Page 93 of Heart of the Sun

I took her in, my heart expanding. I’d thought her selfish and vacuous at one point and been completely wrong. Or…if she’d begun traveling down that road because of the people surrounding her and the life she lived, this situation had exposed the deeper parts of her. The girl I remembered who cried when one of the barn cat’s kittens died,the one who’d tried to love me when I’d been unlovable. I took her face in my hands and risked a moment on this dangerous street to kiss her lips. It felt vital. It felt like it might be one of the only things powerful enough to give us the strength to continue on.

We exited the alley and kept walking, staying as far away from the people we saw on the streets as possible. We couldn’t say yes to anyone asking for food again. To do so would jeopardize Emily more than I was willing to.

I couldn’t help remembering the day we’d walked into Silver Creek two weeks and a million years ago. Then, we’d been worried, lost, but had been taken into a town just beginning to enact a plan of action. LA was already mostly hollowed out, the flood of people who’d called this city home streaming into the countryside. For a while anyway. I wondered how long it would take before most of those people were dead. Because the country had resources, but only so many. And we’d arrived at the point where few were willing to share.

We turned the corner onto my uncle’s street and my heart sunk when I saw all redx’s on the doors. “Fuck,” I breathed as we stopped in front of the chain-link fence. I grasped its handle, knowing the metallic scent it would leave on my palm. I’d entered this gate when I was seventeen years old, a scowl on my face and a broken heart. And he’d been standing on the porch, his shoulder leaned against the post holding up the small overhang, arms crossed and looking at me like he had my number. And he did. He’d watched me self-destruct and he might have been disappointed, but he’d never seemed surprised.

Because he’d been there.

But thexon his door told me he might not be anymore.

How will I ever find you now?

Still, I had to see. I had to know for sure.

“I need you to crouch down behind that fence, Emily,” I said, turning to the wooden fence across the way that led to a park that was as old and broken down as it’d been when I’d lived here.Despite that, kids had played there, but it was empty now.

“No, I want—”

“I don’t know if thexon the door means a death occurred or that gang members took this house over. If they did claim it, it might mean they did it randomly, but it also might mean they’re still in there. Please.”

Her eyes held mine for a moment, and whatever she saw there convinced her to nod and head for the fence. I watched as she ducked behind it and then I turned back to the house, opened the gate, and then walked up the short concrete walkway to the front door. I knocked, loudly enough that anyone inside could hear me, but not so loud that it echoed down the block and might attract attention. This entire street looked empty, but who knew.

When no one answered my second knock either, I tried the handle. It turned in my palm and I pushed the door open. The smell hit me immediately and my knees almost buckled at what it told me even before I stepped inside and saw my uncle’s body in the recliner. A moan made its way up my throat, and I walked farther inside, putting a hand against the wall to brace myself for a moment. “Oh Jesus.”

If I’d been here…

But no, then I wouldn’t have been with Emily. And to think of her in that field alone with Charlie was unthinkable. Still, guilt was a vise, tightening around my heart. He’d died alone.

I pulled in a breath as I brought my eyes to my uncle’s body again, noting the gunshot wound in his chest. There was no weapon in his hands, but I knew there had been. He’d fought to the end, I was sure, even if whoever had come in had had the bigger gun and gotten off the first shot. I held my breath and then approached his body and removed the cross necklace and put it in my pocket. “Thank you,” I said. “I wish I’d told you sooner. Thank you for saving me. And I’m sorry.”

I straightened my spine, stuffing down the sorrow that ripped through me like a thunderstorm. There was no time for that now. I did a quick search of his kitchen, but it’d been completely stripped of food and water.

There was nothing here.

When I exited the house, Emily was standing at the gate. “I told you to stay hidden.”

“I was worried,” she said, her gaze moving over my features, her brow creasing. “Are you okay? Is he—”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh, Tuck. I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“Nothing. But there’s one more house I have to check. It’s a few streets over.”

My guts burned, and my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. So much savagery here. So many good people had died simply because they weren’t willing—or were unable—to flee. And there’d been no one to help them fight. Out on the road with Emily, I’d begun to believe that maybe I could put my past behind me and reach for my own happiness. But being on this street was a reminder that I still owed a debt, and I’d barely made a dent.

chapterthirty-eight

Emily

He was pulling away from me. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. I remembered what it felt like; it’d happened before.

I didn’t ask where we were going. I just walked the couple blocks beside him, allowing him time to come to terms with the fact that his uncle was dead. There wasn’t the time for grief—that would have to be set aside—but acceptance would help. Or so I hoped.

We stopped in front of a small house that looked very similar to his uncle’s, as did most of the homes in this obviously low-income neighborhood. A large redxmarked this door as well and Tuck let out a staggered breath and hung his head. After a moment, he turned and looked around and then walked up to the porch, leaning toward the window and using his hand to shade his eyes as he gazed inside. I heard a groan come from his throat before he stood straight. “Let’s go.”

“Whose house is it, Tuck?” I asked quietly as we turned back down the block and began walking.

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