Page 69 of Dating After the End of the World
I run to the cell and grip the bars, pressing my face right in between two of them. “What if that bus was full of Nomes and only one biter? The Nomes would be so confused by the attack. They’d be trying to flee, toppling over one another, especially if the bus door was locked. Based on what happened to your friend, all the Nomes would turn into biters.”
Blake tilts his head. “But how would all the Nomes get on the bus? And who was driving?”
“Someone must have been transporting them on purpose, and something went very wrong.”
“Who would want a bunch of random Nomes?”
“Someone who wants bait or free labor or an army.” The realities that they haven’t seen out here are astounding, a mixture of a curse and a blessing. On the one hand, they haven’t witnessed Nomes being used as slaves for labor and personal enjoyment or prodded around to lure others out. That also means they aren’t prepared. But trouble is coming, whether we like it or not. I can feel it in my bones.
I turn to Blake, almost forgetting he’s still in the room. His forehead is beading with sweat, glistening from the overhead light in the cell. He swallows hard, far too often for what is normal, as he stares down at his watch.
“Are you okay?” I soften my tone, realizing that all my hypothesizing is not doing anything to help take his mind off what might happen.
“I’m fine.” He wipes the sweat away reflexively, not pulling his gaze from his watch. “I just have a headache.” Blake taps the watch face, taking in deep, heavy breaths, one after another. “About a minute now.”
“It’s gonna be okay.” I force a smile, trying to remain positive, but he still won’t break from the staring contest he has going with his watch.
I return to the cell door, reaching through the bars. His hand is close enough to grab, so I draw him toward me, breaking his trance.
Blake stands up straight, hesitating, like he wants to go back to his way of doing things, but instead, he pivots his weight and comes closer, lacing his fingers through mine.
“Thank you,” is all he says, and I only smile in response at first, not knowing any words that could possibly comfort him in this moment, but then it dawns on me. If I were about to lose all my memories, what is the thing I would want most?
“What’s your best memory?” I ask, watching as he looks at me like I asked him a pop question. A mixture of terror at revealing a response, coupled with the uncertainty of it not being the right one.
“What? Why?” he asks, clearly unsure whether this is something genuine and real between us, something that’ll give him even the smallest semblance of relief prior to the numbers on his watch face switching over, or if I’m just using this moment for my own enjoyment, a private torture show for one.
“In case you lose them.”
He looks down the bridge of his nose, quickly wiping away a tear that formed and was ready to fall. I can see the inner workings of him searching for the memory, the nerve endings poring through his hard drive like two fingers dancing along the contents of a filing cabinet.
“So I can remind you of your favorite one.”
A smile slowly spreads across his face, a sense of relief relaxing the veins near his temples. “That’s easy,” he says.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s you.”
The warmth of excitement from the increased blood flow is making him glow in a nervous hue, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s anticipating his own teasing punch line or if it’s because he’s letting his true feelings show.
“Wow,” I say in minor shock of his admission. “I didn’t realize there was a fourth outcome from the infection.”
“Huh?” His face instantly loses its glow, a coal removed from the fire, thrown into a frigid lake. “What do you mean?” His tone is now clinical, like a patient asking a doctor the definition of a medical term.
“Growing new organs. It would be an incredible medical anomaly, but I guess it’s possible, since you just grew a heart.”
He shakes his head, but the smile on his face betrays any sense of anger or annoyance. “Oh, come on. I already had a heart.”
“Where?” I tease, reaching through the bar and poking at his hard pecs.
He laughs and grabs my hand, taking it in his. He looks down at me with the laser focus of someone being cross-examined in court. “I’m serious, Casey. And you’d better remind me if I forget.”
I don’t question the veracity of his statement and instead agree, not wanting to deny his potentially final conscious request. “I will.”
He releases my hand and lets his body fall back into the wall, slinking down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. My brows knit together with worry. I crouch, watching him.
Blake takes a deep breath through his nose, his lips shifting in such small movements that I can’t make out what he’s saying, but by the rhythm and pattern, I can guess he’s counting. And then he stops. His forehead falls between his knees, and he goes still.
