Three (Article 5 #3)(9)

I shook myself from Chase’s hold and fell to my knees beside Rebecca. The house shielded us from the wind, the awning from the sky, and as the tremors faded I realized I had become a sponge, unable to hold any more water. It dripped off me from the tips of my hair to my matted lashes, from my elbows and my fingertips and the jeans that now stuck to my legs.

Chase surveyed me carefully, but his eyes widened as they lowered, and he purposefully looked away. Quickly, I pulled the shirt away from my skin, realizing it was now painted on, the outline of my bra as clear as a print on the fabric.

“The radio,” I said with a wince. “I dropped it.” I hoped it wasn’t broken. Chase nodded and went to find it before I could make my trembling legs move down the steps.

“Did it bite you?” Sean was feeling his way down Rebecca’s leg, but she slapped his hand away as he neared the ankle. The denim that had been torn away revealed the heavy plastic supports she wore beneath her pants.

“It didn’t break the skin,” she said. Her face was pale as death, her eyes still roaming over the yard searching for the pack of dogs.

Chase bent to retrieve the crutch, which now bowed like a tree in the wind. Guilt swamped through me. Walking was hard enough for my roommate when both of her crutches were in working order.

He glanced warily at Sean, who looked at the bowed metal like it had just crushed his hopes and dreams. But instead of being upset, Rebecca clasped her hands over her mouth, and began to giggle hysterically.

I tried to keep my face even, but after a moment the same crazy laughter bubbled up inside of me, too.

“Sorry,” I managed. I tried to hold my breath. I didn’t know what was so funny.

After a shared look of confusion with Sean, Chase went to bring back the radio and other crutch.

“If you wanted a puppy, you should have just told me,” muttered Sean as he started reshaping the one I’d bent.

Chase’s brow was furrowed as he returned to the porch. He handed Rebecca the metal brace and removed the radio from the bag. The metal box now had a dent in the top, but the red light was still flashing, and the cord for the microphone was still connected. I sighed, relieved.

“It was my fault, going so far ahead. We’ll stick together from now on,” Chase said, tucking the radio back inside the bag.

I forced my mouth to straighten. “I had it covered.”

“Yes,” he said with a reluctant smirk. “You did.”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “We were so far behind because the other team called.”

Chase looked to me, brows raised. While I told them what Tucker and I had discussed, he watched me closely, seeming to read my reactions more than listen to my words. I didn’t tell him I’d brought up my mom; I didn’t have to. He knew the conflict I faced every time I spoke to Tucker.

“Well, that sounds awkward,” said Sean.

“Thanks,” I said. He gave a short chuckle and threw his arm around my shoulder, just for a second until he caught Rebecca’s hurt expression and quickly stepped away. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen him touch her so easily and couldn’t.

When my pulse had finally slowed, and Rebecca was back on her feet—if somewhat crookedly—I followed the others inside. It seemed strange that they didn’t have to break the lock. It was the first house we’d come across where the door was already open.

Even in the rain the stench that burst from within was unbearable. I hiked up the collar of my shirt around my nose, fighting the urge to throw up, and tried not to think about the oil spill on the beach.

The front living room was completely preserved in its original state, evoking such a strong pang of nostalgia my chest clenched. The couch may have been covered by a thin skin of dust, but the pillows were still at perfect angles, and on the coffee table in front of it were three pre-War magazines, the pages warped and faded, but still readable.

I could imagine a steaming mug of Horizons hot chocolate on the table.

A wax candle, flame flickering.

My mother, toes curled under the back cushion.

I was vaguely aware of Chase, rifling through the kitchen, and the sound of drawers opening and closing.

I picked up one of the magazines and flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures of happy women, sexy women, clad in swimsuits and revealing clothes the FBR would later ban as immoral. There were articles on the pages; I didn’t read them, just scanned the print. It had been so long since I’d read something not sanctioned by the MM.

*

“WHERE’D you get that?”

My mother grinned, her eyes bright with mischief. She flipped through the pages of the worn magazine as though she was really interested, not just trying to get a rise out of me.

“Might have picked it up from one of the ladies at the soup kitchen.” She pursed her lips.

“Might have,” I repeated with a frown. “You know we’ve got an inspection coming up.” The MM hadn’t been through in almost a month. We were running on borrowed time. Every day this week I’d checked the house before and after school to make sure nothing contraband was lying around.

“Oh, live a little,” she said, rolling up the magazine and smacking me on the arm. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff they used to write in these things.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask.