I take a deep breath. “Spring is here,” I say. “And I think it’s time to leave.”

Ryan’s expression falls. He always knew this day would come, but I think he’s been hoping that I’d change my mind.

“Is that still what you want?” Ryan asks.

I turn back to the water. It’s clear and glistening. The beauty of it is astounding. I wish I didn’t have to leave this peace and tranquility behind when I’ve only just found it.

“It is,” I say, hesitantly.

“But?” he presses, picking up on my undercurrent.

“But.” I pause. “But what exactly will the future hold? The country. Civilization. Will we ever get that back?”

Ryan shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “Saving people’s lives isn’t enough for Brooke. She needs to save the world.”

I know he’s only joking but I can’t help but feel a little riled.

“Well, why not?” I demand. “What’s so bad about wanting everything back to the way it was before? Fort Noix is basically a normal town in many ways. If they can do it, we can do it somewhere else. Replicate the model.”

“I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”

I huff and bend down to check my pole again. There’s another trout wriggling on the end. I scoop it out of the water and lay it on the bank. It gasps its last breaths before falling still.

“Maybe I am being idealistic,” I say, “but saving a few lives here and there isn’t going to make a huge amount of difference. We need to start rebuilding the country. I wish…” I pause, struggling to get out my feelings. “I wish you would support me.”

“Hey,” Ryan says softly. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to die. Is that so bad?” Then he rests his hand on my arm. “How about we deal with the future when we get there?”

I fall silent and we stand there side by side. Then I feel him slide his hand down to my hand. For a brief moment, I let his fingers lace through mine. Then I pull away.

Ryan doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t question me or press me. He hasn’t for the last six months.

I look at him. His eyes are burning with desire, his gaze fixed on my lips. I’m overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.

All at once, we hear a twig snap and the sound of pounding footsteps. We leap apart as Molly appears, frantic, running through the shrubbery, her cheeks as red as her hair.

“What is it?” I ask, suddenly terrified.

“A message!” she says, panting.

Ryan frowns. “A message? What do you mean?”

“A transmission,” Molly says again. “On the radio. Someone’s contacted us from a camp in America.”