The lab upstairs is silent when we crash through its door like a herd of stampeding wildebeest. Ember is there. She's still okay. She's still okay. She's on her knees in the middle of the floor, her headlamp resting—still shining—on a nearby chair. Her head twitches up at our arrival, and I nearly collapse in relief before I realize she's holding Oreo.
I can't tell if he's breathing.
I circle around the two of them, not sure my heart is going to last the steps it takes. I don't want to see a dead body. I don't want to see another Vix. Except—Oreo's alive. He's awake, and no Sleeper has that kind of awareness, which means he's still got his own mind, too. He gives us a weak smile as all four of us drop to the ground. I didn't even think I cared about Oreo. I still don't, but I care about Ember, and Ember cares about him, so I guess I care by proxy. And I guess I probably underestimated him. Oh, the things you learn in hindsight when you came so close to never getting to speak to someone again.
"Are you..." begins Calico J, like he wants to say something but doesn't know what to say. He swallows hard. I feel that.
"Can't move my legs," says Oreo. His voice is hoarse, like the Redding tried to choke him again. Or like he's been screaming. "But hey, if you guys won, at least there's a chance I'll live to see the return of elevators."
He's minutes out of danger of actual, painful, permanent death, and he's already cracking wheelchair jokes. It's a coping mechanism. It has to be. Nobody who goes down the way he did comes out okay.
"You're insufferable," murmurs Ember. She's not okay either.
"Yet you continue to suffer me." He makes a show of peering up at her shadowed face. "Much more of this, and I'll start to wonder if you actually care."
Ember's watery chuckle tells me why she's letting her hair and the shadows hide her face. "We have some things to talk about when the world stops ending."
"Yes, we do. I want my wheelchair to have racing stripes."
"Oreo, stop." Ember's voice returns to a murmur. "Please."
He almost died on her. She's immune and he's not, but they've been working side by side since shortly after Red Thursday. They've watched everyone else in their group die. Been forced to kill many as the Redding took over. I get the distinct sense that Ember can't take much more of all that.
"Sorry," says Oreo softly, and returns to his resting position. After a long moment, he says, "So, do we finally get to know each other's names now?"
It's directed at Ember, then extended to all of us, and then our looks extend it to each other. My mind screams that it's too dangerous. The very thought of name-sharing activates the part of me that's helped keep us alive for most of two months, and we haven't confirmed yet that the Redding is gone, truly gone, and not just dormant and waiting for us to let down our guard. Never mind that I can't feel it anymore, and even the ache in my back has faded to little more than a memory. Though that might just be my adrenaline talking.
But before I can say anything, or put any more qualifiers on our success, Ember makes the decision for me.
"Rose," she says, and I hear the whole room catch its breath as we wait, seconds stretching like hours, for her to drop.
She doesn't drop. And, belatedly, I realize that maybe it was always safe for us, though we never knew it at the time. We're immune. Oreo dubiously so, but then he takes that leap, too, and says, "Sebastian."
His eyes close. My heart ricochets off my ribcage as his head drops to Ember's chest. A moment later, though, he opens his eyes again. He lifts one hand and turns it over, then back. "Looks like we're safe, then."
He didn't drop. He was just waiting to.
I clench both fists, release them, and resist the temptation to reach for a weapon. There's a part of me, despite everything, that wants to be known. It's more than a little strange to introduce that old side of my life into the one I've been living for the last seven weeks, but at the same time, it makes this feel real. Like our survival and this group and this moment are things that can actually last. Like the world can be normal again.
And so I say, "I'm Teagan."
Nothing happens. The Redding—the empty space in my awareness where the Redding used to be—doesn't stir. I would have expected to feel something if it made an attempt and my immunity resisted it. And because I trust that feeling because it's kept us alive, I add, "T for short. Though I'm guessing we probably don't need any more nicknames."
That gets a trickle of laughter from around the room. It feels good to laugh.
I've also broken the ice for my friends. Calico J goes next. "Jeriah," he says with a smile as weak as Oreo's.
I laugh. "So I can still call you J?"
"That was my nickname at home. You almost gave me a heart attack the first time you called me that. I thought it was my cousin."
"Your fault for the association. Ditz?"
"Anastasia." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with an almost self-conscious smile. She sees my face and blushes. Of course her name is as pretty as... well, as she is. And of course her rich, pathetic parents would name their kid something so posh. If it were anyone but Ditzy, I'd get secondhand embarrassment, but honestly, she's earned it. Anastasia, then. And I might even get some time to adjust, because a more sly look creeps across her face almost immediately. "I do like Ditzy, though. Being crazy is fun."
"Pretty sure we're all going to be calling each other by our nicknames for the next month at least," says Calico J, who of course is still Calico J in my head, though I'm trying. "I'm going to forget. Sorry-not-sorry to everyone in advance."
"Pretty sure I'm never going to hear the Meg the same again," I say. "Don't even bother apologizing. I just have two names now. It's weird, and I'm trying not to think about it."
"I've got three," says Calico J. "And honestly, same."
That just leaves Patrick. He's been quiet so far, and I clue in to the fact that it might be for a reason when all eyes turn to him. He wrinkles his nose in an expression that's a little bit pained and a lot unhappy.
"You don't have to tell us," I say.
But Patrick shakes his head. I guess this is similar to showing us the red patches. There's something different about being known. "Bernard," he says. "But it's from my dad..." His voice falters. "Can I just be Patrick?"
"You'll save us the trouble," says Ditzy with a grin. Calico J just scoots across to offer a one-armed hug. Patrick takes it and stays there.
"Nice little family you've got here," says Oreo—Sebastian. He nods towards Calico J. "You were right. You found good people."
I'm sure the mention of family is intentional. Oreo and Ember both look tired. The kind of bone-deep tired of people who've fought for something so fiercely for so long, it's become their whole life. Until suddenly, it isn't. Because it's gone.
Calico J looks at the ground. I stir my already aching heart to the thought of family, too. I don't want to hope. I know hope could eat me alive. But my family was so far inland, far from any rivers, and the Sleepers only just started walking. If the Redding rose everywhere like it did in San Fel, nobody at ground level stood a chance. But I felt that Redding surge. It was there for us. Or so I thought, anyway. I was so certain at the time. But if it was there for us, other places might have been spared, and my family... my family might still be out there somewhere. They might even wake up. Short of brain damage, there's no reason why they shouldn't. The Redding kept them fed and taken care of as Sleepers. It raided our own food to do so.
I almost can't bear to hope, but at the same time, I can't help it. It's impossible not to.
And so I distract myself. Even if my family stood a chance, anyone on the coasts did not. Patrick has already realized it. There's an odd look on his face, like he's happy but isn't sure he should be, but that feeling's probably valid. Ditzy is staring at a wall, unseeing.
Oreo glances up at Ember again. "I've got family in Renford. My little sister and a few cousins. We can make a stop on the way to Salitrillo."
"You'll want to find the rest, won't you? Mine are a lot farther from water."
"My older sisters will be fine. Mountains, remember? And if the roads are snowed over, I won't be able to hike up anyway. They can wait until we find your family."
"Your mum?"
A different pain shadows Oreo's face. "She lived alone, babe."
Oh. Several things make a lot more sense now.
And then my brain catches up and processes the implications of solitary living. My heart twists yet again, though it's already been twisted several times. I have an uncle who lives alone. There's a high chance he called someone on Red Thursday and said or heard his name, but the possibility of worse looms over me. People who survived without their names died permanently. And that's not to mention anyone who started walking and got caught outside. It's getting cold already where my closest cousins live. Cold enough to kill someone.
I turn back to my friends to find Calico J waiting to catch my eye. There's an earnest desperation in his own that's all too familiar. It's the same look he wore for weeks after we found each other.
"Our families are in the same state, right?" he says. "Now can we go look for them?"
"You'll need a vehicle," says Ember, speaking to us directly for the first time. Oreo nods as she continues, "We can share the van if you're open to it. More drivers."
That's barely an excuse. Oreo can't drive anymore, and it would be easy enough to find another vehicle if any towns near this one are undamaged. But—
"We won't say no to that," says Calico J. "It's another road trip from here."
It's not about the logistics. These two are looking for company. And extra support.
"Just no picking up extras," says Ember, with a pointed look at Calico J. "If the Sleepers are waking, there will be lots of opportunities to adopt people, and we'll need to save our energy." She pauses. "I'm not taking any extras, anyway. So if you want us along, we'll need an agreement on this."
Calico J gives a guilty grin. "Would you believe me if I told you your group took care of that inclination?"
Ember laughs. "Would you believe me if I said we're not sorry to have ruined your faith in humanity?"
"Oh, I never said anything about faith in humanity."
I leave them to their banter and shuffle over to Ditzy's side instead. She looks up as I rub her back.
"Want to talk about it?" I say.
"Not right now. But thank you." A pause. "Do you think your family would... take me?"
"Show my sister that flail, and you're in. My mom and dad 'adopt' all the young adults they can find rooms for anyway, and anyone I bring home is top of the list."
She rests her head on my shoulder. It speaks louder than words would have.
"We'll figure it out," I say, and hug her. "We're alive, and that's what counts. We can figure out everything else."
This book's last chapter is just a page-turn away. And because I'm shameless, here's a last pitch for The Book of Miranda, complete and fully edited! Sapphic Gothic Horror, Dark Academia, general chaos, and disaster gays. I love this niche, oops.