Page 90 of Elas

“They were here?”

“Someonewas here,” I say as I stand, “but I can’t be positive it was him yet.” The cabinets have all been emptied except for the dishes inside, which are spotless. In the bedroom, the mattress is bare, but it’s cleaner than any surface we’ve seen so far. The shower kicks on immediately. No air rattles the pipes and the water runs clear.

“Check this out,” August calls from the bedroom, holding up a decaying stuffed animal. It’s so tattered, barely any of the yellowish fabric remains, and it’s impossible to tell what it once was. “Did Cameron manage to keep his dog through all the drama? This was underneath the chair, and there are dog hairs on it.” I walk over and lean closer, separating the cushion from the arms. The flat surfaces have been cleaned, but there are distinct dark brown hairs in the cracks.

“Good eye,” I say, and he flashes me another of those amazing smiles. “Yeah, Ronan learned where the dog was—Booster? Bomber?”

“Boomerang,” he says with a chuckle, and I nod.

“That’s the one. He had just found her when the big escape happened, but he never told me how he nabbed her. I’d bet my left nut Cameron refused to leave without her.”

“As much as I’d hate to sacrifice your balls, that’s a safe bet,” he says with a quiet laugh, but there’s caution in histone as he continues. “So, what now? We know they were here, but that doesn’t help find them.”

“No, you’re right. It doesn’t. Part of me still hopes he left something behind that will tell me where he’s going, but if he did, it wouldn’t be obvious. We’ll tear this place apart and see if we find anything.” He nods, giving my arm a gentle squeeze, and then we get to work.

Hours later, my frustration is at a peak. A few long black hairs and more signs of the dog are the only hints of their presence. My borrowed optimism fades, because nothing inherently proves Ronan was here. And even if it did, none of it gives me any clue where he might be headed.

“Take a break,” August says, dragging me into one of the kitchen chairs. Absentmindedly, I accept the jerky he hands me and chew, not even tasting the food on my tongue. “Put yourself in his shoes, El. You know him better than anyone else. Where would he go?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Okay, so where would he consider safe?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I snap. “Nowhere is safe.”

“El,” he gently scolds in a whisper, and he forces me to sit back as he climbs into my lap. We’re eye to eye like this, and he gives me a patient smile. “You’re not usually this easily discouraged. We’ve only been at it for a day and a half, and I know you weren’t expecting to get here and find all the answers laid out for you.”

“No, you’re right. I hoped by coming to where he was, I’d have some grand epiphany. At the bare minimum, I wanted a sign that he’s safe.”

August hums thoughtfully, his fingertips dragging over my arm. “We’re pretty confident they were sleeping in this house, but that doesn’t mean they spent all their time here. Ronan would’ve been searching for supplies, too. Maybe they found some of the hidden rooms.”

I consider this with a slow nod. “It’s a possibility. Do you want to show me where they are?”

“Yes, but there are a lot, and you haven’t finished your lunch yet. Eat your food first.” He picks up more jerky and dangles it in front of my mouth. I make sure he sees it as I roll my eyes, but obediently take a bite. “Aww, who’s a good boy now?” he teases with a pat to my cheek, then yelps as I jump from my chair and lunge after him. We run in circles around the table, dodging back and forth until I catch him. August erupts into a fit of laughter in my arms, instantly lightening my mood.

After he force feeds me another few pieces of jerky and makes me drink some water, he shoulders his bag. August beelines behind a house down the path, pushing aside some rocks and debris to expose a trap door. “This was one of the more crude ones,” he says as he opens the hatch with a metallic squeal. “More of a cellar than anything.”

Food lines the shelves in the underground room, but the cloudy substance floating in the glass jars looks more like a science experiment than something you’d risk eating. Cobwebs hang low from the ceiling, layers of dust undisturbed. August searches the crevices, glancing at the murky jars with obvious disgust, but there’s nothing here worth taking.

The next one is inside a different house, and the dirt is just as thick here as the other unoccupied homes we’vefound. However, there’s a faint trail cleared on the wooden floor, which means someone walked through in the recent past. August heads into the kitchen, then winks over his shoulder at me as he opens the pantry. He steps inside and runs his hands along the back wall, and I’m shocked when a secondary latch disables and the door swings inward to reveal a large storage closet.

Compared to the filthy cellar, this is a holy grail. Narrow shelves line the walls, and they’re covered in folded, clean pants, shirts, and towels, bandages and medical wraps, and socks and underwear secured in clear plastic bags. Everything is labeled with pieces of paper pinned onto the fabric or written on the bag.

August grabs most of the medical supplies and a few items of clothing for himself, and I try not to pout that he won’t be wearing my clothes as often. He finds a single shirt labelled XXXL, and grins as he holds it up. “Think this is big enough?”

“Oh, you’re funny, are you?” I ask as he eyeballs the shirt, then refolds it and packs it into his bag with a grin. We seal the room when we’re done, and August’s backpack is significantly fuller than it was when we started.

We trudge through several more hidden caches. A few of them are underground cellars, and one of them has a section of shelving near the back that’s mysteriously clean. Something was taken recently, but August can’t remember what was stored there.

In a building on the other end of the camp, there’s a door concealed by a large tapestry. It’s not nearly as well hidden as the first, and the picked-through contents show that others have raided it. Still, there are soaps, shampoos,and toothpaste tubes, along with plastic-wrapped toothbrushes and combs. There’s even a small collection of wet wipes that August nabs, struggling to zip his backpack closed after stuffing it full.

“This stuff is from a city,” I say, picking up a toothbrush that crinkles in my hand. “There’s no way they’d have this type of packaging out here in the wilds.”

August nods. “Traders stop at the camps when they’re passing through. It’s how they make their living. They live in the city, but stock up on supplies and come through to visit the friendlier communities. They mark up their wares and earn a decent income.”

“I have a hard time believing the guards would let them out of the city carrying this much stuff,” I say, placing the toothbrush back on the shelf.

“Well, of course they don’tletthem leave. You think there aren’t ways to sneak in and out of the walls?” It surprises me to hear that people can come and go from the cities, though it shouldn’t. Humans are resourceful, but the ones that live there were also born there. They grow up being warned about the dangers of life in the wild, and have spent their lives fearing the beasts that roam outside their walls.

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