Our fingers entwine, and once she feels them, she pulls our hands up to her cheek to keep me close.

I adjust my position so I’m lying comfortably, and I let her hold me. I cling to her. Until her grasp weakens, and she falls asleep again.

I grab the chair from the desk, and I sit with her while she sleeps. I sit with her until she wakes. We hold hands. We stare at each other. We don’t have to do anything else. Here, we can just be.

I tell her all the things she needs to know. About Nia and the ration cards and Sofia and Grace. About the survivors in Sam’s Throne and our strange, small community here. I tell her how at ease I feel in the kitchen.

“Maybe, on the other side of the plague, we’ll find a way to be together and just live. That wouldn’t be half bad, right? I’ll find a job. I’ll provide for us. I make a very decent raccoon stew. Though that may not be a very popular dish in a new world…”

I don’t know if Leah can tell the signs from each other, if she can understand what I’m saying, but it doesn’t matter. She’s staring at me like she’s drinking in my presence, and when I talk, she smiles.

“We survived so much, we’ll keep surviving. Together. I’ll make sure no one will ever attempt to separate us again.”

Because if Leah trying to protect me is what brought us here, I will do—I have done—anything I can to protect Leah now. I learned how to fight, and I’ll fight for what I want.

“Maybe Nia could stay with us too, if she has nowhere better to go. We could try out new recipes. We could hold on to each other. We could be home.”

I already know how our lives will look. A small apartment with a dozen cats, like we dreamed of. It won’t be anything like any of the houses I broke into, but quiet and colorful and safe.

It’ll be at the edge of a small town, somewhere near the woods or hills or a creek, so I can go for long walks in the middle of the night.

And everyone who would happen by or come stay with us would hear the best sound in the world. The two of us, laughing.

Thirty-four

Grace

“It hurts, Case.”

“I know, Star Kid.”

It’s night again. I don’t have to climb out of my window to see the stars, but in a cruel turn of fate, the sky is overcast. The clouds are fluffy and bright, like a blanket over all of us. Snow sky, Mr. Podolsky used to call this, though it rarely ever snowed.

I cough again. Every breath feels like I’m breathing in small shards of glass instead of oxygen, but every time I gasp for air, Casey counts with me. Hyperventilating now would only make things worse.

Not that it matters much.