leaving the choice to us.
Wolf closes the door and crosses his arms. “You have to go.”
A drip of sweat rolls down my spine as I rise to my feet. Then I tell Wolf everything. I tell him about my intimacy with Frankie, the birth control pills, my fight with Kody, and what Denver said when he caught us.
“If we leave, he’ll make his move.” I hold Wolf’s flinty gaze, waiting for it.
He draws in a long breath. Then he explodes. “You’re a spineless, selfish hypocrite. We were finally at peace!”
Kody hooks an arm around him, stopping him from landing a punch.
“Peace is overrated.” I direct my attention to the woman in the bed. “She’s worth the war.”
“Fuck.” Kody mutters and releases him.
“You did this.” Backing away, Wolf drags a hand down his face. “You know what you have to do, and I know what I have to do.”
“And what is that, Wolf?” My stomach tumbles.
“In the poetic words of Meat Loaf, I’d do anything for love.”
“But you won’t do that.”
“No, I won’t do that.” He shifts his focus to her, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Because she’s sick.”
And because she’s sick, we have no choice. We must leave without her.
“She won’t be sick for two weeks.” I’m sweating, nauseous, ready to crawl out of too-tight skin. “She needs to stay sick. Feed her rotten meat if you have to.”
I expect a snarky response, but Wolf only nods. He gets it.
“You’re right about peace.” He brushes the hair from Frankie’s sleeping face.
“How so?”
“Peace is like masturbation. It’s fun for a while. But when it starts waking up your roommate, interrupting family movie night, and making everyone uncomfortable at the dinner table, it loses its appeal.”
“That’s not…”
“Not the words you would use? I know. Your plebeian brain struggles with basic colloquy.”
Kody’s broody eyes meet mine. He doesn’t like this any more than I do.
“We’ll be quick,” he says. “Cut our sleep in half. We’ll hunt faster with two people.”
“Joke’s on you.” Wolf nods at Kody’s injury. “You’re down a hand, bro. Makes you half a person.”
“And I’m still a better hunter than you.”
“Get on with it then. Do your thing. Shoo.” Wolf says this with a tight expression, his anger still simmering beneath the surface.
I look at Frankie, at her tiny, frail body, and I’m commandeered by an overpowering imperative to touch her. Kody grabs my arm to drag me out, but I can’t shake this need.
Jerking out of his grip, I follow my feet to the bed and press my mouth to hers. “Get better. Make good choices. Give Wolf hell.”
Wolf tucks his hands in his pockets. “You know she will.”
I’m counting on it.
“No bargains.” I clutch his nape and squeeze.
“No bargains,” he agrees.
It does nothing to assuage my dread.
40
Frankie
—
They left without me.
Not that I blame them. I’ve been in bed for four days, puking my guts out. Whatever ails me goes beyond a broken heart.
The first forty-eight hours were the worst. I thought it was food poisoning. But the sickness endured days after I stopped eating.
And no one else has become ill.
Maybe it’s a virus, an unknown food allergy, a gastrointestinal disease, or…
Is it the birth control pills? I’ve taken oral contraception off and on throughout my adult life and never had an adverse reaction. But these pills are unmarked. What if they’re poisonous? Can I trust that Leo told me the truth about them?
I must.
Even in my feverish haze, I remember how devastated he sounded when he left.
He didn’t want to leave me behind.
Thankfully, I had the foresight to slip seven pills into the hidden pocket of my leggings the night he told me about them. I haven’t missed a day, but how many pills did I throw up?
