Chapter 2
Abreeze trailed me down the hill, cutting through the dry grass and into the soft collar of my shirt. I made it back to the Casino before the sun disappeared behind the island ridge, but the chill from the ocean stuck with me all the way inside.
The main hall buzzed. I stepped through the doors, and the warmth hit me, thick with sweat and food and a sharper current of perfume, hairspray, and maybe flowers.
Some of the Ci Dyn had spent the afternoon collecting the yellow trumpet vines that grew wild on the island slopes.
They had no scent to speak of, but someone must have thought it would cheer the place up.
The effect was mostly lost in the crush of bodies and the ambient noise: laughter, some raised voices, the scrape of a chair over the cracked tile floor.
Overhead, lanterns and some battery-powered floodlights cast everything in weird, uneven color.
The old Casino’s main floor had been turned into a mess hall.
The big round room was split by a double row of wooden tables, maybe ten in all, plus benches and scavenged folding chairs from every storefront or outbuilding in the area.
Half the population had already eaten and drifted back to their bunks or to the rooms upstairs, but the diehards, the ones who always lingered for seconds or for conversation, packed the center tables.
Ci Dyn claimed most of the spots near the buffet line, eating in small packs or circling for news of the day’s drama.
The elves had staked out the table closest to the stairs, clustered tight together and speaking softly over their plates.
The rest was a mix of Fatu Hiva women, rescued Shima survivors, a few of the shuttle crew, and the ever-present new arrivals who still walked with a dazed, watchful energy, like they weren’t sure how long the ceiling would stay up.
My stomach ached with emptiness. I realized I hadn’t eaten since the fish Teva made at sunrise.
My appetite was awake, but I let my eyes wander the room, counting faces and watching for any sign of tension or a fight brewing.
I’d learned, quickly, that mixing three races in a space built for pre-war tourists could be volatile.
Tonight was quieter than most. The day had been too long and too full of manual labor for anyone to have much fight left in them.
Near the back, at a table wedged in a corner by the window, I caught sight of Linda Lane and Evelyn Carroll.
They were a matched set, heads inclined, bodies canted toward each other in a way that telegraphed every shared secret and private history between them.
Linda’s hair glowed a little in the reflected light, the sandy blonde catching yellow from the lantern.
She wore one of the canvas utility shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, and she’d looped her arm through Evelyn’s, fingers resting lightly at the wrist. Evelyn’s hair was dark and straight, long enough that she tucked it behind her ears when she leaned in close.
They both looked like they’d been through a fight in the alley: dirt on their faces, a rip at the cuff of Evelyn’s jeans, both of their hands chewed up with scrapes and healed-over blisters.
Their bowls were mostly empty, a seafood stew, for lack of a better term, and neither looked like they’d tasted it.
Their conversation was a ripple in the air, voices low enough that nobody at the next table could make it out.
The real volume was mental. Both of their thoughts ran at a frequency that left a tight pressure behind my forehead, the volume dialed up by nervousness and anticipation.
Linda’s voice was the brighter of the two: Can you believe it?
We’re next. He actually said yes. Both of us.
Evelyn’s answer came shaded with a private smile.
I know. I’ve been thinking about it all day.
Linda leaned closer. Her lips didn’t move, but her mind did. Do you think any of them will still be there? People we knew? There was a hard pull behind the words, a clinging to the past that made her eyes dart, scanning every new face in the hall for a match.
Evelyn’s thoughts turned inward. After San Diego? After what Adele showed us? I stopped hoping.
I had people, Linda thought, a brief image of two kids at a birthday party, her mother, who looked like her, a grandfather whose face I recognized from the memory of a family photo. I’m not holding my breath.
Evelyn was quieter, her mind less of a broadcast, but I caught the shape of her history.
I’m alive. That’s what my mom would care about.
It was only the three of us: Mom, me, and my little brother.
She’d want me living. Maybe even having a baby someday.
A girl gets her name and a boy gets his…
unless it’s James’s first son. Then I’ll name him James if that’s okay.
The spike of embarrassment when she thought it was hot enough to send a jolt down my spine.
Linda picked up on it, her laugh barely audible. Same.
Both of them looked my way, the twin spotlights of their attention burning, then immediately glanced away, faces a little pinker, fingers tapping nervously on the chipped plates.
I turned away, my mind still turning over the morning.
I headed for the serving station, a long folding table put together from two different banquet setups and covered with a rescued vinyl tablecloth that still had a Hawaiian print.
Three of the Fatu Hiva girls stood behind it, working over a big pot.
The smell was thick and briny. Fish, clams, maybe crab, and a handful of chopped sea lettuce they’d pulled from the rocks that morning. One of them ladled a bowl for me and smiled.
“Thanks,” I said, then made a point of saying her name, “Ryo,” which made her smile.
She was one of two Koreans from the Fatu Hiva group.
I’d been too busy to look recently, but I was pretty sure she and Sen had signed up for the Hawk Pack.
Frankly, I’d lost track at this point. It wasn’t that I didn’t care; it was that I was far too busy to focus on any of that. Still, they deserved some recognition.
Steam rose off the surface. There was nothing special about it. The catch, water, salt, dried herbs, and the green they’d added for bulk. It was hot, and it filled the stomach. That was enough.
“There is plenty,” she said. “So you want one for Autumn, too?”
“She’s probably with Joy,” I said. “Hadn’t seen her since this morning.” Autumn often shadowed Joy like a duckling when she wasn’t attached to me. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Where is Akia?” the other one, Sen, asked. She, like Ryo, was a cute one. Korean, but Sen was half Korean. I think she said she was Korean/German. It showed. She was gorgeous, whereas Ryo was cute. Together, they made a good-looking pair.
I looked around as if I’d lost the Chuahhwa girl, then laughed. “She’s on the Kana boat, uh, Sea Hunter. They went a little further down the island where they found a good place for clamming.”
The girl winked. “Good luck,” she said, eyes darting past me to where Linda and Evelyn sat. “They’re very excited for tonight.”
I nodded and turned away without another word.
You’d think I would be too. They were both up there on the hot girl scale, but between worrying about Casey and the others and keeping everyone safe and motivated here, sex wasn’t the top thing on my mind.
Still, I intended to make a decent night of it.
I found a spot at a half-empty table, set the bowls down, and dug in.
The seafood stew was hot enough to scald my mouth, but it was perfect.
I took a minute to enjoy the taste, then let my mind drift back to what I’d picked up from Linda and Evelyn.
It wasn’t new; the list had been running since Fatu Hiva, and every few days or so, two or three more added their names, always in the same careful handwriting on the back of the manifest board in the main hallway.
Every time I’d tried to de-escalate it, to shift the focus to practical ground, it came back twice as strong.
Casey said the only way out was through, and maybe she was right.
The women had their own priorities, their own reasons.
Survival, sure, but also the need for connection.
For a future, even if it was only a vague bet on the world staying put for another month or year.
I didn’t know what to make of it, not in the way that made sense on paper.
But I’d stopped pretending it could be explained away with biology or necessity.
It was about what made people want to keep living, even after everything else went sideways.
Linda and Evelyn had found each other in a world that wasn’t interested in their happiness, and if sharing my bed, or anyone’s, gave them a little more oxygen in their lungs, I wasn’t going to call it wrong.
The stew disappeared quickly. I drank what was left, then leaned back on the creaking bench and watched the room.
A few more faces I didn’t know, a few more pairs that never would have sat together in the old world.
The elven table was quieter, but one of the women caught me watching, met my eyes, then turned to whisper to her neighbor, who grinned and nodded without looking up.
At the window, the world outside had gone black.
Only the faintest outline of the seawall was visible, the channel invisible beyond it.
The storm that hit us a few days after we arrived on the island had passed, but there were still whitecaps and some chop, and the Ci Dyn patrols kept their eyes on the water even after sunset.
I saw a movement on the north end of the dock, probably a work party pulling the last of the nets for the night.