Some problems call for drastic solutions, Granddad said. But I have no idea how to solve this.

I shake my head.

“Filthy thief.” The man leans toward me, though he still keeps a careful distance between us. He doesn’t have to come closer to be threatening. “Kick your backpack over here, then we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Twenty-three

Grace

Fuck.

I don’t know how to help Logan without endangering myself. I saw her walk out, so I followed her. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t do anything irrational. Anything like this. Why can’t any of them just follow my rules?

I don’t want to make the situation any more explosive than it already is.

I need something I can use as a weapon—or a distraction. If we can get out of here, I doubt the guy will follow us. Or maybe he will? The soldiers shot on sight without hesitation. What is to say it won’t be any different for him?

If there’s anything I’ve learned these past few weeks, it’s this: fear does strange things to people. In some ways, it’s more dangerous than anger.

I need a weapon.

“Speak up, girl! Hurry with that backpack!” The store guy’s voice has a ragged edge to it, and he coughs behind his mask.

Logan’s response is immediate, instinctual. She pushes herself back farther against the shelves. She’s trembling. Her hands reach for purchase or something to shield herself with. A can of beans rolls away from her.

The guy scoffs. “It’s just a cough, girl. The only thing that bloody plague left me.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a shiver curls up my spine. I breathe out hard. By the way Logan’s eyes widen, I can see she heard it too. He had the plague—and he survived it? How is that possible? Everyone we know who’s had it died or is lingering with long-term effects. Is there a cure? A way to heal people?

Logan opens her mouth behind her own face covering, but she can’t say whatever she wants to say. She balls her fists, and the pure frustration that courses through her is almost tangible.

“One step at a time,” he growls. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Logan still hasn’t moved.

The guy uses the gun to beckon her. “Come on, now. Don’t think for a moment I won’t shoot.”

Here’s the thing though, I don’t think he will. With every second that crawls by, their standoff lengthens, and he does nothing but threaten. If he wanted to shoot her, he would have done so already—right? He’s threatening her to get his way. The gun may not even have bullets in it.

Maybe we can make it through this after all.

The mere thought of it leaves me dizzy. I’d nearly given up on the idea of a future, but this makes it sound possible. Tangible. If we can make it through, I want all of us to survive. I’ll hold our entire small family together by my fingernails if I have to.