Page 10 of Evolved

It’s too risky to invite strangers to the White House. Even just declaring in public that Gran is alive feels terrifying, like inviting risk and attention, but we have to do this.

This is us, trying to resuscitate the nation.

With every scrape of the marker, shame settles inside me.

That was my job.

Myonejob.

“THANK YOU,”I finally manage to say as we walk away, leaving the post-its and his message on the wall, along with the shreds of my dignity.

“No problem,” he says with an easy shrug as if he didn’t just save my integrity.

We try the front doors, but they’re locked and breaking open the door seems like more work than just going back through the window, so that’s where we head.

“Really though. You just helped a lot.” I distract myself by staring at the overbright murals that cover the walls of the Cox Corridors in this part of the building. This one is sky blue and bold green, and readsTROPICUS CANCRIat the top andTIMUCUAN VILLAGEat the bottom. A man in large gold jewelry holds a lowered bow and arrow while women walk with baskets on their heads. “I’m grateful,” I say.

“No need.”

“You’re doing more than you should have to for us.” We wouldn’t have been able to bury Gina alone, and navigating the vacant post-apocalypse streets and buildings, scaling walls as high as my shoulders, listening for sounds, unsure if I’m more afraid or more hopeful that someone else is there, feels far less terrifying with his big, overly capable, easy-going presence by my side.

And beyond that, he generally has a smile. I don’t know where he finds them. I almost never manage it. He also often has cookies. He’s like a fire always burning to ward away the cold.

We’re silent as we enter the office we came in through, and before I can attempt to boost myself over the window ledge, he moves in behind me, hard hands closing over my hips as his lifts, and then I’m through, hands finding purchase on the ledge, shimmying out onto the balcony, and into a damp wind.

He climbs out behind me. “When you say ‘we,’ you still meanyou and Gran.”

I glance sharply at him. The sky is gray behind him, drizzle coming down and dusting his coal-black hair like dew drops.

“No, I … don’t.” Or do I?

He shrugs again, always shrugging, and normally, I suppose it’s a good gesture in the apocalypse since it can mean almost anything, but now it rankles, like it was a criticism. “Teammates don’t thank each other for doing their job,” he says.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never played team sports. Saying thank you,” I say stiffly as I climb over the balustrade to hover at the edge of the balcony, “in my world is polite.”

He hops down lithely, like jumping down five feet—more if I count the railing he just vaulted—is as easy as cheesecake. At the bottom, he tips his face up toward me. “And that’s what you want between us? Polite?”

There’s no clear answer, so I say nothing, preparing to lower myself down, but the second I’m within reach, he grabs me again, lifting me down, again cheesecake-easy, like he bench-presses tall women every morning before coffee.

He sets me down, my sneakers sinking into the wet grass. “Every once in a while, I think I see a real person in you, and then you smash her down flat and shove a sock in her mouth.”

I jerk my gaze away from his eyes and his eyelashes, which have caught raindrops, too. Somehow, my focus lands on his lips. They look soft. “Whose mouth?”

“Your own.” He backs up a couple steps and surveys the dead city around us. From here, you can see the Newseum, the Botanic Gardens, the National Gallery, the Natural History Museum, the Museum of African American Heritage, and, in the distance, the Washington Monument piercing the sky. All empty. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly.

To buy myself time, I head in the direction of the car weparked at a crossroads less than a block away. “Would it be all that strange if I were? General apocalypse mythos stipulates it won’t be a kind world for women, and forgive me for mentioning, your half of the species has a poor historical track record with mine.”

“Fair.” He falls in beside me.

“But I’m less afraid of you hurting me than I am of you leaving me and Gran alone.” My voice flutters on the last word.

It’s something that keeps me up at night. I’m not defenseless—one of the first things we did was arm Gran and me—but every malignant narcissist and sociopath just lost the best reason they had not to hurt people. And even the gentlest among us have untold new reasons to grow fangs now. A trained secret service agent is a massive bonus in this world.

“I wouldn’t.”

I glance sharply at him. He has a way of being gentle when I expect him to be hard, and it’s disarming. “I don’t mean to be rude. I just struggle with people.”

We’re quiet until we get to the car, stow our bags in the back, and climb into the front. I reach for the heat immediately. These days, cars are the only places where we’re warm now that the power is out and the generator is dead.

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