CHAPTER THIRTY
SARAH
The warnings are always there, clear as day, but sometimes we ignore them anyway.
I’m sitting against the wall, knees tucked to my chest, my head leaning against the window at the front of the building. My fingers trace the glass as I think about how thin it really is, just one layer between us and total chaos.
There’s this ridiculous kind of thrill in seeing a real city for the first time.
My eyes are still wide, taking it all in.
The skyscrapers are massive, stretching so high they practically touch the clouds, or at least, it feels that way to me.
Sure, I know other cities have taller buildings, but these are the tallest I’ve ever seen.
This morning, the storm finally eased up. I even caught a glimpse of a rainbow through the clouds when I got up for my shift. It felt… I don’t know, weirdly hopeful.
Our hideout isn’t much, but it works. The building’s this old red-brick place on a wide avenue. On the first floor, there’s a big garage, and in one corner, a kitchen island meant to seat ten.
In the back, there are two small offices.
Each has a desk, a couple of chairs, a couch, and some old, faded city maps pinned to the walls.
The maps are practically falling apart, but they’re still the most useful thing in the place.
Those two rooms are the least trashed, so Michael and I called dibs and turned them into “bedrooms.” That’s where James is now, stretched out on a mattress Michael and I hauled down from upstairs.
The second floor’s a different story. The rooms up there are even sadder, completely empty except for piles of dust, crumpled paper, two old mattresses, and a couple of metal barrels. Someone probably used them to build fires and stay warm during the winter.
Michael is convinced this place used to be a fire station. There’s a sliding pole between floors and old equipment lockers along the wall. I guess it makes sense. But if it ever was, all that stuff is long gone, stripped clean.
The locker rooms are ransacked. The metal doors are bent out of shape, barely hanging on their hinges.
But whatever they kept here—breathing masks, fire hoses, radios, or helmets—is gone.
Even the fire truck is missing from the garage, along with those fire suits I remember seeing in one of the movies we watched back at the lake house.
I hear the thud of footsteps on the concrete floor and look up. Michael is heading my way, his boots echoing in the empty space. He sits down beside me, quiet at first, but his eyes are on me, seeing straight through me.
Turns out, not everything can stay hidden.
James and Michael are massive, door-sized men, with broad shoulders and muscles that come with a serious appetite.
Our food disappears faster than you’d believe.
We made the stash from the backpack James saved last as long as we could, but four days later, there wasn’t a single crumb left.
“What’s on your mind, little sister?” Michael asks.
I meet his eyes. “We’re out of food, which means…”
“…we have to go outside,” he finishes, like we’re sharing the same brain.
I nod, and we both glance out the grimy windows toward the surrounding buildings.
Four days. Four whole days, and we haven’t seen a single soul. No fires flickering in broken windows at night. No cars rumbling down the street. Not even the faint glow of a flashlight. It feels like the city’s dead, except we know better. There’s no way we’re the only ones here.
“I’ll go. You stay here with James,” Michael says, already heading for the empty backpack slung over a kitchen chair.
I watch as his fingers curl firmly around his pistol, drawing it from the holster to check the rounds. His blond hair falls messily across his eyes, rebellious, like him. I’ve seen him do this a hundred times before, but something about today feels heavier, like a weight pressing down on my ribs.
I don’t want this to be the last time.
“I’m not letting you go alone,” I say as I stand, the decision already made in my mind. “I’m coming with you.”
Michael freezes mid-motion, then slowly turns to face me.
“It’s too risky.”
“That’s exactly why you’re not going alone.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
I press my lips together, knowing what he’s thinking. That I won’t be able to pull the trigger if it comes down to it. And maybe he’s right. But I’ll never know if I don’t try.
“We both know I need to do this,” I say, my voice steady, even as my heart races.
Michael studies me, his eyes so much like Dad’s it makes my chest ache.
Finally, he nods.
James always wanted to protect me from the world.
So did Dad. He never let me leave the ranch with him and Michael to scout out an abandoned town.
But Michael gets it. He knows Dad taught us the same things: how to fight, how to survive.
And he understands something they didn’t: sometimes, you have to face your fears, ready or not. Because if you don’t, you never will.
He glances over his shoulder at the back office where James is resting, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And who’s gonna be the lucky one to break the news to him?”
From the doorway, I watch Michael walk into the office and kneel beside James. As soon as he touches his shoulder, James’s eyes flutter open.
“It’s time, my friend,” Michael says. “We need to go find food.”
James groans, trying to sit up, but immediately winces. Michael presses him back down onto the couch with one firm hand and shakes his head. “You’re not coming with me.”
And that’s my cue.
I take a deep breath and step into the office, my fingers gripping the straps of the backpack.
“I will.”
James’s eyes snap to me, and his brows knit together so tight it’s like he’s trying to crush a rock with them. There’s a full-on storm brewing in his face, and I swear I can see HELL NO stamped across it in big, bold letters.
“No fucking way!” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut steel. “I won’t let you go.”
I glance at Michael, hoping for backup, but he just stands up and steps aside, giving me that you started it, you fix it look.
That’s just great. Thanks for that, Michael.
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Over my dead body!” James growls through gritted teeth, pushing himself upright on the couch.
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “Well, we might as well starve then, ’cause you’re not in any shape to go, and I’m sure as hell not letting Michael go out there alone.”
James glares at me, his jaw clenched. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sarah, you’re not going!”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not!”
“Yes. I. Am!”
Michael, of course, picks right now to throw fuel on the fire. “Not so fun when she’s stubborn with you, huh?”
James shoots my brother a murderous glare. “Thanks a lot, idiot!”
Michael just laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep her safe.”
“Uh, thanks, big brother, but let’s go with we’ll keep each other safe, okay?”
James looks between me and Michael, and the tension in his jaw says he wants to fight it, to say no, pull rank, maybe even lock me inside the fire station if he has to. He’s not used to backing down when it comes to me, but he knows he won’t win this one. Not with Michael on my side.
He exhales hard, rubs a hand down his face, and finally curses under his breath.
Ah, yes. The sweet, sweet sound of victory.
“Stay hidden. Don’t talk to anyone, either,” James says. Then he turns his attention to my brother. “And Michael? Don’t trust anyone. If they’re here, it means they follow Tyler’s rules.”
Michael nods firmly.
James crooks a finger at me. “Sarah, come here.”
I walk over slowly, the straps of the backpack still clutched in my hands. As soon as I’m close enough, he grabs me by the elbows and pulls me in, trapping my legs between his. His free arm wraps around me like a steel band.
“Sarah, I know you like to explore, but this place isn’t abandoned. You need to rein in every one of those wild impulses in that pretty little head of yours. Got it?”
I smile. “Got it. Turn off Sarah. Keep it simple.”
James goes deadly still, his grip around me tightens just enough to show he’s not messing around. “I’m serious about this, Sarah.”
I lift my hand and make a quick cross-my-heart motion over my chest.
“I promise,” I say, still smiling.
He watches me for a beat, then sighs. Grabbing his baseball cap from beside the couch, he sets it gently on my head and tugs the brim down low enough to hide most of my face.
His hand slides down to one of my braids, fingers curling around it as if he doesn’t want to let go. Then he pulls me even closer and kisses me.
◆◆◆
As soon as I step outside the fire station, following Michael, I’m greeted by the cicadas singing from bushes growing out of cracked concrete.
The street ahead is a mess of broken buildings and busted windows.
Fallen streetlights lie scattered across the road, and rusted cars are parked at odd angles, their headlights smashed—ghosts of a life long gone.
It’s like one of those books you abandon halfway through, muttering “the end” before the story even finishes.
I tug James’s baseball cap lower over my face, not that anyone’s looking right now. Still, better safe than sorry.
I stick close behind Michael, mirroring his every step. His gun is steady in his hand, and mine feels heavier than I remember in my holster.
We turn a corner, stepping into another crumbling street, and that uneasy, hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling creeps in, like someone’s watching us.
Michael must feel it too. He stops abruptly, readjusts his grip on the gun, and scans the area with that laser focus of his, the kind that always makes me think he could find a needle in a haystack if he really wanted to.
“We need to hide. Now,” he mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I’m about to ask why when I hear voices, faint at first, then louder, followed by the shuffle of footsteps inside a store just up the street.