Page 22 of Protected

It would be easier—less strange—if Deck were his normal grumpy but relaxed self. But he’s not. He sits motionless. Uncharacteristically stiff. He makes no sign or gesture to indicate a conversation, so we both breathe through the tension in the air.

I work on his hair, and he does nothing at all.

It takes a long time to get all the burs out and untangle his hair. The sun is almost down when I finally hand him the comb. He’s holding his towel loosely on his lap.

“Okay,” I say, shifting from foot to foot. That coiled tension below my belly is stronger than ever. It’s so strange. Intimate. I have no idea why I’m feeling like thisfrom nothing other than combing his hair. “You’re fine now.”

He nods soberly. Doesn’t move.

“Should we go in?”

He taps his chest, points at the creek, then gestures at me before pointing toward the house.

I sigh. He wants to finish washing up, and obviously I can’t hang around to witness it. “Okay. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

He nods and waits until I’m a distance away before he starts to move.

It’s not even thirty minutes later when Deck comes into the turret room as I’m lying in my cozy little bunk.

He’s got his clothes on. He smells clean and feels a lot more relaxed than he was before. He leans over to peer in at me. When I wave and say good night, his mouth twitches up just a little. Then he turns off the flashlight he’s been using. It’s completely dark now.

He didn’t like me working on his hair. He’s relieved it’s over. Now he’s back to his normal self.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a private person, always willing to help and do his duty but not letting anyone in. He stopped talking after Impact. He doesn’t want to open up.

Not even to me.

It makes me a little droopy, but there’s no reason for that reaction.

One thing I’ve learned is true about the world after Impact. You’ve got to take people as they are, or you won’t have any people at all.

8

I wakeup the next morning when the bed jiggles.

It must be Lance. My little brother likes to sneak into my room and climb into bed with me on weekends and holidays. We’ll plot to convince our parents to take us to a movie or drive out to the closest city big enough to have a toy store. He’ll ask me questions about how the house walls are strong enough to hold up the roof and who would win if a gorilla and rhinoceros got in a fight. Then we’ll go downstairs in our pajamas when Dad calls out that breakfast is ready. We’ll eat pancakes and crispy bacon, and Mom will remind us to finish our orange juice because we need the Vitamin C.

That’s what’s going to happen this morning. I know it with a certainty that permeates my body. I can almost smell the bacon and feel the weight of my five-year-old brother shift my mattress.

And I’m safe.

In that moment, I’m completely safe. Young and trusting and deeply loved andsafe.

Then the familiar scent of Deck hits my nose, and it’s all ripped away from me again.

Because I’m not nine years old in our family home with parents and a brother and a future. Each of them has been murdered by whatever heartless force controls our reality.

The loss hurts so much that I shake. Squeeze my eyes shut to hold back tears. Because for a moment sweet little Lance was close enough to touch, but now he’s torn away from me again.

It’s dark in the room. Deck must have accidentally woken me up when he climbed down from the top bunk. Even though I haven’t made a sound or identifiable motion, he jerks and turns around, leaning over to peer in at my bed.

Maybe he picked up vibes.

I’m embarrassed by my breakdown and don’t want anyone to know about it, so I lie completely still, eyes closed. He won’t be able to tell I’m awake in the dark room like this. No one could.

He reaches out to put a light hand on my arm.

“I’m fine,” I tell him since there’s clearly no sense in trying to deceive him even in the dark. “Just woke up thinking I was back home. With my little brother. And I’m…” My voice breaks. “I’m not.”

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