Page 49 of Protected

Burgundy’s voice is pure and high and resonant in the night air, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

I don’t know the words to this one, but a lot of the others do. When Micah and some of the men join in, themusic throbs in my chest even more deeply. It’s weird and moving and powerful.

In the break between two of the verses, Deck riffs on his makeshift drum, intensifying the beat as the next verse begins.

Be Thou my battle shield, sword for my fight,

Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight,

Thou my soul’s shelter, Thou my high tower,

Raise Thou me heav’nward, O power of my power.

My throat is so tight I can barely breathe through it. I don’t know why the song is affecting me this way. I’ve never really been a music person before any more than I’ve been religious.

I meet Deck’s eyes, and he smiles at me, softening the tension in my chest.

Then I glance over to where Logan is seated on the porch. He hasn’t been singing, but he’s listening. He’s not distant. Maybe there’s something about this experience that he enjoys too.

He must feel my eyes on him. He glances over and holds my gaze. After a moment, he nods at me. A silent acknowledgment.

Of something.

Ofme.

He was telling me the truth. What happened this afternoon is over in his mind. He’s not holding a grudge or still disappointed in me.

I’m one of his people now, and that’s what matters to him most.

So I let myself feel whatever this music—a hymn of faith at the end of the world—has brought into existence.

Maybe it will only last as long as the notes of this song, but I need it. Because Deck was more right than Logan was today. I know it for sure.

The world has to be about more than surviving if it’s worth fighting to survive at all.

17

Two mornings later,we pile into the already-packed vehicles and take off down the road.

It’s not as bad as I’ve been dreading.

I like watching the landscape change as we drive west. I like stopping at any abandoned buildings we encounter to search for supplies like buried treasures. I like feeling one of the group, a contributing member. Part of something bigger than just me.

But I miss the little bunk room I shared with Deck. I miss the hours of rest and the chance for privacy.

And I miss having sex.

On the third morning after we leave the big house, I wake up beside a large tree with Deck on my other side, so close that his shoulder is pressing against my back.

He had guard duty last night, so I went to sleep on my own in the sleeping bag we scavenged from the olddrugstore. He must have come to lie beside me in the middle of the night because he’s here now, blinking at me groggily when I roll over.

It’s around dawn—light enough to see without a flashlight or lantern but just barely.

I smile at the sight of his big, shaggy head.

He smiles back, pulling me toward him so he can give me a soft kiss.

Smiling against his lips, I murmur, “Good morning. Did you get enough sleep?”

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