Chapter 21
Kate
In the valley below, two horses drink from a stream, their tails swishing behind them. They have saddles strapped to their backs, but no signs of riders.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, a small, incredulous laugh bubbling up.
Seeing Sal’s horse makes my chest crack a bit. Without thinking, I walk over to them, looking them over, searching for any injuries. They both look up at me as I approach and stiffen, their ears flattening against their heads. I pause, my hands outstretched in surrender.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Their eyes shift to Jordan, and they flinch.
“Back up,” I instruct her without looking over my shoulder. “You’re scaring them.”
I don’t check to see if she listens, but she must, because the two horses seem to relax. I try again, approaching slowly, making sure not to startle them.
“There you go,” I encourage, reaching forward slowly to stroke the side of my horse’s neck. She doesn’t shake off the touch, so I pet her some more before turning to Sal’s. “I’m glad to see you both.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I don’t understand why seeing them alive is making me emotional. I blink my tears back and swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Why don’t we get you out of these saddles, huh?”
Moving at a snail’s pace, I remove their saddles, freeing them of the extra cargo. There’s no point in trying to ride them into the city—their instinct is to fear the infected, and they’d never let Jordan near.
But the supplies Sal kept with his horse will come in handy.
Once they’re free, I discard the saddles and detangle the bags full of food, ammo, and medical supplies.
“Hope you enjoy your newfound freedom,” I say as I give them each a stroke on the nose before going back to Jordan.
I can’t help but peek over my shoulder to watch them trot away, side-by-side.
In a world full of death and destruction, I know I’ll carry this small, beautiful moment with me.
A part of me lets Sal go, hoping his horse being free will let me come to peace with what happened.
My instinct is to shove the feeling down, to make it disappear into me so that it won’t come back up, but it feels wrong to do that with this.
Jordan steps next to me, watching the horses move further from us.
“Sal, the other patroller that night, used to love working with the horses.” My voice wavers, but I press on. “I wish he’d have gotten to see them be free out here. He would love to see this place, I’m sure.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her presence feels oddly comforting. We stay here for a few minutes, watching nature move around us, going on with its life despite what horrors it has experienced.
“My mother was terrified of horses,” she finally murmurs.
I twist my head to look at her, surprised at the offering of something personal.
“I’m not sure why, but they made her incredibly nervous. But my dad absolutely loved them. He grew up riding them, and he wanted me to learn how. My mother, of course, said no—she was convinced I’d get thrown from their backs and snap my neck.”
Despite the circumstances, the corners of my mouth lift. “And did you? Get to learn, I mean.”
She glances at me sideways, a smirk on her lips. “My dad would take me out to a ranch secretly. I rode for a bit before I realized I didn’t quite care for it. It hurt my legs too much.”
A question about her parents is on the tip of my tongue, shocking me.
Swapping personal stories isn’t something we do.
But she surprises me as she continues, “As you know, electricity isn’t reliable here anymore.
Cell service went down relatively quickly, as no one was able to maintain the electrical systems.”
I make a noncommittal noise. With my family and friends all living here, there wasn’t anyone to worry about outside the city. “So you don’t know what happened to them?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
A pang of sadness hits my stomach. I’m not sure which is worse—to know all your loved ones are dead, or to be cut off, unable to know what became of them.
We fall into a gentle silence, because what can be said? No, words aren’t needed now.
A small butterfly flits past, winding around us until it lands on Jordan’s shoulder. She stares at it, transfixed as it gently opens and closes its wings.
We stay here for a while, soaking in the gentle scenery until I clear my throat. “We should probably get going.”
The butterfly on her shoulder flaps its small wings and leaves us. A look of wistfulness passes across Jordan’s face, but it’s gone in a flash. She nods, and we both hold this moment of solace as we go.
We travel on foot until the sun begins to set, picking yet another empty home to spend the night.
While part of me wishes we had covered more ground, the weight of an extra pack has my muscles groaning as I unload.
I let out a relieved sigh as I drop them onto the floor and twist my back a few times.
Jordan doesn’t bother unloading before investigating the house, checking for anything that could be useful. As she comes back, she says, “There’s no bed here.”
Fuck. Now my body is crying out in protest at the idea of sleeping on the floor. I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow.
“No worries,” I lie.
“I’ll get a fire started.” She gestures to the unused fireplace.
I stand there like a useless idiot as she literally breaks apart a desk, using the wood and the fire starter in her pack until she nudges me into action.
“Maybe get the new sleeping bags rolled out. The fur could help, too.”
“Right.”
I feel a bit like a loser, honestly—she’s way more capable than I am.
If she were making this trek on her own, she’d probably be in the zone by now.
My cheeks flame as I get our makeshift beds rolled out, pulling some furs to act as pillows.
By the time I’m done, Jordan has a crackling fire in the fireplace. “Should keep us warm for the night.”
I nod, struggling not to feel useless. I hate the idea that I’m incapable. “Do you think the smoke will alert any hordes?” I question.
She shakes her head. “Nah. I haven’t seen any signs of infected for a few blocks. We should be okay.”
Sitting down, I unlace my boots and twist my ankles when my feet are free of their prisons. “How did you learn all of this survival shit?” I ask as I rub the inside of one foot.
Jordan sits on her sleeping bag next to me. “My girlfriend taught me.”
The mention of a girlfriend makes my heart pound. “Oh” is all I can manage to say. “Um…what happened? If you don’t want to say, it’s okay—”
“She’s dead.” Her tone is flat. “Infected about a year ago during a run. I shot her before she could turn.”
“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she grunts.
A million questions run through my head. Does she think about her? What would’ve happened if her girlfriend hadn’t died? Does she wonder if she’d have the same variant that allows her control over herself?
I can’t voice any of those thoughts—they’d make me sound like some jealous lover.
“What was her name?” I ask instead.
Jordan stares at the fire for a moment before murmuring, “Sarah. Her name was Sarah.”
“It’s…not easy, losing someone,” I offer, because what else can I really say? Our lives are scarred with loss.
“I know,” she replies, looking over at me. “I like to think her memory lives on when I use the skills she taught me.”
That brings a tentative smile to my lips. “I think that’s really nice.”
Her eerie eyes soften, and the air between us is no longer tense. “She visits me sometimes.”
I keep my eyes on her, not quite sure what she’s saying. When I give her a look to keep going, she takes a deep breath.
“Sarah loved butterflies. She knew all these random facts about them, like how they have taste buds in their feet. They’re incredibly delicate, but some will make long migration treks across multiple countries.
Strange, little creatures.” She chuckles, the warmest her voice has ever sounded.
“She even had a butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck. Now, whenever I see one, I like to think it’s her. ”
That explains the soft, heartbroken look she had earlier. “What a beautiful creature to come back as.”
Jordan gives me the widest smile yet, her fangs glinting in the firelight. “I think so, too.”
My heart accelerates at how soft, how utterly different she looks right now. I turn my gaze back to the fire, wracking my brain for a distraction from this strange feeling sitting in my chest.
“You would’ve been a great contestant on one of those survivalist shows,” I murmur playfully, which earns me a snort. “Remember those? I love that one where they got naked and had to survive in the jungle.”
“Nude and Scared.” She chuckles. “Yeah, that one was wild. Don’t think I’d survive that one, though. I’d be too afraid some giant bug would bite my ass.”
I giggle at the mental image of that. Our eyes hold and it feels like time stands still.
My breath catches as I take in this woman who once frightened me—but now, she seems to be the only person who truly understands me.
For once, I’m not thinking about the weight of finding the cure, or healing my brother, or the loss of my parents or Sal or the numerous people before them.
All that matters right now is time with her.
Before I can stop myself, the words fall out. “My parents were infected pretty early on. They were both healthcare workers, so they were exposed to the virus before it became an outbreak. My brother and I were lucky that we didn’t catch it.”
“You have a brother?” she asks.
Her use of the present tense makes me flinch. Ever since he got infected, I’ve struggled to let go of him. Of the idea that he doesn’t exist anymore. But Jordan is here, isn’t she? Maybe my inability to let him go was just hope that he can be cured.