Page 39 of Glass Rose
“How bad?” Marcus asks.
“Bad enough,” John says. “This is Marcus. Former National Guard medic. My second-in-command here.”
“You have a command structure?” Alex asks, half-joking.
“Not really. Just for fun,” John says. “Marcus has been staying with me for a few months. Knows the setup almost as well as I do.”
Marcus studies each of us. “You all look like hell.”
We most probably do. A mix of fear, sweat, and death.
“You should get cleaned up,” John says. “Got running water. Solar powered. Not unlimited, but enough for quick showers. I’ll make dinner. Been a while since I cooked for this many people.”
Food would be nice.
“There are clothes in the southeast corner,” Marcus adds. “Take what you need. Various sizes.”
“Shower? Hell yes.” Alex turns to Dr. Cho. “Ready to feel human again?”
She nods, relief visible in the loosening of her perpetually rigid shoulders. “A shower would be most welcome. Thank you.”
“I’ll show you where.” Marcus moves toward the opposite corner of the armory, guiding Alex and Dr. Cho away.
“Think I’ll check out those clothes.” Gavin eases his hand away from mine, the cold absence settling over me. “Need something more practical.”
John watches him go, then approaches me. “You’re dead on yourfeet.”
“I’m fine.”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
I try to remember. The van? Does that count? “I don’t know. Before everything went to shit.”
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” He gestures toward one of the campers. “Lunch won’t be ready for an hour. You could use the rest.”
I should argue, insist on helping, and keep busy. But my body betrays me, a wave of exhaustion so powerful it makes my knees buckle slightly. “Maybe just for a few minutes.”
He walks me to the nearest camper and opens the door. “Bed is in the back.”
I climb inside, the steps creaking under my weight. It’s cramped but clean. Kitchenette with mini-fridge to my left, small table with bench seats to my right, narrow hallway leading to what must be the ‘bedroom.’
“Sleep well.” John shuts the door.
The sudden silence feels like pressure against my eardrums. My legs carry me to the inviting bed, and I sink onto the edge, my body screaming with relief.
We’re okay.
I jolt awake with a gasp, clutching my mother’s necklace.
I’m safe, or whatever passes for it these days.
The lights outside have dimmed slightly. How long was I out?
I stretch, joints popping, and notice a bottle of water beside me on the bed. Dr. Cho? John? Marcus? Unlikely to be Alex—he’s never been thoughtful that way. That only leaves…
Gavin.
My fingers close around it, the plastic crinkling as I twist off the cap and drink. Cool water flows down mythroat, washing away the taste of sleep and grief. I close my eyes and pretend this is just another day, another ordinary morning.
