Page 13 of Protected

“Why good?”

“I don’t know. He really withdrew after Impact. Not just with words but with everything. He’s so closed off I’m not sure he could let someone in enough to have a relationship.”

“That makes sense. A lot of people are like that. I think maybe I am too.”

“Now if you’re interested in Micah, I could maybe help you get hooked up.” Burgundy is obviously teasing. Her dark eyes are twinkling.

I snicker, as she clearly wants me to. “No, thank you. I’m fine on my own.”

“All right then. But keep Micah in mind if you’re ever in the market. He’s a really good guy. You won’t find a better one. There.” Burgundy pats the final bandage. “You’re all set now. But those bruises look ugly. They must hurt like hell.”

“They’re not that bad. Thank you for helping.” I move over to the creek to cup water in my hands and wash my face, neck, arms, and armpits, shaking off the droplets before I pull my shirt back on.

“No problem.” Burgundy grins at me. “It’s nice to have another girl around my age. I haven’t had a friend for years.”

“Me either.” We smile at each other just briefly, and I feel better in more than one way when I heft myself to my feet.

I follow Burgundy down the creek bank. We pass Deck, and he puts a light hand on my arm.

When I frown up at him questioningly, he gesturestoward his chest and then uses his fingers on both hands to make the sign for two and then nine.

I stare at him a few seconds before I nod.

We continue back toward camp.

Now there are two things I know for sure.

Deck is twenty-nine.

And he definitely overheard what I said to Burgundy.

5

The morning passesas yesterday did—sitting in the back of a pickup for miles, looking for danger, broken only by brief stops to scavenge. Maybe to someone else it would get tedious after a while, but it doesn’t to me.

After days and weeks and months of seeing nothing but the old Walmart and the barren landscape surrounding it, everything feels new and interesting. I’m alert and watchful all morning, and I do the best I can to help search for abandoned provisions whenever we stop.

By the midday break, I’m more tired than I realized. Yesterday several in the group found quiet, shady spots to take naps, and that sounds like a good idea for me today. So when I climb out of the back of the pickup and bend at the waist to stretch my back and thighs, I’m ready to search out a suitable napping spot.

Deck climbs out right after me and immediately disappears—I assume he’s peeing, but I don’t know thisfor sure—so I take the opportunity to get some distance, moving to the other side of the clearing and searching for an out-of-the-way corner to settle.

Others are lining up to grab the bread and jerky for lunch, but I’m not hungry. I’ve had more to eat these past two days than I’ve had for a year. My stomach simply doesn’t have room for it all.

I’m eyeing some grass under a tree—it’s almost green, not like a lot of the struggling, half-dead grass and foliage that’s most common now—when a presence moves to my side.

With a sigh, I turn toward Deck. “What?”

He hands me my lunch portion.

“You can have it,” I tell him. “I’m not hungry.”

He thrusts it at me again.

“Deck, I said—” I break off my objection because he heard exactly what I said. He simply doesn’t care. I accept the bread and jerky, break both in half, and hand him one section of each, making myself take a bite of the other.

This is apparently acceptable. He eats the part I gave him in a couple of big bites and stands watching until I get my portion down. It tastes fine. That’s not the issue.

The problem is I’m simply not used to eating.

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