Page 34 of Invasive Species
“Well, you’re a hero,” I say as he starts hauling out the crates. “We were running dangerously low on herbal tea.”
That earns me a glance, assessing but not unkind. “Truly tragic.”
Ah, another deadpan comedian like Gara.
I grab the bags out of the crate and stack them next to the door, the weight of fresh vegetables grounding me. “It’s just me here at the moment,” I say, casual as I can manage. “It’s super safe here.”
A flicker in the shadow of the barn behind the guy’s shoulder reveals a purple shape with yellow eyes. Arik. I put my thumb up, and he returns the gesture with a small smile.
The driver just grunts again, passing me another crate. “Good for you. Lots of weird stuff on the news lately.”
I force a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Like, aliens?” Fuck, fuck, my fucking impulse control.
His eyes narrow. “You really okay here?”
“Totally. I’m also completely totally alone.”
“Uh…huh.” He studies me again, and I have to squint against the low afternoon sun, as if it’s one of those interrogation lights.
Then he just shrugs. “That everything?”
I nod, dumping the last crate in a scatter of supermarket bags on the gravel, and try not to squeak, “Yep, we’re sorted. Thanks again.”
He hitches his chin, already turning back to the van with his crates. “Take care.”
The engine rumbles to life, headlights sweeping over thebarn as he turns, then vanishes. I wait, listening to the tires grinding up the track, my heart pounding.
A breath of movement behind me, and I know without having to turn around it’s Gara. Something to do with how warmth washes over my skin.
“We’re all safe here,” I say again, softer now. For him.
He stares for a moment, then steps out toward the piles of shopping. “That was… close.”
I rub my forehead. “Next time I’ll remember to tell you about the delivery slot.”
Shooting me a skeptical look as he picks up several handles, he says, “No need to promise?—”
“No, it’s important. Super important. I’d hate to think what would happen if someone discovered you, so I need to be more careful.” The idea of Gara in some kind of government medical facility being pulled apart makes my chest ache. Like my heart’s the one being ripped out and shoved under a big microscope.
Gara points over my shoulder. “What’s that?”
I spin. Has the delivery guy returned? But all I see is a squirrel, silver fur a streak as it zips up the machine shed drainpipe and skitters across the corrugated roof.
“Aha. There’s one of the little buggers. That’s a gray squirrel.” I put the bags down. “Gray squirrels aren’t supposed to be here. They’re American, apparently, and they took over by outcompeting the reds and spreading disease. Now red squirrels are basically wiped out in most of England. Only a few places still have them.”
Gara doesn’t respond right away, just watches the squirrel disappear into the branches.
I keep going, filling the silence. “People try to help the reds, though. Conservation projects, culling grays in some areas, setting up feeding stations—stufflike that.”
His jaw tightens as he hefts up my bags, and he doesn’t look at me.
That’s Gara for ‘I’m uncomfy.’ I frown. “You okay? I'd have picked those up?—”
“What do they do to the gray ones?” he asks gruffly.
I slip past him to open the door. “Well… in some places, they trap and kill them. It’s not their fault they ended up here, but they’re a problem, and if no one does anything, the reds don’t stand a chance.”
He sets the food on the table, shoulders slumping. “I see.”
