35. Ava
THIRTY-FIVE
AVA
I wake with a start, my heart pounding, and I don’t know why. I glance around the bunkroom, blinking through a sliver of light peeking through the windows. It’s daytime. I have a moment of panic, like I should be doing something, then remember...
Last night.
My hand flies to my chest, my bare chest, and I peer down as it all comes flooding back. My attention snaps to Knox, asleep on his stomach beside me, tangled in blankets.
I cover my mouth, stifling a giddy laugh. Yeah, that freaking happened. I run my fingers through my tangled hair, exhaling the strange unease I woke with. When I look at Knox again, though, jubilant butterflies take its place.
I was not expecting what happened last night. Him. Any of it. Wanting Knox and having him are two very different things. And to top it off, us together felt like more than convenient sex. Much more. Like, despite our distance over the years, it was always leading to this—Knox and me together, predetermined and forever in each other’s gravitational orbit.
Pulling the comforter to my chest, I lie back, sinking into the mattress. My eyes drift to Knox again, unbidden, and I watch the way his back rises and falls with each shallow breath.
When I realize I’m grinning like a goober, I know I’m done for, and I pull the comforter over my face.
A boom fills the air, and the entire firehouse shakes. I slingshot up in bed, and Lucy lurches to her feet by the bunkroom door. Knox stirs in his sleep as I grip his shoulder.
“Wake up,” I hiss, scanning the bunkroom like the walls might cave in around us. “Knox—I think that was an explosion.”
He turns over, scrubbing his face as I collect my underwear and bra from the floor.
“An explosion?”
I nod, nearly losing my balance as I reach for my jeans. “Yes, at least, I think that’s what it was. Maybe a few blocks away?” Something had woken me, I realize. Another boom? An earthquake?
“Stay in here,” Knox says groggily. He hikes his pants up to his hip and grabs his pistol from the holster beside the bed. “Check the windows for anything.” He pads out of the room on bare feet.
Grabbing the shotgun, I do exactly as he says, my heart racing as I inch my way to the shuttered window to sneak a peek.
I open it slowly with the handle crank. The day is grayed by ash clouds. The side of the firehouse is still and what I can see of the street is empty. Ash dust still covers everything, and there are no new tire tracks or creepy people peering up at me like I half expect. Nothing appears disturbed.
Moving to the back of the room, I check the other windows. Other than a well-worn path in the gray-covered basketball court from anxious horses, nothing seems out of place.
“We need a better view.” Knox rushes in and plops down on the bed, hastily donning his boots.
“The tower?”
He nods as I pull my boots on, too. There’s a moment when our eyes meet and linger, exchanging an “it was fun while it lasted” look, since reality has set back in with the subtlety of a cannon.
Throwing my hair up in a knot, I give Knox a brusque “I’m ready” nod, and we cautiously make our way outside. I have no idea what time of day it is, maybe close to noon, if I had to guess, and the weather is cool again without the sun. I shiver but it might be nerves and apprehension. “The ground shook,” I explain. “I don’t think it was an earthquake, though. I mean, it could’ve been, I guess, but it didn’t feel like it. Not with a boom like that.”
Knox scans the backyard for movement. “I think we’re about to find out.” We hurry up the stairs, zigzagging our way up the fire tower. We’re not yet to the top when I notice a smoke cloud on the horizon.
“Either something exploded,” Knox says a little breathless.
“Or someone set a fire,” I finish for him. We stare at the billowing smoke, catching our breaths. “I mean, it could be a collapsed building,” I hedge. “Maybe from the earthquakes?”
Knox looks at me, his pensive brow and clenched jaw predictably back in place. “I don’t want to hang around to find out.”
“Agreed.”
We stare at each other, silently bracing ourselves for whatever comes next.
“You’re faster with the horses,” I tell him. “I’ll gather our things.”
He nods, and I recognize the disappointment in Knox’s expression because it’s the same way I feel: our break is over and far too soon. Thankfully, our exit plan was decided yesterday, even if we hadn’t anticipated such a hasty departure.
I turn for the stairs. “I’ll make sure we have everything we need from the truck.”
“Grab the maps,” Knox says, falling into quick steps behind me. Like the flip of a switch, we’re back in survival mode, like the last twelve hours together never even happened.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, our things are packed, and what doesn’t fit in our backpacks is strapped to Loca’s and Rooster’s saddles. They are our best hope for maneuvering around the rifts in the terrain that are undriveable.
“Assuming the maps are still accurate,” Knox says, unhooking his stirrup from the saddle horn, “we’ll use the frontage road along Route 87 until the fissures get bad. I think it’s the best route without straying too close to New Mexico. Since we’re on horseback, it should be easier to maneuver.”
I adjust my Toxic Positivity hat. “Sounds good.”
Knox’s eyes shift to me. “We only use the main road when we have no other choice, just to be safe.”
“Agreed.” With a long stretch of uncharted territory lying ahead and only a couple of small towns and rest stops along the way, our options for water and shelter are severely limited. Still, I’m anxious to get out of Amarillo. It feels like we’ve worn out our welcome, and I would rather leave this place behind before my memory of it can be tarnished.
I tighten Loca’s cinch the way Knox showed me, and do a final saddle check.
“Hey.”
My attention snaps to Knox. He’s standing a few inches from me, his hazel eyes shining with warmth.
“Hey,” I breathe. When he looks at me, heat spreads through my chest up to my cheeks. Less than an hour ago, we were naked in bed.
Knox reaches for a strand of hair, fallen from under my cap, and tucks it behind my ear. “This isn’t how I wanted things to go this morning,” he says thickly. His face is scruffier today, and I reach for his cheek.
“I know.” I don’t want Knox worrying about me or overthinking what happened between us. Not while we need to get out of here safely. I shrug it off, unable to resist a smirk. “It was fun while it lasted.”
“Oh, it’s not over.” A devilish smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and leaning in, Knox presses a kiss to my lips. It’s firm and urgent and a little desperate like he doesn’t want it all to be forgotten. When he pulls away, the gold flecks in his eyes glimmer. “That fine with you?”
I nod dumbly, lips parted and a little breathless. “Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Totally.”
With a smirk of his own, Knox checks Loca’s saddle again for good measure, and we mount up. The horses are anxious to get on the road, and Lucy is already exploring the route ahead.
“You good?” Knox pauses for a moment, looking me over. And if I’m not mistaken, admiration softens his expression.
I give him a thumbs up. “I’m good,” I promise. At least as good as I can be after the abrupt start to our day.
“You say that now,” Knox tosses over his shoulder, “but riding all day after last night...” He tilts his head with a low whistle. “You’re going to be sore ?—”
“Ha!” I roll my eyes. “You’re such a boy.”
“You think I’m joking.” Knox chuckles to himself, and when he’s had his fill, he calls for Lucy and clicks Rooster into a trot.
I nudge Loca after them, still grinning to myself.
We keep to the side of the road as we head north through town. The world isn’t as still as it seemed yesterday. Birds are chirping in the distance, and the haze we’ve been shrouded in for days disperses with the breeze.
Knox eyes our tire tracks, which are still visible from yesterday.
“It’s funny,” I muse. “Before all of this started, I would have thought we’d be looking for people, not trying to steer clear of them.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather it be just the two of us than risk another Lars or Julio situation. And after what my dad saw—” Knox shakes his head. “I think it’s better this way.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. At least until we find the facility in Guymon. I offer him a pensive smile, knowing there are no simple or easy decisions to make anymore, and we continue down the road.
We weave our way around abandoned cars and looted rubble. Gerty graffiti gleams on a water tower. This time, though, it’s a cartoon mural of her sitting on the moon in a lounge chair, a long-necked dinosaur stretched out beside her, both with shades on as they watch Earth catch flame.
I might not have mocked Gertrude’s collision with the moon, but I never took it as seriously as I should have either. Being born after the fact made Gerty feel more like a cautionary story than a reality. A way for parents to guilt their kids into eating all their dinner because they never knew when food might become scarce. To be grateful for what they have because another, worse Gertrude might strike, and it could all be gone. But when all you hear about are catastrophic and extreme weather events, changing migration patterns, government preparation projects, and research—it all becomes background noise.
But passing broken windows and maneuvering around abandoned cars, walking through the garbage in the streets makes it all very real. We pass a plaza completely lit up with Open signs flashing red, and interior lights flickering with each power surge. “Solar?” I ask Knox, feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable as we pass. I’m almost as afraid to keep staring inside as I am to look away, uncertain who might be in there.
“That would be my guess. I don’t see Thai Kitchen and the laundromat being open for business on a day like this.”
He points toward an off-shooting road. Another plaza is lit up, even though soot covers the side of the buildings like a small fire broke out some days back.
“Hold up,” Knox hisses. He pulls Rooster to a stop before we round a corner. “Lucy, stay.” His voice is low and sharp, and the adrenaline I’ve been trying to keep at bay starts whirring through me.
I don’t have to ask Knox what’s wrong because I see their reflection on the glass storefront across the street. People. There are four of them dressed entirely in black, their faces covered and automatic rifles strapped against three of their chests. “Military?” I whisper as they load something into a white van.
“Could be. Or a private militia.”
“What are the odds they happen to be here at the same time as that explosion, yet have nothing to do with it?”
“Not good.”
“Then let’s go,” I urge. I haven’t had to shoot my gun at someone yet, and I don’t want today to be that day. “If we can see them in the reflection, they’ll be able to see us, and I don’t want to wait for their reaction.”
Knox watches them in the window a few seconds longer. I know it’s a gamble either way. We stay and expose ourselves to four men with guns, or we pretend we were never here at all, and we hastily continue on our way, leaving possible help behind.
“Scott didn’t die so that we could get caught up with people who look more dangerous than Lars,” Knox whispers as if he’s trying to convince himself. His eyes never stray from the window. “Let’s go.” He spins Rooster around, and I happily do the same with Loca as we change course and head down a side street. When we’re a block away and less likely to be heard, it feels like I can finally breathe. We nudge the horses into a run and get the hell out of Amarillo for good.