Contents ( 46)
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
I open the door to the kitchen, and the lights are already on.
Rather, one of them is. The other lamp to the back of the kitchen is flickering aimlessly, more off than on. The uneven rhythm bothers me. It leaves me feeling off-balance.
This is wrong. This is not what the kitchen should look like.
I breathe in, and against every instinct in me screaming to step back, I step forward.
Spoons cover the floor. Shards of a broken plate. A dusting of flour and bread crumbs. We baked massive loaves of bread two days ago, to go with the raccoon stew Elias taught us how to make. We saved the rest for breakfast and lunch, but the loaves we left out on the counter are gone, and the remainders are torn to pieces.
My heart crawls up to my throat and hammers loudly.
Wrong. Wrong.
Danger.
“Is anyone there?” Like they’d reply to my signs if they could.
Another step back mentally, a step forward physically.
Toward the pantry.
I reach for the door that stands slightly open. When I do, the door swings outward and slams into my face. Hot, overwhelming pain shoots up through my nose and everything goes red. It feels like my brain snags. A siren. A warning.
Danger. Danger.
Danger.
A figure shoots out of the pantry, arms full of food. A bag of rice tumbles in her wake, spraying the floor with grains. The food we need. The food we counted, bag by can by grain by bite.
Danger. Danger.
No.
I growl. I wipe at my face, and my hands come back red with blood. I’m not sure what is up or down right now, but I can see the figure—the girl—standing in front of me, her eyes wide.
Josie Watson. Who stabbed a girl. Who left with Hunter and his crew.
A shadow passes across her eyes when she sees me, and I grow cold inside.
“Leah? Or Logan? I’m here to—you have to let me—” She snarls in frustration or anger, I don’t know. “Get out of the way. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Her voice is as ragged as her clothes. She’s not wearing a mask, and I’ve grown so used to every one of us wearing one that it looks strange. Her chestnut hair is matted around her face, and she clings to the bags she’s carrying.
I shake my head, and my head pounds.
“Step away. Let me pass.” Josie’s voice sounds like she hasn’t spoken in days. “I—I didn’t take everything. Just enough. Look away. All you have to do is look away.”
No.
Holding the bags close to her chest like a treasure, Josie brushes past me.
A feral growl escapes me. I stumble. I push myself forward in her direction—and we collide. I don’t know what else to do but stop her. I was scared of her once, but I have to stop her. We counted all the food. We know exactly how much we have. She can’t take it away from us. We need it.