Page 53 of Praying for Rain

Ignoring my shocked expression, Wes shoves his arm elbow deep into the backpack next to me, rooting around until he finds the giant magnets in the bottom. “The only thing that’s gonna make me feel better is being in a cement bunker underground before midnight.” Wes shoves one of the homemade metal detectors in my direction. “Come on.”

I accept the magnet with a frown. “Will you at least eat something first?”

“I’ll eat when I find the fucking shelter!” he yells, pushing to his feet. “I’ll rest when I find the fucking shelter. I’ll take your pills—”

“When you find the fucking shelter. Okay, I get it.” I nod, blinking back startled tears.

“Do you?” he snaps, tossing the magnet on the ground in front of his muddy boots and pulling the rope taut. “Because I feel like all you’ve done since we met is sidetrack me and try to get me killed.”

“I know,” I mumble, my eyes drifting over to the place where my pill disappeared. I could really use it right about now. Standing, I wander over to the mound of pine needles, hoping to find a glimmer of white in all that brown. I stare down at the crisscrossing lines on the ground, a chaotic pattern as pointless as my short, stupid life.

I’m sorry, I want to say. I was just trying to help, I think to myself. You’re better off without me.

But the words don’t come out of my mouth.

I’m too distracted by the shape of the mound in front of me. Bending over, I shove my hands into the wet pine straw, but they don’t disappear into the mulchy mess like they should. Instead, my fingertips jam into something large and hard just below the surface. When I brush the needles away, my mouth falls open at the sight of a large stone block … attached to another stone block with crumbling white mortar.

“Wes!” I shout, frantically uncovering the chain of stones. “Wes, I found it! I found the chimney!”

A split second later, Wes is at my side, kissing my temple and apologizing profusely as we work together to unearth the fallen chimney. Once we locate the base, he knows exactly where to look for the hatch. He turns and takes about ten steps away, like a pirate measuring paces on a treasure map, and then he drops the magnet. This time, there’s no bounce when it lands on the soft forest floor. Hopeful green eyes lock on to mine as Wes tugs on the rope. The metal disc doesn’t budge.

I stand, rooted to the spot, as he falls to his knees and begins clawing at the carpet of leaves and needles beside the magnet. As the surface of a rusted metal door begins to take shape under his determined hands, I feel as if he’s lifting a weight off of me as well.

We’re going to be okay.

I was helpful.

Wes will be happy with me again.

“Shit,” he hisses, uncovering a rusty old padlock secured to the side of the door. Giving it a tug, Wes drops it with a clang against the door. Bracing his hands on his thighs, he furrows his brow at the new challenge, as if he were trying to unlock it with the sheer force of his mind. After a moment, he nods. Then, he reaches into the side of his open shirt and pulls the 9-millimeter out of his holster. “Go stand behind that tree. I’m gonna shoot the lock off, and I don’t want you to get hit by the ricochet.”

With a nod, I scurry behind the nearest oak tree and feel my heart pound as I wait for the shot to ring out. I should be excited, but this sensation fighting through the drugs feels closer to dread. This is our last bullet.

What if he misses? What if he gets hit by the ricochet? What if—

The sudden blast rattles my eardrums as it crashes and echoes off the trees. When I open my eyes and lower my hands from my ears, I wait for confirmation that it’s safe to come out, but all I hear is the exaggerated squeeeeeeak of a metal door being opened.

Then, nothing.

With a deep breath, I peek around the trunk of the tree. Wes is on his knees, soft brown hair hiding his face, white knuckles curled around the edge of the open doorway. He did it. He fucking did it. And with hours to spare. Wes should be running around, shouting in triumph, but instead, he looks like he’s kneeling before the executioner. I can’t figure out why until I look into the void.

And see his tortured face staring back.

Wes

Water.

The entire … fucking … bomb shelter …

Is filled with water.

When I threw open that door, I didn’t see salvation. I saw the happiness drain from my own eyes. I saw the smile rot off my own fucking face. In my reflection, I saw myself for what I’d always been—helpless, hopeless, powerless.

Nothing.

I have nothing. I’ve accomplished nothing. I’ve survived a lifetime of hell for nothing. And tomorrow, I’m going to return to nothing, just like everybody else. I’m not special. I’m not a survivor. I’m a fucking sham.

“Go home, Rain,” I say, closing my eyes. It’s bad enough that I have to hear the words coming out of my mouth. I don’t want to have to see them, too.