CHRISTINE “CHAOS” ROE:
I could fix this. It’d be easy. Steal a combination lock from Andi’s “just-in-case” box. Run to the Greenhouse. Act brave. Things would be fine, and Andi would never have to know.
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Patch lifted his head when I walked into the store. “You’re back already?” He set his needle and thread in his bag. Zipped it.
My back prickled with sweat. The combination lock between my fingers. Click open, click close. No such thing as the right words for this.
He studied my hands. “What you got there?”
A breath. Two. “I’m replacing the lock. Only I know the code.” I squeezed my fist around the metal. “I’m sorry. It’s too risky.”
I thought maybe he’d beg, threaten, act desperate. Instead, he stood, brushed off his scrubs, and crossed his arms. “five, two, three, zero, seven.”
My stomach sank. The new code.
“How did you—?”
“You fidget when you’re nervous. Shouldn’t do that with your only security measure.”
My mouth hung open. Think. Focus. Tears fogged my vision. What do you do when your plan crumbles?
“I have another lock,” I lied. “It’s over. Leave now, and we can keep things peaceful.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. Picked up his bag, his baseball bat. “You’ll lose the strawberries first. Mold.”
I scoffed. “Sure. They were fine before you ever broke in.”
“They weren’t.” He walked toward the exit. “Anyway. You have a month or so to figure it out. Good luck.”
Right before he stepped out, I asked, “You’re telling the truth?” My voice: small.
The corners of his eyes pinched. “Chaos. Give me two weeks. You’ll have more food than you did without me.”
I said, “You’re just saying that.”
He leaned against a shelf. “I’m not. Self-pollination. Pruning. I’ve been doing it since day one.”
I turned away from him. Pulled open the Greenhouse door. Even though that boy and little girl had taken so much, new flowers were already blooming. In a few weeks, I’d have more green beans and strawberries than I knew what to do with. Maybe Patch had a point.
I replaced the lock. Turned back and studied his expression.
“I have people at home,” I told him, “They’ll kill you. Don’t mess this up.”
Andi and his crossbow. I couldn’t imagine him ever hurting anyone.
“It’s in my best interest to do this right.” He held out his hand.
That empty grocery store. Dust all around us. Nothing here but desperation and a shred of hope for a shred of trust.
I took his hand. Shook it.
◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥
Andi in the backyard, his hands in a bucket of soapy water. Laundry.
I knelt next to him. “I’m ready to tell you the truth now.”
Something in his expression softened. “Okay.” He shook off his hands. Set the bucket aside.
I pressed my fists into the grass.
Patch. How he broke in. His gauze and his word to guard the Greenhouse. The boy and the girl who broke in, too. How I stole a combination lock, tried to fix it, keep everyone out. Why I let him stay.
It took a second for him to understand. Then he cursed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long?”
“Two weeks?” I counted in my head. “A little more?”
“Weeks? You’ve been hiding this for—” He stopped. Stood up so quickly, he tipped over the bucket. Soapy water in the grass.
I followed him to the front door. Locked. He checked the side door—Locked, still barricaded with an end table. The alarm. Still working.
He turned to me. “He could follow you home. Watch your schedule. He could take everything we—”
Hands up. Palms out. “Andi, he’s not gonna do that.”
“Oh yeah? What about that gauze? You think he bought it?”
“He’s a doctor or a nurse or something.”
“He’s desperate.”
“He’s kept his word for two weeks.”
“That means nothing.”
“If we wanted to get rid of him, we’d have to kill him.”
That shut him up real quick.
He stared at me, half horrified, half angry. I stared back. Took a shaky breath.
Back outside. Back to the dumped laundry bucket. He sat in the grass. I sat next to him.
His voice, calmer now. “Do we have enough food to do this?”
“Yes. Soon we’ll have more than enough.”
He thought for a second. “It’d be good to know someone with medical knowledge.”
Grass. Shredded in my hands. “So…you’re okay with this?”
“I don’t know.” Something flashed in his eyes. “You let me think everything was fine. That you were safe. For weeks. That’s how people get killed.”
The dirt in my nails. My grass-stained jeans. I couldn’t look at him.
Andi picked up the bucket. Set the clothes back in. Conversation over. My throat felt tight. We wrung out the clothes and laid them out on the warm cement in the sun.113Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbxmuTTz41Z
“Christine.” His voice was quiet. Too steady. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I set Elise’s socks down. “Hide things from you?”
“We’ve gotta be strong. You can’t be strong without trust.”
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and then Add to home screen.