Page 24 of Glitter Rose
“I should go.”
My heart stops, then restarts with a painful jolt. “You’re not healed enough.”
“It’s my fault you’re out. I’ll getussome more.”
Oh. That’s what he meant. “I know where everything is. The best routes, the stashes. What if you need to run? And the stairs?”
“Paris—”
“We can survive a few more days with the vegetables.” I’ll go without him. It’s better that way. “Go together, then?”
“I can handle it alone by then.”
“Listen, your knight-in-tactical-gear act is cute, but I’ve survived without you.”
“It’s not just the biters you need to worry about.”
“Enlighten me, oh wise apocalypse guru.”
“Roof collapses. Rusty nails. Sabotaged fire escapes.” He ticks off each danger on his fingers. “And the worst… Other survivors who’ll gut you for a can of beans.”
“Funny how none of that’s happened to me.”
“Fuck. You’re stubborn. Together then.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking away. “Why would you risk your life for me?”
Why indeed? Because I’m sick of talking to kitchen appliances? “I would have gone out soon anyway.”
“By the way,” Knox says, “if we’re doing this together, I’d like my stuff back.”
“Fine.” I crawl fully under the bed, dragging out the backpack I’d stashed there. “Here’s your boring survival kit. Practical to a fault. Not even one candy bar.”
“And the rest?” He doesn’t reach for the bag and appraises me with those mesmerizing eyes.
“What makes you think there’s more?”
“Because I’m not an idiot.” He steps closer, his shadow falling over me. “My gun, Paris.”
My cheeks burn as I walk to my closet, reaching behind the stack of sweaters. The weight of his Glock feels wrong inmy hand, too heavy with potential violence when I hand it over with the backpack.
He slings it over his shoulder and tucks the gun into his waistband. “You’ve had training?”
“Enough to know not to accidentally shoot myself. Unlike some people who fall off fire escapes.”
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not until you do something even more stupid to replace it.”
“We leave in a few days.” His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. “And please don’t wear anything shiny when we go. We’re not trying to attract attention.”
“There goes my disco ball hat.” I turn away to hide my own smile, pretending to fuss with my pillows. “Party pooper.”
Dawn bleeds through my curtains, painting a thin stripe of gold across his face. His chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, one arm flung above his head. I stand near the door, already dressed in black cargo pants, a dark tank top, and my gloves, studying the way his borrowed t-shirt rides up to reveal tan skin.
Better to go now, while he’s sleeping, and be back before he realizes I’ve gone.
I grab my backpack, keys, emergency knife, and a protein bar for the road. Please don’t leave while I’m gone.
The stairwell greets me with its familiar musty embrace, concrete steps spiraling down into darkness. My flashlight beam cuts through the gloom, illuminating dust motes that swirl like miniature galaxies with each breath. Twelve flights down is a long way, but my legs had had enough rest.
