Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(14)

“Who is they?” she asks as I pull her death grip off the hoses and toss them into the overgrown grass.

“Doesn’t matter.” I pick my holster up off the ground and carefully pull it back on over my wifebeater. “All that matters is that, if I’m still here and they’re not, then I won.”

“Well, whoever they are”—Rain gives me a small smile as I fan my shirt in the air to smooth out the wrinkles—“I hope they die last.”

A laugh bursts out of me as I look at Rain’s angelic face. She starts laughing too, then snatches my lucky shirt out of my hands.

“Oh my God, were you seriously about to put this back on?” She cackles. I grab my shirt and try to pull it out of her hands, but she clings to it with dear life. “How are you gonna survive the apocalypse wearing a shirt soaked in gasoline?”

“I don’t exactly see any laundromats around here, do you?” I fake left and grab the shirt when she veers right, but she still doesn’t let go.

“I can wash it.”

“What? When your mom gets home from work and lets you in?”

Rain’s face pales, and she releases my shirt.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to call her out.

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes losing focus and dropping to my chest, “when my mom gets home.”

Shit. Now, she looks all sad and freaked out. Her hand is in her hair again. That’s never good. This bitch does stupid shit when she’s freaking out.

“Hey,” I say, trying to snap her out of it. “You wanna eat?” I drape my shirt over my good shoulder and begin untying the grocery bags hanging from my handlebars. “I saw a tree house in your backyard. We should eat up there—”

“In case the dogs smell the food,” Rain finishes my sentence with a faraway look on her face.

“No.” I grin, holding the bags with my good arm and guiding her into the almost-knee-high grass with my other. “Because it’s probably full of Justin Bieber posters. He’s so fucking dreamy.”

Rain snorts through her nose like a pig. “Oh my God.” She cackles. “Did you just make a joke?”

I raise an eyebrow at her and keep walking. “I would never joke about the Biebs.”

As Rain falls into step beside me, snickering at my stupid fucking joke, I realize that I might have been wrong earlier.

I already feel like the king of the world.





Rain


I shove all the thoughts of my mother back into the Shit I’m Never Going to Think About Again Because None of This Matters and We’re All Going to Die fortress, pull up the drawbridge, and light that bitch on fire.

Three more days.

As I climb the ladder to my rickety old tree house, I realize that it’s already starting to get dark outside.

Make that two and a half more days.

All I have to do is not think about her for two and a half more days, and then I won’t have to think about her ever again.

I pop another pill while I wait for Wes to climb the ladder, just to make extra sure that shit stays locked up tight.

I take the bags from him as he climbs over the top of the ladder.

The tree house isn’t much. It’s basically just a rotting plywood box with a couple of dirty-ass beanbag chairs and an old boom box inside, but when I was a kid, it was Cinderella’s castle, Jack Sparrow’s pirate ship, and Wonder Woman’s invisible plane, all rolled into one.

The ceiling is so low that Wes doesn’t even bother trying to stand up. He simply crawls over to a beanbag chair and makes himself at home. He stretches his long legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles as he rummages through the grocery bags. His feet almost stick out the door. It reminds me of Alice in Wonderland when she grew too fast and got stuck in the White Rabbit’s house.

“So,” I say, plopping into the beanbag next to him as he concentrates on working that damn can opener that stabbed me in the back earlier, “you got anything in there that doesn’t look like dog food?”

Wes hands me one of the bags without looking up.

I pull out a stick of beef jerky and gesture toward the clunky radio with it. “Hey, do you want to listen to some music? I think I have my mom’s old Tupac CD in here. It’s not Justin Bieber, but …”

Wes smirks at my joke and pops a chunk of potato into his mouth. “Save your batteries. We won’t have power much longer.”

His statement wipes the smile right off my face.

Oh, right. Apocalypse. Yay.

I take in Wes’s dirty clothes as he starts pulling chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes out of the can with his fingers like a starved raccoon. His messy hair. His total lack of personal belongings.

“So …” I pretend to look for a way to open the jerky package. “Where did you come from?”

“Here,” Wes says between bites.

I laugh. “You are so not from here. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen you before.”

Wes gives me a look that says he does not appreciate being called a liar, then deadpans, “I lived here until I was nine. Then, I … moved around a lot.”

“Really? Do you still have family here?”

Wes shrugs and returns to his canned dinner.

“You don’t know? Who are you staying with?” I still haven’t touched my jerky.