Page 23 of Citadel

They’re kind of like our grandparents used to be—plain, kindhearted country people. I guess even an apocalypse couldn’t change them.

Cole sits in the back, listening to every word, his eyes watchful. He doesn’t appear to be unusually tense, however, so he must instinctively trust these people like I do.

Maybe he’ll like them.

Maybe he’ll like the town.

Maybe he won’t up and leave the minute he gets us settled somewhere safe.

Surely he’s tired of his futile endless search for his wayward brother.

The rough ride in the back of the truck starts to make me sick to my stomach. If I’d eaten anything except a little dried pork first thing this morning, I might have actually thrown up. As it is, after about a half hour, I have trouble concentrating on the conversation and instead turn my body away from the others and breathe deeply.

It’s a minute or two, and then Cole leans back toward me. “Look over at the mountains there.”

I automatically look in the direction he indicates. There’s nothing much to see. Just some higher mountains in the distance—gray blue with slightly hazy lines. “What about them?”

“Nothing. Just keep looking at them.”

I turn to frown at him.

He pulls his brows together and nods back toward the mountain.

With a sigh, I do as he says, focused on the unmoving horizon. I keep breathing, hoping I’m not going to embarrass myself by vomiting, and after a couple of minutes, I realize I actually feel better.

“Oh,” I said, turning back to Cole in surprise. “That worked.”

“Good.”

“I never used to get carsick.”

“Been a long time since you’ve been in a car. And this isn’t the easiest going.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“So y’all do talk,” Theresa says in a louder tone that’s clearly directed toward us.

We turn toward the woman’s smile. “We talk,” I say. Since we’ve gotten into the truck, we’ve fallen into our habitual manners—me trying to go unnoticed and Cole in silent, brooding watchfulness. If I hadn’t gotten carsick, we might not have spoken the entire trip. “We appreciate you helping us out like this.”

“Sure thing. Only way to survive anymore is to help each other out.” She’s turned almost backward in her seat so she can peer at me. “You’re a real cute little thing. Why do you hide behind that cap?”

I blush, surprised and faintly pleased and put on the spot. “I don’t have much hair, and I get sunburned.”

“Bet you have hair as pretty as your sister here.”

“No. Mine isn’t. It’s browner than hers is.”

“It’s very pretty,” Breanna puts in. “If you decide to grow it out, you’ll see.”

I shrug, wishing people would stop focusing on me and talk about something else. I search my mind for a diversion. “Have you and Ned lived in this town all your lives? What’s the name of it?”

“It’s called Monument. We’ve lived in these parts all our lives. We had a small farm on the outskirts. But after things fell apart, we moved into town so we’d be safer behind the walls.”

“Walls?” Breanna asks. “The town has walls?”

“Course it does.” Theresa looks flabbergasted. “Towns built them up after Impact, and towns without them got overrun or abandoned pretty quick. Can’t be safe without walls anymore.”

I meet my sister’s eyes, and we share a look of wonder.

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