44. Knox
FORTY-FOUR
KNOX
Our room is dark, and Ava breathes deeply in sleep. Her hair tickles my nose as she nestles into my arm, and I cherish the moment. Unsure when I’ll get to hold her like this again, I squeeze her tighter against me.
Unspoken or not, last night we made a promise to one another that it would be us against whatever comes next, and yet, my path leads away from here. Away from safety and farther into the unknown, which is the last place either of us wants to go. As much as I want to keep my promise, I can’t stay here wondering who might be waiting for me in Ransom—it would eat me alive. At the same time, asking Ava to go with me puts her in more danger.
I stare a hole through the wall, suddenly too restless and slightly claustrophobic in a cement shoebox without windows. I press a kiss to Ava’s temple and gently pull my arm from under her.
She stirs, rolling over so her back is facing me, mumbling.
“What’s that?” I whisper, kissing the soft skin of her shoulder.
“Is it time to get up?”
“No.” I can barely see her outline in the darkness, but I tuck the blanket around her, willing her to rest. “It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”
She nestles deeper into the blankets. “Where are you going?”
“I need a shower.”
Ava groans. “Sounds like so much work.”
I bite back a chuckle as I sit up. Feeling around for the table lamp, I flick it on, blinking as I take in what looks like a war zone in our room. Our clothes and picnic remnants are scattered across the floor, our mostly untouched wine cups and the half-eaten carrot cake discarded on the desk.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I climb to my feet, tug on my sweats, and grab fresh clothes. I’m not sure how I know it’s dawn. Maybe it’s my internal clock and the not-so-long-ago routine of livestock to feed and chores to do at sunrise. Tucking my bathroom bag under my arm, I switch off the light and escape the room.
The industrial sconces lining the walls dimly light the way, and I ignore the cold floor on my bare feet. All the dorms are still closed, and the clock above the bulletin board reads a quarter to six. No one is idle in this place, so it’s only a matter of time before the facility is teeming with life, and I take advantage of the quiet.
The locker room door creaks as I push it, echoing off the tile and cement. The pungent scent of damp towels mixed with floral shampoo and air freshener hits my nose first. Then the overhead lights flicker when I step inside, reflecting in the row of mirrors above the sinks across from me, causing momentary blindness.
Six shower stalls are partitioned by neck-high walls lining one side of the room, and lockers line the opposite. I bypass the offshoot to the toilets and head straight for the bench at the lockers, making a mental checklist of the questions I need answers to today.
What does the facility know about Kansas?
Is it safe to travel there directly, and are the roads drivable?
I discard my things on one of the benches, grab a towel from the marked closet, and pull off my sweats before heading to the closest shower stall. There are Recycled Water signs, which makes sense for a place like this, and as I step under the lukewarm spray, I hope that means there are other facilities like this all over the country. That this isn’t our one and only option.
I turn the water temperature higher and let it run over me, basking in the glory of it. Being warm and clean is a salve on any worry, and I allow optimism to nudge its way in. We’re so lucky to be here—things are looking up.
Plus, Elijah said many civilians have already left, which might make it easier to find a vehicle I can take to Kansas—something that was left behind. I could drive ahead solo and check it out, then come back for Ava.
The locker room door creaks open, and I glance over the wall, smiling instantly. “You missed me that much?”
Ava groans. “Your body is like a furnace.” She drags her feet over to the bench and drops her bag onto the floor. “It’s impossible not to.” I use the body wash from the dispenser on the wall and suds up, grateful I don’t have to use the stash of soap I brought yet.
Ava mutters as she adjusts the water temperature in the stall beside me. She shrieks and prances in place, and even if I can only see the ridiculous expressions she makes, it’s enough to ruin me, and I wonder if I’ll ever think of showers without remembering the way her nose crinkles like that again.
“Are you going to tell me?” she asks, stepping under the water as it washes over her hair.
I scrub my head, closing my eyes as I wash the soap away. “Tell you what?”
“What’s on your mind.”
I smile to myself. “How do you know there’s something on my mind?”
“Knox, we agreed,” she chides.
I meet her gaze over the cement partition. “You think you know me so well?”
She gives me her arched eyebrow, no nonsense expression and I look away.
“So?” she prompts. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back beneath the spray.
“So,” I start, “I was thinking that after we go to the comms room, I might see if I can get a vehicle to drive to Ransom, check things out. It should only be about three hours from here, if the roads are decent.”
Ava snorts. “ Only ?” She looks at me as she rubs shampoo into her hair. The suds drip down her cheek. Ava has never looked so comfortable in her own skin, or so normal, even if we’re in an industrial locker room in a facility filled with evacuees. “One hour could be a day’s worth of travel these days,” she continues. “And you’re not going ahead without me.”
“Ava—”
“Knox,” she growls back.
I have to smile to myself because she’s stubborn, if nothing else. “Okay.”
Her eyebrow lifts before she dips her head under the spray again. “Try as you might,” she says, wiping the water from her face. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Knox Bennett.” Ava smirks at me, water dripping from her nose and lashes.
I smile. Not only because having Ava with me makes me the most content I’ve ever been, but it feels good to have someone who would go up to bat for me like I know Ava would. She’d do more than that, she’d scratch their eyes out, jump on their back—she’d even knock an old lady out to save my horse if she had to.
“Good,” I say, shutting off my water. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”