I point at him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a place to stay after—are you still at Hope?”

I nod.

“Is everyone okay? Did anyone fall ill?”

I bite my tongue and try to figure out how to respond to that, but he keeps talking.

“I’m glad we left, you know? Even though Hunter’s plan was a disaster. I’m the only one left. Everyone else died. Guess we didn’t leave the plague behind.”

I wince. He isn’t the only one, I want to tell him. Josie is with us.

That’s not the point, I know.

He shrugs. “At least I’m alive.” He narrows his eyes and evaluates me. There’s a calculation to him that’s never been there before. “What about you? Are you safe? Come in.”

I shake my head. Gesture at him to follow me instead. He could come back with me. He could come home to us.

His smile fades. “To Hope? Why, so I can feel locked up again?” He scoffs. “No, thanks. Never. You’d be far better off here too. We have food, although it isn’t much. The government rations everything. We aren’t forgotten. I have friends who can gather extra meals for you. Find medication if you need it. The people in charge can’t know we’re from Hope, but it’s not like you’ll say anything anyway.” He tilts his head. “We do have to do something about those clothes.”

My stomach whines at the thought of food, my head spins at the thought of medication. But something about the way he turns toward me and scans the area around me reminds me of Hunter. Andrew may not have been anything like him when he left, but he is now.

I take a big step back.

In all the time we spent together in Hope, I never saw him as violent, merely quiet and intimidating. When he smiles and his teeth bare and he follows me, I know better.

“I insist, Logan. The people here have forgotten about you. They’ve forgotten about Hope. I can’t have you wandering around to remind them.”

He reaches out and grabs for my arm. I bend backward to stay out of his reach and almost tumble over. I don’t wait for him to make another move. I won’t stay here. I won’t. I have to go back.

I push myself forward, and I run.

Twenty-eight

Grace

“What do you mean, they forgot about us?”

“Everyone but Andrew died? Are you sure?”

“How do we get food rations too?”

“How could they forget about us?”

The recreation room is a cacophony of questions and comments once Nia has helped tell Logan’s tale. Logan keeps her distance from all of us. She’s regained some color, but she still looks pale, and between signing her story, she’s picking at a peanut butter sandwich and sipping from a steaming mug of tea. She avoids the stares of the people around her. Of me.