Page 40 of Glass Rose
That everything is okay…
Weren’t we supposed to eat? Where is everyone?
I rise to my feet, a wave of dizziness passing over me as blood rushes to my head.
Food. I need food.
Outside, the rich aroma of meat stew, with hints of rosemary and thyme, makes my stomach respond with a growl.
“Hello?”
Nothing but silence answers back.
The living area sits empty, abandoned plates and bowls stacked in a plastic tub of soapy water. They ate without me. Can’t blame them—I passed out like someone had hit my off switch.
A soft metallic clatter echoes from somewhere deep in the warehouse labyrinth. My heart rate spikes instantly.
Can’t be an Infected, right?
I grab the hunting knife from my thigh and move along the massive shelving units, straining to hear over my own breathing.
Another sound. A soft curse this time.
I venture deeper, knife raised. One foot carefully in front of the other, and?—
Gavin.
He’s changed clothes to dark cargo pants hugging his hips, and a black t-shirt stretching across the broad planes of his shoulders and chest. The outfit is almost stereotypically tactical, like something from an action movie, but on him, it looks necessary rather than performative.
He stands with his back to me, examining something in his hands. “This is Gavin. Does anyone copy?”
Only static answers him. His shoulders tense slightly before he tries again on a differentfrequency.
I step closer.
He tilts his head, not even glancing at the knife. “You’re up.”
“How long was I out?”
“Three hours.”
Three hours of oblivion. Not enough, but better than nothing.
I nod toward the radio in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Checking emergency frequencies. Military bands. Seeing if anyone’s broadcasting instructions or gathering survivors.” He sets the radio down among a dozen others on the shelf. “They really have everything here.”
I sheath the knife. “Where is everyone?”
“John’s checking the perimeter. Marcus is inventorying medical supplies with Dr. Cho. Alex is…” He shrugs. “Being Alex.”
“New look?”
“More practical.” His eyes track over my borrowed outfit. “You should get some more practical clothes, too.”
“You wanna get me naked?” What’s wrong with me? A weak attempt at humor, at normalcy, at anything that isn’t grief and fear.
To my surprise, his mouth quirks up at one corner. “I meant you should grab tactical gear. Better protection.” He gestures toward a clothing section. Then his voice drops lower. “If I wanted you naked, I would’ve already done something about it. But there hasn’t been time. Yet.”
