I find Noah with Maddy, looking over her shoulder as she colours on a sheet of paper, braced against the rough asphalt. She says something inaudible and Noah nods studiously, pointing down at her scribbles and asking a question that she seems all too eager to answer.
When he hears my footsteps, he looks up, meeting my gaze. I dip my head in silent affirmation and he scrambles to his feet, dropping a hand to Maddy's shoulder and giving it a pat goodbye. Then he approaches me, a question lingering behind his expression.
"I'm ready to go," I say, tugging at the strap of my rifle.
"Is everything okay?"
I decide to opt out of telling him about our conversation with Lucy. "Fine. But we should get going."
We're nearly out of the garage before we're intercepted by Ama. She hurries after us, footsteps distinct and hurried against the pavement. I groan, shutting my eyes briefly before turning around to face her.
"Where are you going?"
"Out. I said I'd help Noah look for his brother."
She grabs my arm and gently pulls me aside, lowering her voice. "Is now really the time, Teddy? I mean, the fence needs guarding at all hours, injured need to be tended to... there's just so much work to be done. And it's dangerous. What if you run into them again?"
I sigh, gently dislodging her hand from my arm. "Ama. I know I haven't listened to you in the past, but this isn't like that." I drop my voice. "I promised I'd do this. Noah needs me."
"I know. I just—can't you wait until we can afford to send out a group?"
"That could be weeks. His brother could be dead by then." I wrap my hands around hers, squeezing them. "I have to do this—not for me, but for Noah."
"I understand." She drops her gaze, expression clouded. "Just be careful, okay?"
I free one of my hands to tip her chin up and place a kiss on her forehead. "I always am."
Her lips tilt faintly upwards. "Now you're lying through your teeth."
I let out a one-syllable laugh and pull her in for a hug, pressing her head to my chest for a moment before releasing her. She keeps her hands on my forearms, reluctant to let me go.
"I'll see you when we get back."
I slide her hands off of me and rejoin Noah, giving her a last wave over my shoulder before ducking into the bright California sunlight. Our path takes us through where the gate used to be—now, it's been torn down into a pile of scrap metal, a jagged hole in the fence I remember constructing so carefully, labouring under the hot sun with Ama by my side. One of the guards gives us a nod as we pass. His eyes are shadowed, and his finger twitches on the trigger of his rifle at the slightest sound. Keeping the mutated at bay can't be easy.
"You two seem close," Noah says when we've gotten beyond the fence.
"Ama and I?"
"Yeah."
"Well, we've been dating for a few years." I decide not to mention the recent tension I've been noticing, the way Ama's brows furrow in disappointment when I say something she doesn't like.
"Did you know her before all this happened?"
"Oh—no, we would've been pretty young when the war happened. Mutated started popping up a few months after, and Ama and I met much later."
"Do you remember anything from the old world?"
"Uh..." I pause, steps slowing. "Yeah, a bit. I went to a public school with a bunch of other kids. Things were pretty tense since before I was born, so I don't remember ever not having that... threat of war hanging over our heads. Um... I remember seeing movies. Visiting this pet store down the street from where I lived. Playing softball."
"And your family?"
Now I stop walking entirely, shifting my grip on my rifle. "That... might be a story for another time."
He nods quickly, ducking his head. "Sorry I asked."
I swallow, slowly beginning to walk again, shifting closer to his side. "We're gonna find yourself brother, Noah."
"I know. I know where to look for him."
"You do?"
"Yeah. The bus we live in—we always agreed we'd meet there if we got split up." His lip quivers. "I—he's probably been waiting—I never should've put it off for this long."
I place a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll go there. Okay?"
He nods, trying to compose himself. "I know the way there. The issue is that the bus is fully functional, so he could've taken it somewhere else if he thought he was in danger. I don't think he'd do that, so we'll check its usual spot first."
"Alright. And just in case..." I pull out his pistol and hand it to him. "Hopefully we won't need this."
He hesitates, wrapping his fingers slowly around the handle. "I thought you said I was useless with it."
"Well, you'll never get better unless you practice."
"Oh." He steadies his grip with other hand and lifts it after a brief pause, squinting down the sights. "Like this?"
"I mean, it's not loaded, but otherwise, sure."
He grins sheepishly and lowers the pistol, stepping towards me and handing it back. I reposition my rifle over my shoulder so I can load it for him, glad to see him smiling.
"Alright, so you're just gonna..." I slow down the instinctive movements of my hands, which fall naturally in place as I load the gun with a click. I hold it out again. "Got that?"
"I think so."
"How'd you even get it loaded last time?"
"Got lucky, I guess."
I laugh, gaze falling on the metal barrel of the pistol as he takes it from me. A pair of initials have been drawn on it in white paint that I've never noticed before—J.W.
"Hey, is this yours?"
"Uh, it's actually my brother's."
"Oh."
I instantly regret asking. Noah's features revert back to the drawn, tense expression I'm most familiar with. And yet, I can't keep myself from pressing further.
"He takes care of the two of you, doesn't he?"
Noah nods, looking at the ground to hide his face. "I've always had him around—he's the one who found our bus and made it a place to live. I don't know what I'll do if he's—" his voice cracks.
I loop an arm around his shoulders. "You'll be okay, Noah. And so will your brother." I glance at the muzzle of the pistol again, which Noah holds in a white-knuckled grip. "What's his name?"
"James."
"Okay. Let's go find James, then." I give him my best attempt at an encouraging smile, giving him a rough shake before releasing him. "Alright?"
He forces a smile and nods. "Alright." He takes a deep breath, chest trembling, before turning in a circle and pointing down one of the streets. "It's this way."
—
Our trek takes us through winding parts of the city I've never been to before. Noah's nervousness puts me on edge, flinching at every rustle on the breeze. The air is hot and muggy, sticking to my skin.
I edge closer to Noah, who's been adjusting and readjusting his grip on his pistol, lifting it to shoulder height before lowering it again. His movements are fidgety.
"So, you said this bus of yours was fully functional?"
He lets the gun drop. "Yeah."
"How'd you manage that?"
"It wasn't hard. It was still in pretty good shape when we found it, so all it needed was a little bit of work. We ripped out half the seats and put in beds and storage and scouted for gasoline from old cars just to be safe, although we rarely moved it. Uh, we barricaded all the windows..." He shrugs. "You'll see in a second. We're just about there."
We turn the corner onto the parking lot of a crumbling motel. Half the sign has fallen onto the asphalt, and the windows have been long overtaken by creeping greenery. Beneath the creaking building overhang, interior sprouting exposed rebar, a vehicle that must've once been sleek and modern is parked amid a tangle of vines. Now, the blue paint is marked by continents of rust, and the windshield is interspersed by spiderwebs of cracks.
Noah breaks into a sprint immediately, racing towards the bus and pushing his nails into the rubber-edged seal between the doors. He pries them apart like he's done it a thousand times, reaching in to unlatch a metal lock and push aside a chicken wire barrier. His fingers tremble, fumbling at the mechanics as he falls into the bus. I follow close behind him, lifting my rifle a few inches instinctively. The inside of the bus is worn-down but clean, the front half the gaudily-patterned seats left intact, fabric rotting. Steel grills over the windows let in shafts of sunlight.
I don't get more than a second to take in the interior. Noah freezes, a shivery inhale the only sound that leaves his lips. I see what he's looking at a moment later—the stained white mattresses laid in the back are soaked in blood.
The young man crumpled in the back corner doesn't move, doesn't twitch as Noah rushes forward. He slumps to his knees, pulling the other boy into his lap and shaking him, chest heaving as he hyperventilates.
I surge forward, grabbing Noah's shoulders. He curls inward.
"Noah—"
"He's dead! He's fucking dead, I—I—"
"Noah! Noah, listen to me, he isn't dead." I kneel on the mattress in front of him, knees burrowing into the dark crimson stains. I reach for James' limp form, gently trying to disentangle Noah's death grip. The blood has blossomed from a bullet wound low on his shoulder, a grisly hole punched through his skin and the battered flannel shirt he wears.
Noah cranes his head up to look at me, cheeks flushed red. His eyes are glassy, skin pale and clammy. "What?"
"He isn't dead." I tug gently, and Noah finally lets me slide the youth onto my lap. "He's... he's in bad shape. But he's not dead yet, okay, Noah?" I reach for his shoulder. "Noah, look at me."
His chest heaves, but he manages a wobbly nod.
"Now, listen to me. We're going to bring him back and see what Nora can do. Okay?"
"Okay." His voice cracks, but he's more stable than before, even if he trembles from head to toe like a palm leaf in a coastal wind.
I squeeze his shoulder. "Okay. Come on."