The Rains (Untitled #1)(82)

“The heart doesn’t make any sense, Chance. Its job is to not make sense.”

I looked across at Patrick’s black cowboy hat where I’d dropped it on the bed and kept my mouth shut.

She stood. “I’m gonna indulge in a shower before we go.”

She searched through the bureau some more but only came up with a man’s undershirt and a pair of boxers. She shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get and put my dirty clothes on over it again.”

When she disappeared into the bathroom, I poked around the cabin, trying to process what she’d just told me about my mom and her dad. That explained why Sheriff Blanton had disliked me and Patrick all these years. Why he’d hated our family name so much.

I found myself drawn back to that photograph of the older couple. How content they looked sitting there, umbrella drinks in hand. What was it like to grow old with someone that way? To know the other person was by your side. Not just for the big romantic moments but the day-to-day stuff, too. My mom and dad had it like that. Uncle Jim and Sue-Anne, too.

It didn’t seem like something I’d ever have.

I set down the framed picture, then went to do the dishes. It seemed important somehow, a gesture of respect for the folks who’d owned the place, who’d once taken a trip to enjoy each other’s company in the sun.

Alex came out, dirty clothes over clean, toweling her hair.

She paused by the bed, leaning a hip against the mattress, still looking a bit weak from her ordeal. “You cleaned up the kitchen? Why?”

I finished wiping down the counter. “I don’t know,” I said.

It seemed too hard to explain. But she nodded as if she understood anyways. She didn’t move from her spot by the bed.

“What did you go through?” she asked. “To get to me.”

I looked down at my boots.

“Tell me, Chance,” she said quietly.

So I did. I gave an abbreviated version of the empty church, of Chet’s attack and how Zeus died. The cemetery and the barricade, the climb up the pass and how I’d waited for dusk to come on, the terrible sounds of the assembly line carrying to my perch in the hills above the cannery.

She didn’t say a word, not even after I finished. Her lips were pursed, her eyes glimmering. It looked like she might be about to cry, but I wasn’t sure why. We stood in the silence a moment.

Then I remembered. I dug in my pocket. Came up with her jigsaw pendant.

“Patrick told me to bring this to you,” I said.

She seemed to realize she was still holding the towel, and she dropped it on the quilt next to the cowboy hat.

She reached back and took up her wet hair, exposing her slender neck. The whole time her eyes held mine. “Will you put it on for me?”

Blood rushed to my face. I looked down at the silver piece in my hand. That chain pooled in my palm, the tiny, delicate links. I willed my legs to move, but they wouldn’t listen.

“C’mere, Little Rain,” she said.

Keeping my eyes lowered, I walked over to her, my boots creaking the floorboards. I was standing right in front of her. We were about the same height, and I wondered when that had happened—she’d always been a few inches taller. Her neck was right there before me, an arc of wet hair floating just off the skin. I was looking at her jawline, her mouth. I didn’t dare lift my eyes to meet her gaze for fear of what they might reveal.

I reached up, the pendant dangling between my hands. My fingers grazed her neck. Her skin, so smooth. Her hair, cool against my knuckles as I fumbled with the clasp.

At last I got it.

She leaned forward.

And kissed me.

My heart stopped.

Her lips were as plush and soft as I’d ever imagined.

She pulled back, plucked the cowboy hat off the quilt, and seated it on my head. The room felt hazy to me, my thoughts and emotions swimming. Words drifted out of reach.

She gave me a sideways smile and brushed past me toward the door. “Let’s get going.”

Yanking on the backpack, I stumbled out after her, still unable to speak.

Alex’s limp was more pronounced. Though we’d just had a rest, her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. I wondered how we’d make it all the way down the pass. We headed off the porch, passing the little barn, forging into the trees.

That’s when we heard it.

Something moving inside the barn.

Something very big.

I paused, and we looked at each other. I knew she was thinking what I was thinking, that she held the same hope for what it might be.

But there was a risk, too. If I rolled back that barn door, a swarm of Hosts could spill out.

Alex staggered weakly to the side, setting her weight on her strong leg. I thought about how tired she was and how rough the terrain before us was.

It was worth the risk.

Reversing course, I moved back toward the barn, and she did nothing to stop me.

My fingers curled around the metal handle. Something shifted inside again, the wood creaking. I hesitated, staring at the flaking wooden door.

Then I slid it open.





ENTRY 38

A shiny black Andalusian stallion loomed in the single stall. Seeing us, he threw back his head, exposing a white star on the left side of his chest. I pushed back the stall door, and he pranced out. With massive hindquarters and powerful hocks, he must have been seventeen hands.