already set the message system to answer on the first ring. I knew what the caller would hear: my vague
explanation that I would be out the rest of the semester, and that my classes would be canceled until a
replacement could be found. No reason given. I looked at the clock on top of the television. It was
barely past eight in the morning. I was sure it must be Curt on the phone, having just received the only
slightly more detailed e-mail I’d sent him late last night. I felt guilty about not finishing out my commitment
to him, almost like I was already skipping. Perhaps this step, this quitting, was the prelude to my next
decision, my greater shame. The thought was uncomfortable. It made me unwilling to listen to whatever
the message said, though I wasn’t in any real hurry to leave.
I looked around the empty apartment one more time. There was no sense of leaving anything behind me,
I’d never had a host that was capable of superstition. It was an interesting sensation. Like knowing you
were being watched without being able to find the watcher. It raised goose bumps on the nape of my
neck.
I shut the door firmly behind me but did not touch the obsolete locks. No one would disturb this place
until I returned or it was given to someone new.
Without looking at the Seeker, I climbed into the car. I hadn’t done much driving, and neither had
Melanie, so this made me a bit nervous. But I was sure I would get used to it soon enough.
“I’ll be waiting for you in Tucson,” the Seeker said, leaning in the open passenger-side window as I
started the engine.
“I have no doubt of that,” I muttered.
I found the controls on the door panel. Trying to hide a smile, I hit the button to raise the glass and
watched her jump back.
“Maybe… ,” she said, raising her voice to almost a shout so that I could hear her over the engine noise
and through the closed window, “maybe I’ll try it your way. Maybe I’ll see you on the road.”
She smiled and shrugged.
She was just saying it to upset me. I tried not to let her see that she had. I focused my eyes on the road
ahead and pulled carefully away from the curb.
It was easy enough to find the freeway and then follow the signs out of San Diego. Soon there were no
signs to follow, no wrong turns to take. In eight hours I would be in Tucson. It wasn’t long enough.
Perhaps I would stay a night in some small town along the way. If I could be sure that the Seeker would
be ahead, waiting impatiently, rather than following behind, a stop would be a nice delay.
I found myself looking in the rearview mirror often, searching for a sign of pursuit. I was driving slower
than anyone else, unwilling to reach my destination, and the other cars passed me without pause. There
were no faces I recognized as they moved ahead. I shouldn’t have let the Seeker’s taunt bother me; she
clearly didn’t have the temperament to go anywhere slowly. Still… I continued to watch for her.
I’d been west to the ocean, north and south up and down the pretty California coastline, but I’d never
been east for any distance at all. Civilization fell behind me quickly, and I was soon surrounded by the
blank hills and rocks that were the precursors to the empty desert wastelands.
It was very relaxing to be away from civilization, and this bothered me. I should not have found the
loneliness so welcoming. Souls were sociable. We lived and worked and grew together in harmony. We
were all the same: peaceful, friendly, honest. Why should I feel better away from my kind? Was it
Melanie who made me this way?
I searched for her but found her remote, dreaming in the back of my head.
The miles passed quickly. The dark, rough rocks and the dusty plains covered in scrub flew by with
monotonous uniformity. I realized I was driving faster than I’d meant to. There wasn’t anything to keep
my mind occupied here, so I found it hard to linger. Absently, I wondered why the desert was so much
more colorful in Melanie’s memories, so much more compelling. I let my mind coast with hers, trying to
see what it was that was special about this vacant place.
But she wasn’t seeing the sparse, dead land surrounding us. She was dreaming of another desert,
canyoned and red, a magical place. She didn’t try to keep me out. In fact, she seemed almost unaware of
my presence. I questioned again what her detachment meant. I sensed no thought of attack. It felt more
like a preparation for the end.
She was living in a happier place in her memory, as if she were saying goodbye. It was a place she had
never allowed me to see before.
There was a cabin, an ingenious dwelling tucked into a nook in the red sandstone, perilously close to the
flash flood line. An unlikely place, far from any trail or path, built in what seemed a senseless location. A
rough place, without any of the conveniences of modern technology. She remembered laughing at the
sink one had to pump to pull water up from the ground.
“It beats pipes,” Jared says, the crease between his eyes deepening as his brows pull together. He
seems worried by my laugh. Is he afraid I don’t like it? “Nothing to trace, no evidence that we’re here.”
“I love it,” I say quickly. “It’s like an old movie. It’s perfect.”
The smile that never truly leaves his face—he smiles even in his sleep—grows wide. “They don’t tell you
the worst parts in the movies. C’mon, I’ll show you where the latrine is.”
I hear Jamie’s laughter echo through the narrow canyon as he runs ahead of us. His black hair bounces
with his body. He bounces all the time now, this thin boy with the sun-darkened skin. I hadn’t realized
how much weight those narrow shoulders were carrying. With Jared, he is positively buoyant. The
anxious expression has faded, replaced by grins. We are both more resilient than I gave us credit for.
“Who built this place?”
“My father and older brothers. I helped, or rather hindered, a little. My dad loved to get away from
everything. And he didn’t care much about convention. He never bothered to find out who the land
actuallybelonged to or file permits or any of that pesky stuff.” Jared laughs, throwing his head back. The
sun dances off the blond bits in his hair. “Officially, this place doesn’t exist. Convenient, isn’t it?” Without
seeming to think about it, he reaches out and takes my hand.
My skin burns where it meets his. It feels better than good, but it sets off a strange aching in my chest.
He is forever touching me this way, always seeming to need to reassure himself that I am here. Does he
realize what it does to me, the simple pressure of his warm palm next to mine? Does his pulse jump in his
veins, too? Or is he just happy to not be alone anymore?
He swings our arms as we walk beneath a little stand of cottonwood trees, their green so vivid against
the red that it plays tricks on my eyes, confusing my focus. He is happy here, happier than in other
places. I feel happy, too. The feeling is still unfamiliar.
want to kiss me again? Should I kiss him? What if he doesn’t like that?
He looks down at me and smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling into little webs. I wonder if he is as
handsome as I think he is, or if it’s just that he’s the only person left in the whole world besides Jamie and
me.
No, I don’t think that’s it. He really is beautiful.
“What are you thinking, Mel?” he asks. “You seem to be concentrating on something very important.”
He laughs.
I shrug, and my stomach flutters. “It’s beautiful here.”
He looks around us. “Yes. But then, isn’t home always beautiful?”
“Home.” I repeat the word quietly. “Home.”
“Your home, too, if you want it.”
“I want it.” It seems like every mile I’ve walked in the past three years has been toward this place. I
never want to leave, though I know we’ll have to. Food doesn’t grow on trees. Not in the desert, at
least.
He squeezes my hand, and my heart punches against my ribs. It’s just like pain, this pleasure.
There was a blurring sensation as Melanie skipped ahead, her thoughts dancing through the hot day until
hours after the sun had fallen behind the red canyon walls. I went along, almost hypnotized by the endless
road stretching ahead of me, the skeletal bushes flying by with mind-numbing sameness.
I peek into the one narrow little bedroom. The full-size mattress is only inches away from the rough
stone walls on either side.
It gives me a deep, rich sense of joy to see Jamie asleep on a real bed, his head on a soft pillow. His
lanky arms and legs sprawl out, leaving little room for me where I am meant to sleep. He is so much
bigger in reality than the way I see him in my head. Almost ten—soon he won’t be a child at all. Except
that he will always be a child to me.
Jamie breathes evenly, sleeping sound. There is no fear in his dream, for this moment at least.
I shut the door quietly and go back to the small couch where Jared waits.
“Thank you,” I whisper, though I know shouting the words wouldn’t wake Jamie now. “I feel bad. This
couch is much too short for you. Maybe you should take the bed with Jamie.”
Jared chuckles. “Mel, you’re only a few inches shorter than I am. Sleep comfortably, for once. Next
time I’m out, I’ll steal myself a cot or something.”
I don’t like this, for lots of reasons. Will he be leaving soon? Will he take us with him when he goes?
Does he see this room assignment as a permanent thing?
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
f
touching him has my heart aching again.
“Why the frown?” he asks.
“When will you… when willwe have to leave again?”
He shrugs. “We scavenged enough on our way up that we’re set for a few months. I can do a few short
raids if you want to stay in one place for a while. I’m sure you’re tired of running.”
“Yes, I am,” I agree. I take a deep breath to make me brave. “But if you go, I go.”
He hugs me tighter. “I’ll admit, I prefer it that way. The thought of being separated from you…” He
laughs quietly. “Does it sound crazy to say that I’d rather die? Too melodramatic?”
“No, I know what you mean.”
Hemust feel the same way I do. Would he say these things if he thought of me as just another human,
and not as a woman?
I realize that this is the first time we’ve ever been really alone since the night we met—the first time
there’s been a door to close between a sleeping Jamie and the two of us. So many nights we’ve stayed
awake, talking in whispers, telling all of our stories, the happy stories and the horror stories, always with
Jamie’s head cradled on my lap. It makes my breath come faster, that simple closed door.
“I don’t think you need to find a cot, not yet.”
I feel his eyes on me, questioning, but I can’t meet them. I’m embarrassed now, too late. The words are
out.
“We’ll stay here until the food is gone, don’t worry. I’ve slept on worse things than this couch.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say, still looking down.
“You get the bed, Mel. I’m not budging on that.”
“That’s not what I mean, either.” It’s barely a whisper. “I meant the couch is plenty big for Jamie. He
won’t outgrow it for a long time. I could share the bed with… you.”
There is a pause. I want to look up, to read the expression on his face, but I’m too mortified. What if he
is disgusted? How will I stand it? Will he make me go away?
His warm, callused fingers tug my chin up. My heart throbs when our eyes meet.
“Mel, I…” His face, for once, has no smile.
I try to look away, but he holds my chin so that my gaze can’t escape his. Does he not feel the fire
between his body and mine? Is that all me? How can it all be me? It feels like a flat sun trapped between
us—pressed like a flower between the pages of a thick book, burning the paper. Does it feel like
something else to him? Something bad?
It’s hard for me to swallow. “I’m not saying… I didn’t mean that I feltobligated. And… you shouldn’t,
either. Forget I said anything.”
“Not likely, Mel.”
He sighs, and I want to disappear. Give up—lose my mind to the invaders if that’s what it takes to erase
this huge blunder. Trade the future to blot out the last two minutes of the past. Anything.
Jared takes a deep breath. He squints at the floor, his eyes and jaw tight. “Mel, it doesn’t have to be like
that. Just because we’re together, just because we’re the last man and woman on Earth…” He struggles
for words, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do before. “That doesn’t mean you have to do
anything you don’t want to. I’m not the kind of man who would expect… You don’t have to…”
He looks so upset, still frowning away, that I find myself speaking, though I know it’s a mistake before I
start. “That’s not what I mean,” I mutter. “‘Have to’ is not what I’m talking about, and I don’t think
you’re ‘that kind of man.’ No. Of course not. It’s just that —”
Just that I love him. I grit my teeth together before I can humiliate myself more. I should bite my tongue
off right now before it ruins anything else.
“Just that… ?” he asks.
I try to shake my head, but he’s still holding my chin tight between his fingers.
“Mel?”
I yank free and shake my head fiercely.
He leans closer to me, and his face is different suddenly. There’s a new conflict I don’t recognize in his
expression, and even though I don’t understand it completely, it erases the feeling of rejection that’s
making my eyes sting.
“Will you talk to me? Please?” he murmurs. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and it’s a few seconds
before I can think at all.
His eyes make me forget that I am mortified, that I wanted to never speak again.
“If I got to pick anyone, anyone at all, to be stranded on a deserted planet with, it would be you,” I
whisper. The sun between us burns hotter. “I always want to be with you. And not just… not just to talk
to. When you touch me…” I dare to let my fingers brush lightly along the warm skin of his arm, and it
feels like the flames are flowing from their tips now. His arm tightens around me. Does he feel the fire? “I
don’t want you to stop.” I want to be more exact, but I can’t find the words. That’s fine. It’s bad enough
having admitted this much. “If you don’t feel the same way, I understand. Maybe it isn’t the same for
you. That’s okay.” Lies.
“Oh, Mel,” he sighs in my ear, and pulls my face around to meet his.
