August I can smell a storm coming in. It's an earthy scent that I can't ignore, especially when we're running low on water and I can almost feel the raw ache of thirst in the back of my throat. We need the rain. I draw in a deep breath to make sure I'm not imagining the scent, but now it's even stronger, intermingling with the decayed odor of a music shop that caught fire last week. A few days ago, after we'd raided the little souvenir store across the street from it, something had driven me to go inside. I'd found what was left of two Survivors within the remains of the building, lying side by side on a bed of smashed records and charred instruments with their fingers interlocking. Focus on the rain, Virtue. Not on death.
Today, the air is damp, and I swear I can feel my skin drinking the moisture in, but until the first drops fall, I won't get my hopes up. Not when the sun is so bright that it seems as if it's mocking me. The last time I expected rain, positioning empty water bottles on the roof, it hadn't come for nearly two weeks. Remembering those thirteen miserable days of thirst and uncertainty is just enough to take my mind off the dead couple in the music store, but it's not a welcome change of thought. So, I refocus again-this time on the reason why I came up here in the first place. I haven't eaten in days. I squat down on the roof of the jail we've lived in for the past two months. Midafternoon sunlight hisses at my bare shoulders.
Perspiration drips from my forehead, blinding me and making my binoculars oily to the touch. Across the street is a courthouse. It is imposing, gothic, with gargoyles lurching off the roof and bronze sculptures protecting the ground. It's beautiful, even in this world that has fallen on its face and refuses to stand back up, but I'm more interested in the elderly couple that has taken up across the street than the building's beauty. They're not the first to move into the courthouse since my group sought out shelter here. And I've got a feeling they won't be the last. They have no clue we exist. When there's a real threat, and there always is, they won't know that, either.
Not until it's much too late. "Spying on the neighbors again, Claudia?" Ethan's voice startles me, and I drop the binoculars to my chest, jumping up hastily. Although the ledge I'm standing on is several inches higher than the roof deck, my green eyes are level to his-he's that much taller than me. With the sun as a backdrop that makes his dark blond hair seem like a halo, he's ethereal. If it weren't for the knife sheathed to his side and the dried blood smeared across the front of his jeans, he'd be out of place in this run-down landscape. "Didn't think you would be around," I say. I peek over my shoulder at the courthouse. "They have food.
Bet they have water, too." "So you are spying." I nod and hop down from the ledge, skidding a little on the gravel. Ethan steadies me, holding either side of my waist as he draws me to his body. His grip is too tight and it momentarily takes my breath away. But instead of pulling away from him, I move in closer, tucking the top of my head underneath his chin. Being near Ethan has always made me feel safe, and even now it gives me the confidence to follow through on my plans. "I'm going in, and I'm taking as much as I can carry with me," I say.
Ethan groans. "It's risky. I mean, they're so close and-" "Don't worry, I can handle it," I promise, sliding my hands into his back pockets. I gaze up at him, and he tucks stray strands of my short blond hair behind my damaged ear. "They just left. Now's as good a time as any for me to go in." At last I shrug away from him and take a couple of steps backward. Tilt my head to one side and await his response.
"I'll go with you, Claudia." "No offense," I say, placing my hands on my hips and shaking my head, "but I'm pretty sure I can handle this one by myself. You should work on inventory while I'm gone. April swore she did it last week, but she screws everything up." He stares behind me at the winged lion gargoyle on the corner of the courthouse. After a long moment where I doubt he'll continue to argue with me, the sides of his mouth quirk up. "Come on. You and me.
Mini-quest." Ethan comes up with the most ridiculous names for raids. Quests. Mini-adventures. Field trips. Jeremy and April never call him on it, but I often want to. Still, if I have to pick anyone to hunt for food with, he's the one. Ethan is strong and quick.
When he stands watch, I never fret about guarding my throat because when he swears he'll protect me with his life, I never doubt him. On the other hand, clearing out the courthouse is a simple task that I can easily manage without any help. "You really don't have to come, you know? I wasn't kidding when I said I can do it alone," I say, and he laughs. "Oh, I know you can, but I wouldn't be able to get anything done knowing you're in that building by yourself." I feel my lips move into a slow smile. "Suck-up." Hunger twists my stomach into tight coils, and I almost suggest we take the elevators to the basement. Although it's available, we shouldn't use electricity here.
As far as shelter is concerned, working lights are a rarity, and nothing attracts flesh-eaters like a brightly lit building. That and a functional commercial-size oven. "How long have they been gone?" Ethan climbs into the roof hatch. He jumps down effortlessly, then glances up at me. I use the ladder, gripping the slippery metal rungs as best I can. When I reach the bottom, he slides his hands under my arms and lowers me to the floor. "Fifteen minutes." "And you're sure they have food?" I shoot him a look as I grab my bag from the stool by the staircase and shrug it onto my shoulders.
"Am I ever wrong? Like I said, you don't have to come-I can handle it by myself." He blinks a few times before shaking his head, then starts down the steps. I follow close behind, trying to disregard the noise that erupts from the pit of my belly and echoes off the metal and concrete. There's no natural light on the jail's ground floor, so we use flashlights. I think this part of the building was once used to in-process prisoners. Rows of tiny cells extend along both sides of the hallways. Each room has a steel door, just like the ones upstairs, but these cells have bulletproof windows, too. Expletives and drawings of body parts are etched into the glass.
Ethan once said that the prisoners must not have liked seeing each other locked away. At the end of the hallway is a door, which leads to another corridor. I loathe going into this hallway because it reeks of waste and mold and what I swear is a decaying corpse. It also runs directly into the courthouse basement. I want to pull the collar of my T-shirt over my mouth and nose, to breathe in the scent of harsh soap and sweat so I don't suffocate from the stench. But since doing so would prevent me from detecting any odors that are out of place, I carry on and hope I don't get sick to my stomach. "I'm, uh, sorry for the other night," Ethan says. He isn't covering his nose, either.
His face is so expressionless, I wonder if he notices the scent or if he's simply grown accustomed to it. "About what I said, you know." "It's fine." He'd admonished me for not taking better care of my health after I'd returned from a raid sunburned and so breathless I couldn't move or speak. The only thing I wanted to do was curl up on the flat green mat in our safe room and rest. Instead, I'd gone back and forth with him for nearly half an hour. His concern was both endearing and frustrating. How can he expect me to have excellent health when we are constantly facing death to get what little we do have? "No, it's not.
It just makes me so angry. That we have to go on like this." Ethan rarely talks about being bitter with the hand we've been dealt. Out of everyone in our clan, he seems to accept what happened three years ago the best, focusing on the present so that we can do whatever it takes to survive. That's what draws me to him. I reach out in the darkness and thread my fingers through his. "Thank you.for everything you've done for me," I say as I squeeze his hand.
He exhales, blowing wisps of hair out of his eyes. "Just know, I'll do whatever it takes to stay here. I've never been with anyone like you-not even before all this." My heart lurches, and I swear it's about to explode from my chest. What does he mean when he says not even before all this? I want to ask him about it, but my body seems to have a mind of its own, and instead I silently wrap my arms around his neck, gazing up into his hazel eyes. He lowers his head until our lips touch. "Me, neither," I say before releasing my hold on him. We stop in front of the metal door to the courthouse, and he bends his head to fish an oversize key from his pocket.
I sneak a glance at his face under the flashlight. He's smiling. Maybe my word.