The Rains (Untitled #1)(81)

Once he’d disappeared into the foliage, I released her. When she turned to me, her look held something different in it, though I couldn’t say what.

“We should find somewhere to hide until night,” I said. “Traveling in daylight’s too risky.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I think we’ve pushed our luck enough today.” She raised her arm, pointed past my cheek. “How ’bout there?”

I turned, seeing nothing at first. Then it came into view. A cabin a half mile away, obstructed by trees.

We headed for it. As we neared, it emerged from the forest. Aside from a small barn a stone’s throw away and a generator shed covered with solar panels, there was nothing man-made in sight.

We circled the cabin once, peering through the windows, and paused at the front door. Alex raised her hockey stick, and I firmed my grip on the handles of the baling hooks.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” I said.

She busted in, and we turned, back to back, scanning the place.

No Hosts.

Truth be told, it was sort of cozy. Queen-size bed with a quilt, potbellied stove, kitchenette. A gun cabinet against the wall showed off a hunting rifle and several boxes of rounds. A framed photograph on the side table captured a couple in their sixties sitting at a poolside table somewhere, his arm around her shoulder. Behind them a tropical sun glowed through scattered clouds.

Alex sagged to the bed.

I dumped the backpack from my shoulder and dug through it, tossing her an energy bar. She caught it in front of her face.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m starving.”

Shoving a browning apple into my mouth, I moved over to the gun cabinet and tugged open the glass door. I pulled out the rifle. It was a basic Ruger M77 Hawkeye .308. In my hands it felt like home. It was too big to carry back with us, but I loaded it and leaned it into its slot. Even if we were only staying until sundown, I liked knowing that it was there.

When I glanced at Alex, she was turning the bar over in her hands, looking at it but not peeling the wrapper.

She spoke slowly. “You saw that solar-powered generator outside, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said around the apple.

She rose and crossed to the refrigerator. When she opened the freezer door, cool air wafted out. Inside, frozen cuts of venison and elk.

“Maybe we can live like humans again,” she said. “At least for a few hours.”

She lifted a finger and swiped it across my cheek, her print coming away dark with grime. “Shower off. You’re filthy.”

“But—”

“I have a hockey stick, a revolver, a hunting rifle, and I just shot my own dad through the head. So I think I’ll be able to protect us for a few minutes while you clean up.”

I nodded dumbly.

She rooted around in a bureau, found some clean clothes roughly my size, and tossed them at me.

Dropping the Stetson on the bed, I went into the bathroom. The shower stall was tiny, but the hot water felt amazing. Dirt ran down my legs, pooling around the drain. It was hard to believe how much muck came off me—I must’ve looked like a wild animal.

I scrubbed until I was clean, then scrubbed some more. After I toweled off and dressed, I spent a little more time in the mirror than was necessary. Through the tiny window, I saw dusk coming on strong, the mountain air turning grainy.

A delicious scent reached me—cooked meat. After so long eating stale sandwiches and energy bars, I’d almost forgotten what real food smelled like.

When I walked out, the front room was dark. Alex had drawn all the curtains and lit candles on the kitchen table—a smart move to avoid giving us away. As I stepped closer, I saw that she’d put together a full meal with plates and settings and everything. She was already seated, waiting for me.

It was like a romantic dinner.

Except, of course, it wasn’t.

She pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit.”

“Gladly.”

We dug in. Elk in a pepper sauce, rice with cilantro, water with actual ice cubes—I couldn’t remember ever tasting anything so delicious. For a while there was only the peaceful sound of flatware clinking against plates. I sat back and wiped my mouth.

“Nicely done, Blanton,” I said.

She looked around. “It’s a shame we have to get moving soon. But we’re still high on the pass and we got a long way back to town.”

“That’s right. The good news? ‘Rain only goes one direction—’”

“‘Down,’” we said together, and laughed.

She set her fork next to her plate. Her expression shifted, and I could tell she was thinking of her father.

“He had a thing with your mom in high school, you know,” she said. “They were sweethearts.”

It took a moment for me to process that one. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

I tried to picture Sheriff Blanton with my mom when they were younger, but my brain wouldn’t compute the image. “There’s no way.”

“Oh, yeah. They were gonna get married, have kids, the whole thing. Then Dad broke up with her after graduation. I don’t know what it was. Cold feet, fear, whatever. But he never forgave himself for it. Or her.”

My face burned with indignation. “He never forgave her? That doesn’t make any sense.”