Walter and I returned to the porch to join Joy and Zoe. I sat on a rocking chair, and Zoe sat on my lap, watching the kids talk around their vehicle.

“They seem nice,” she said simply.

“I think so. I don’t really know them.”

“They’re strangers?”

“I suppose so.”

“We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“No, kids aren’t supposed to talk to strangers.”

Zoe turned to me, her brows pulled in. “But what if the strangers are kids?”

I kissed her cheek and pulled her against my chest, rocking her and ignoring that her heels were digging into my shins. Her hair was starting to smell less like shampoo and more like sweaty skin. I imagined I didn’t smell so great, either.

“Joy?” I said.

“Yes, dear?”

“May we use your facilities? I’d like to make a good impression on this doctor.”

Joy chuckled. “I doubt he’s dressed for church, either, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s true.”

Joy shook her head and made a face. “Lord have mercy, I am so rude. Of course, Nathan. There is a shower in the bathroom in the hall. I’ll get you some towels.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

• • •

THE BLONDE SAT ON THE bottom step of Walter’s porch, disinterested, and the rest of them stood before us. Having so many eyes on us was a bit intimidating, even if they were just kids. I looked down at a stain on my Oxford shirt. Now that Zoe and I were freshly showered, our clothes smelled horrible, and felt heavy with dirt and sweat. Joy had offered to wash them, but I was afraid they wouldn’t be dry in time and the kids would be antsy to get going and leave us behind.

The redhead spoke first. “I’m Miranda Hayes. That’s my sister, Ashley,” she said, nodding to the blonde on the steps. “Our father is Dr. Hayes. He lives about nine miles north, up the road, there, and then back west. It’s perfect for you and Zoe. If you help us fill up our tank, and a few gas cans, you can follow us. I can’t promise you that my dad will let you stay, though.”

“No deal,” I said, my eyes narrowing.

“He’ll probably let you,” Ashley said, finally looking up at us. “He won’t turn away your little girl.”

“But we don’t know how many people he’s helped already. I expect he will, but I can’t promise. Understand?”

“What about the guys with you? How will you get him to let them stay?”

“We have an open invitation,” the jock said. “Well, except him.”

He was talking about the soldier. They must have picked him up along the way. I decided that if they had done that, they must think the father is open to more guests. “I’ll take my chances.”

“It’s getting late,” Walter said. “Meet us at the station in the morning. You got a watch?”

The soldier nodded.

“Eight a.m.”

Miranda

“HOME SWEET HOME,” ASHLEY SAID. She was holding an empty gas can, looking up at the two-story building just four blocks from the general store.

“Not really,” Cooper said, shrugging his shoulders to redistribute the weight of his bulging backpack.

I shook my head. Why did guys insist on stuffing everything they needed for a weekend in a small bag? As if it wasn’t manly to appear to need more than one set of clean clothes?

The house wasn’t anything special. The windows were darkened by dirty screens. The chipped paint—on both the house and the concrete porch—admitted years of negligence. One small, apologetic spot of soil in the front begged any visitors to believe all wasn’t lost. Even though the rest of the house might have been too much for the owner to keep up with, that two-by-two plot of ground was adorned with every color of pansy in existence. Not a single weed in the bunch. Every blade of grass was carefully trimmed at the borders of the square of flowers, and fresh soil had been added not long before.

The home was at the end of a dead-end road. Continuing on was possible, but only through tall prairie grass and about a hundred head of cattle. Only one other house was two lots away, across the street and on the opposite corner. We’d pushed the furniture against any entrances the first night and used wooden planks from the privacy fence down the road to board the windows, and then slept in the basement, each of us taking watch every two hours. Well, except Joey. He never seemed to sleep.

The first morning we secured the windows and doors, but we still slept in the basement. We pulled the mattresses downstairs. Especially after seeing Nathan and the old man walking down the street a few days before with their guns and reappearing with at least fifteen more, it just felt safer. When we saw them return the next day, we watched where they went, waited until they left the redbrick house on the next block, and then searched it ourselves. It didn’t take long to find out why they were making the trip. The house was full of nearly every gun imaginable. More than my dad’s collection. More than any collection I’d ever seen—and my dad had dragged me to more than one of his fellow gun enthusiasts’ houses. We took a few pieces and ammo ourselves, and quickly returned to our safe house. When we saw the duo visit the redbrick house again, we followed them home to the other side of town. It was less than a twenty-minute walk. That’s when they spotted us, and when we made the deal to show Nathan to my dad’s ranch in return for helping us with the gas pump.

I followed Ashley up the steps, and then stopped when Joey’s arms appeared in front of us.

“Hold up. Let me clear it first.”

We waited, Ashley biting her nails, and me kicking at the welcome mat as if it were perfectly normal that the soldier we’d just met was searching our temporary home for any curious dead ones.

Sensing Bryce’s irritation, I turned. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, making that face. The one that distorted his beautiful green eyes and made them glow and change into beady, unfamiliar pools of emerald.

“What?” I asked.

Bryce began to say something, but Joey poked his head from the door with a trace of a smile. “Clear.”

We unpacked our newest treasures, ranging from more packs of condoms to cans of corn. Bryce walked into the back bedroom and sat on the box springs, making fists and then stretching his fingers, and then repeating the process.

“Tell me,” I said, knowing if he kept another thought to himself, he might burst.

Bryce stood up, took a step, and swiped at the door, making it slam and my shoulders shoot up to my ears.

“I take it you’re upset?”

“Who is that guy?” Bryce said, pointing to the closed door. “We pick him up from his shitty pickup and the girl he killed in the street, and suddenly G.I. Joe is running the fucking show?”

“Is that what you think he’s doing?” I asked calmly.

Bryce was only blowing off steam. He got that way any time he’d been under stress for any length of time, like when his dad left his mom for Danielle the nail tech for a few weeks before he figured out he was already married to the best woman he could find. He also yelled at me over the phone much like he was yelling in that bedroom the time Cooper’s little sister got really sick and Bryce agreed to drive him home from school. By the end of the phone call he was sobbing, barely able to describe how hard it was to watch Cooper and his family so worried and sad.

Bryce trusted me to love him anyway, even at his worst, just like I did when I was snapping at my dad for things out of his control. Dad always listened patiently, and then no matter what I said or with how much anger I said it, he responded with words of unconditional love. After he and Mom split, that was one trust I didn’t make him earn back, and he took the responsibility of that trust very seriously. That wasn’t the only thing I pretended I hadn’t learned from him.

“Wait,” Bryce said, mimicking Joey’s deep voice and holding out his arm. He had the most ridiculous, smug look on his face, a thousand percent more arrogant than Joey’s. “Clear.” Bryce rolled his eyes.