Vince is still sitting on the bed, driving the applesauce container, like it is a truck, over the faded quilt. Framed by the window, Fo is standing beside the telescope and watching me, her eyes wide with fear.
“What happened to the guys?” I ask, as if I’ve known all along something bad would happen. As I walk to the window, images of all the different ways Kevin, Bowen, and Jonah might die assault me—I’ve seen enough death to imagine some pretty gruesome things.
Fo shakes her head. “They’re fine.” But the look on her face, like she’s in pain, belies her words. “At least for the moment.”
“Then what is it?” I don’t dare to look through the telescope. She doesn’t answer, just tucks her long bangs behind her ears and stares at me with her big brown eyes. And then she starts to hum something sinister, like my life now has its own personal theme music.
“What are you humming?” I snap.
“Sarabande.”
I stare at her.
“By Handel? Sorry. Morose, I know. I’ll be quiet.” She gestures to the telescope.
Bracing for something bad, I hold my breath and stare out the window. The morning sun has painted the world a hopeful shade of bright, but long shadows bleed out beneath everything. The distant interstate looks like a faded, tattered gray ribbon laid out in a long straight line over the brown landscape. Taking a deep breath, I put my eye against the telescope eyepiece. It’s still warm from Fo. The distant world zips into view, and as if on cue, Fo starts humming again.
I am looking at a neighborhood at the base of the foothills. A group of men is walking along the road. I start counting them, an almost unconscious reaction. But when you’re facing an enemy, the first thing you need to know is how many there are. As I count the last head, I have never been happier to be out of the city. Even my family would be hard-pressed to make a stand against fifteen big, stout, armed men.
“Looks like the raiders are out,” I say.
Fo stops humming and says, “Keep looking. Move the telescope west.”
I do what she says, and my blood runs cold and my ears start to ring. I back away from the telescope, clear to the other side of the room, until the wall collides with my back and I can’t go any farther. “No. Please, no.”
Fiona is staring at me. Vince is staring at me, as if finally, for the first time since he’s woken, he understands something is wrong. He reaches out and grasps Fo’s long fingers.
“They’re about to get caught, aren’t they,” Fo says. She’s not asking, just affirming what she already knows. She walks to my side. Vince, still holding her hand, trails a step behind. “Is getting caught part of the plan?”
“No. The plan is to sneak into raider headquarters and get the cure.” I unzip the top pocket on my vest and take out a folded square of paper. I hold it out to Fo.
“What is this?” She takes it from my trembling fingers.
“Plan Z, for if all else fails,” I whisper. I hug her and my gun grinds against my hip. “Take care of Vince.” In a daze, I turn and stride out of the room.
“Wait!” Fo comes after me. “Where are you going?”
I take a deep breath and fight the urge to vomit. “To warn them.”
“You can’t go out there! You’ll get caught or you’ll die!”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Then I’ll die trying, because I am sick of sitting around while everyone else fights!”
“Just hold on for one second. You have to do this right!” She pulls me back into the room, to the telescope, and puts her eye to it, slowly moving it back and forth. “Look.” She takes a step away and gestures to it. I look.
The guys have stopped running down the foothills. They’re in a copse of dead scrub, huddled together. Kevin is talking, occasionally pointing toward the city.
“Do you see that water tower?” Fo asks. Not far below the guys, just at the base of the foothills, sits a massive tan water tank.
“I see it.”
“That’s your landmark to help you find them.” She hugs me so hard I can’t breathe. And then she bursts into tears. “Run fast.”
“I will.”
Drenched with sweat, I approach the bottom of the foothills and don’t slow down, not even to remove Kevin’s red sweatshirt. There’s no time to waste on frivolous things like that. And I am doing what I do best. Only, for the first time ever, I am running toward danger, not away from it.
My gun is in my hand, catching sunlight. My muscles ache, my breath is ragged, and the metal letters in my top vest pocket clink together with every step I take. Fo’s hummed music, Sarabande, is playing and replaying in my brain—constant theme music that keeps beat with my pounding feet.
I get to the bottom of the foothills and jolt to a stop. I have reached my destination—the massive water tank, which looked tan from the telescope but up close is grainy with rust and dotted with patches of flaking paint. There is no sign of the guys.
I lean against the water tank and hug my arms over my chest. I am now in raider territory and have no idea what to do. Spread before me is a neighborhood of silent midsize houses that once had nicely landscaped yards. Now, dead bushes and bleached weeds choke the rock-lined flower beds.
I step away from the water tank, roll my tense shoulders a couple of times, and creep into the backyard of the closest house. My shadow huddles beneath my feet. The sun heats my dark, damp hair like it is trying to sooth me with its warmth. It doesn’t work. I’m feeling less and less confident with every step I take.
I am walking between two houses when someone whispers my name. “Jacqui.”
My gun is up, my arm ready to absorb the impact of a shot, and I circle around, searching for the source of the voice.