bloodied hand. Then she turned and stormed toward the exit, leaving Drew bawling like a baby and shouting for the nurse.
As she left the cafeteria, she fought the urge to spit.
Chapter Eight
Chase and Peyton wove through an asphalt field of abandoned cars and shopping carts—many still packed with plastic bags of decomposing goods—on their way to the Walmart front entrance. The car windows were mostly broken, and shattered glass on the pavement caught the failing sunlight, sparkling like a field of scattered diamonds. Peyton fingered her own diamond—the one she’d been carrying around in her pocket since she left the shelter—and wondered if she should show it to Chase. Would he even remember giving it to her? It seemed a lifetime ago.
She withdrew her hand from her pocket and took a look around, shivering at the sight of the barren landscape. Everything was so still, so dead. What had it been like for these people whose rag-clad skeletons now stretched out before her, littering the parking lot? One moment they were blissful, happy-go-lucky Walmart shoppers, ready to enjoy an hour or so of discount commerce; the next they were collapsing where they stood, their lungs seizing up, their hearts failing—and those were the lucky ones. What went through their minds as they fell to the hard, cold pavement? Had they pled for some kind of last-minute divine intervention? At what moment had they resigned themselves to the fact that none would come?
As she stared at a car that looked vaguely familiar—was that the Smart Nissan of one of her teachers?—a lump formed in her throat that she struggled to swallow down. She was supposed to be tough now, after all. Her father had trained her for this: to be strong, to not let overwhelming emotion wash her away. So there were some dead people here. So it went. After all, she was a razor girl. Like Molly Millions. And Molly Millions didn’t cry.
She faltered, stumbled. Unable to go on. Her dad would be ashamed.
Suddenly a strong hand found her shoulder, spinning her around. Chase cupped her chin with his other hand, tilting her face upward toward his. His fingers were warm—rough and calloused, but still tender as they firmly directed her eyes to meet his own. In an instant, she found herself lost in a kaleidoscope of color. She drew in breath; how many nights, down in the shelter, had she dreamed of those strange eyes of his? Those vivid greens and yellows and blues, all swirled together. And now, if anything, they seemed even more brilliant in the fading light of day.
“Are you okay?” he asked, actually sounding concerned for the first time since they’d met that day. She realized she was trembling. How embarrassing. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her as weak.
“I’m fine,” she retorted, shaking her head to free it from his hand. But he only gripped her chin tighter, tracing a finger along her jawline. That touch sparked an ache deep inside—one she found she couldn’t will away. Like everything else in this world.
“Sure you are,” he said, giving her an amused smirk. “That’s why you’re white as a sheet.”
She slumped her shoulders and sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s… a lot to take in. I admit it.”
He dropped his hand and she felt a weird emptiness inside at the loss of his touch. He leaned up against an ancient rusted-out Pryus and stared off into the distance. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to speak.
“When we first got back, after being in the mountains for so long, we couldn’t believe it,” he said at last. “Up there, removed from it all, it was hard to imagine how bad things had become. I threw up three times when I saw the first bodies.” He grimaced. “Real manly, huh?”
“I did, too,” she cried eagerly before she could stop herself. Before she could play it cool. Tough. But it felt so good to admit it. To know she wasn’t alone. “Outside my house. I saw… a baby.” She shuddered.
“You
As she left the cafeteria, she fought the urge to spit.
Chapter Eight
Chase and Peyton wove through an asphalt field of abandoned cars and shopping carts—many still packed with plastic bags of decomposing goods—on their way to the Walmart front entrance. The car windows were mostly broken, and shattered glass on the pavement caught the failing sunlight, sparkling like a field of scattered diamonds. Peyton fingered her own diamond—the one she’d been carrying around in her pocket since she left the shelter—and wondered if she should show it to Chase. Would he even remember giving it to her? It seemed a lifetime ago.
She withdrew her hand from her pocket and took a look around, shivering at the sight of the barren landscape. Everything was so still, so dead. What had it been like for these people whose rag-clad skeletons now stretched out before her, littering the parking lot? One moment they were blissful, happy-go-lucky Walmart shoppers, ready to enjoy an hour or so of discount commerce; the next they were collapsing where they stood, their lungs seizing up, their hearts failing—and those were the lucky ones. What went through their minds as they fell to the hard, cold pavement? Had they pled for some kind of last-minute divine intervention? At what moment had they resigned themselves to the fact that none would come?
As she stared at a car that looked vaguely familiar—was that the Smart Nissan of one of her teachers?—a lump formed in her throat that she struggled to swallow down. She was supposed to be tough now, after all. Her father had trained her for this: to be strong, to not let overwhelming emotion wash her away. So there were some dead people here. So it went. After all, she was a razor girl. Like Molly Millions. And Molly Millions didn’t cry.
She faltered, stumbled. Unable to go on. Her dad would be ashamed.
Suddenly a strong hand found her shoulder, spinning her around. Chase cupped her chin with his other hand, tilting her face upward toward his. His fingers were warm—rough and calloused, but still tender as they firmly directed her eyes to meet his own. In an instant, she found herself lost in a kaleidoscope of color. She drew in breath; how many nights, down in the shelter, had she dreamed of those strange eyes of his? Those vivid greens and yellows and blues, all swirled together. And now, if anything, they seemed even more brilliant in the fading light of day.
“Are you okay?” he asked, actually sounding concerned for the first time since they’d met that day. She realized she was trembling. How embarrassing. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her as weak.
“I’m fine,” she retorted, shaking her head to free it from his hand. But he only gripped her chin tighter, tracing a finger along her jawline. That touch sparked an ache deep inside—one she found she couldn’t will away. Like everything else in this world.
“Sure you are,” he said, giving her an amused smirk. “That’s why you’re white as a sheet.”
She slumped her shoulders and sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s… a lot to take in. I admit it.”
He dropped his hand and she felt a weird emptiness inside at the loss of his touch. He leaned up against an ancient rusted-out Pryus and stared off into the distance. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to speak.
“When we first got back, after being in the mountains for so long, we couldn’t believe it,” he said at last. “Up there, removed from it all, it was hard to imagine how bad things had become. I threw up three times when I saw the first bodies.” He grimaced. “Real manly, huh?”
“I did, too,” she cried eagerly before she could stop herself. Before she could play it cool. Tough. But it felt so good to admit it. To know she wasn’t alone. “Outside my house. I saw… a baby.” She shuddered.
“You
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