Page 6 of Protected

I know the feeling.

“I was in prelaw. I was going to be a lawyer.” This time when I feel someone looking at me, I turn my head quickly and catch Deck’s eyes moving back to the hills on the horizon. “Oh well. Now we’re this.”

Burgundy smiles. She’s remarkably sweet. The smile goes all the way to her eyes. “Yes. Now we’re this. Oh wait. Micah has a gun for you. Logan said you’d need one.”

Thus summoned, Micah lowers his rifle and pulls a small pistol out of an ankle holster beneath the leg of his jeans.

He smiles at me—warm but not as sweet as his sister—and says, “Like this.” He shows me how to insert the magazine, take the safety off, and pull the trigger.

I’ve used guns before—mostly Hal’s hunting rifle, which was the only weapon we had until it fell as we were crossing a river—but I’m not any sort of expert. I’ve survived by being smart and safe. Not by fighting or killing anyone.

I’ve never killed anyone, and I hope to never be forced to.

But using the gun is clearly necessary in this group, so I don’t hesitate. I practice a few times until I get the hang of loading it, and then I aim at passing trees to make sure I can handle it.

I don’t pull the trigger. One thing no one ever does anymore is waste ammunition.

When I glance back, I see all three of them watchingme. Micah gives me a quick, approving nod, and Deck levels a sober stare at me before he turns away.

Burgundy smiles. “You’re going to do fine,” she tells me.

I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s still nice to hear.

By my best guess, considering the number of vehicles in the caravan and the poor condition of the roadway, we only average about twenty-five miles an hour for the rest of the afternoon.

We drive a few hours and pass a couple of abandoned buildings that are quickly checked and dismissed as scavenging targets, and the only sign of living people we encounter is a farm in the distance.

It’s a relatively small farm with a makeshift wall around it and guards at the gate. In the fields, they’re clearly attempting to grow fruits, vegetables, and grains despite the layer of dust in the sky thrown up by the asteroid impact that is still affecting climate and sunlight two years later.

My stomach clenches as Logan’s vehicle slows down in front of the turnoff toward the farm. There are clearly people living there. Trying to survive. Yes, they likely have food and provisions, but that doesn’t mean they’re ours to loot.

I don’t want to be part of a group who would do that to people who have done us no harm.

I blow out a long sigh when Logan makes a wavinggesture out of his window, clearly indicating that we’re to move on. We aren’t going to hit that farm.

Whether it’s because the people there are innocent or because it’s too well guarded to risk, I still don’t know.

Otherwise the afternoon passes uneventfully. Burgundy occasionally initiates a short chat, but our focus is supposed to be on guarding, so the conversations aren’t too deep or too long. I keep rearranging to find a comfortable position where I can have a line of sight but not have to brace myself tensely to keep from falling over at every bump and turn of the truck.

I’m exhausted, sore from the tension, and slightly queasy when we come upon an old shopping center. It’s not very large—none of the retailers in this rural region were—and it’s been abandoned like everything else around. The grocery store and drugstore have already been pillaged. Nothing worthwhile remains. But there’s gas in the underground tanks at the gas station.

I’ve gotten out to stretch my legs like everyone else, and I watch with interest as several of the others efficiently pry open the tanks and use commercial-grade siphon pumps to draw out all the gasoline into the large transfer tanks in the back of each pickup.

This is clearly how they operate. They travel only to find new sources of food, supplies, and fuel, and they stop to scavenge whenever they encounter a possible target. Hal and I saw many such groups pass through by the Walmart. At least Logan and his group don’t kill or assault everyone they meet like some do.

It’s fine with me to survive by scavenging. It’s basically what Hal and I were doing but on a larger scale.

One of the men I haven’t met calls out while they’re finishing with the gas, summoning us over to his discovery.

He found a furniture showroom with one side of the building collapsed but the other side intact and barely pillaged. Chairs and tables and made-up beds are still in position with only two years of nature creeping in to damage them.

We decide to stay there for the night.

It’s disorienting to be around so many strangers in unknown circumstances after being on my own for so long, but it’s also weirdly exciting. I watch wide-eyed as a few of them circle couches and easy chairs around a large grill in which one of the guys makes a small fire to heat up our dinner.

Our meal consists of a stew made of canned soup, canned meat, and a variety of additional seasonings they have in their stockpile. It smells incredibly good to me, but I’m nervous about taking one of the comfortable chairs. I’m new here, and I don’t want to look pushy or entitled.

So I wait until everyone has sat down except the four men posted as guards and Deck, who is lurking in the background.

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