Almost no one is talking, and our pace has slowed to a light jog now. Some are even shuffling more than jogging. When I start to feel that my legs have been filled with lead, Barclay thankfully calls for a ten minute break.

  Many of us collapse on the spot, not used to the distance. I sink down and cross my legs, wincing. A few laugh at us, but I am sure that many of us, myself included, are so tired we don’t have the energy to care.

  “C’mon,” Barclay chuckles. “We can walk to the city limits. We’ll take a break now and then it should only be an hour walk to safe house from there. Everyone’s done well today.” He pauses. “Who wants to take a thirty minute break and have supper here early?” Almost everyone’s hands go up, even those who don’t appear to be struggling. “Okay then, thirty minutes, then we’re walking.”

  Everyone nods, and a few stagger to sit on the ground. Barclay walks towards me and extends his free arm down to me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “I’m worried if you sit too long you won’t stand up again. Plus, your legs will cramp if you go from full running to sitting. Cher would say you need to stretch.” I roll my eyes and ignore him, stretching out my legs in front of me, and making a show that I am moving. Barclay rolls his eyes in return, but doesn’t retract his hand.

  “C’mon, you’re gonna have to help me, cause I can’t lift you off the ground like this.” He grins and I push his hand away, ignoring my injured pride. I used to be in better shape, but my legs are throbbing and my hips protest as I move to stand.

  “I’m fine.” I tell him.

  “I know.” He smiles.

  Some pull camp stoves and lighter fluid from their bags, another few pull out pots and pans. Everyone carries something. I’m one of the ones with a camp stove, though I relinquish it to someone else when they ask. Cooking has never been my favourite, even before the Change.

  We cook canned meals: beans, rice, and a soup base. It all gets mixed together, and it’s not half bad. Having a warm meal, even if it’s not a large amount, does wonders for team morale. You can feel the energy come back to the group.

  Someone also hands out a bunch of apples that we divide in half. They must have been taken from the first safe house.

  After everyone is full, and we’ve all cleaned up, we leave and continue moving. But instead of taking his place in the front, Barclay stays back, and walks beside me instead. We don’t talk, but I’m grateful for the company either way. It’s nearing dark now, but without light pollution, the clear sky of stars and the moon give us enough light for walking.

  Once we pass the city limit sign he calls out directions and we meander down streets. Parked cars that no longer run are all over the road. Wherever people were when the Change hit, that’s where there cars have stayed. Some you can override, putting it in neutral to move them out of the way, but it’s a hassle and most of the time isn’t necessary.

  Barclay shouts out more turns and soon I find I’m having trouble carrying a mental map of where we are. I don’t remember seeing this town on a map, and I am mentally tired from today.

  We reach a house that looks the same as all the others we’ve passed when Barclay calls out for us to stop, and makes it to the front of the group. From up ahead I can see movement on a front porch, and a oy steps out from the shadows. He’s carrying a gun, and I tense along with several others around me, but Barclay turns around and raises a hand.

  “We’re from the base. I’m Barclay.” He explains, stepping forward, closer to the house.

  The boy doesn’t hesitate and raises his gun, and again the feeling of fear spreads through us. This time, I can tell Barclay feels it too, as he manages to say “Easy.” And holds his one hand up in a half-surrender. “You’re probably expecting Alyx, right?”

  “Where is Alyx?” The boy asks. His hair is cropped so close to his head that it’s hard to tell if it’s black or brown in the low light. He looks scrawny, but that doesn’t mean anything these days.

  “He was — killed.” Barclay stumbled over the word. “Here,” He tosses the backpack forward, at the kid’s feet. “There’s the papers in there.”

  To his credit, the boy doesn’t take his eyes off of us as he moves forward to grab the bag before retreating back into the shadow of the porch. He continues to hold the gun at his side as he rifles through the bag one-handed. He pulls out papers and drops them to ground as he goes through them.

  There must have been a name, or something that he recognized, as his posture changed and he lowered the gun.

  “Alright, c’mon in.” He tosses the bag back to Barclay, and it lands on the ground in front of him.

  “Charming fellow.” Katie whispers to me, not quite out of earshot of the kid. I fight back a smile and appreciate her daring to say it despite the boy still holding a firearm.

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  Tucking the gun back into his waistband, the boy gathers up the rest of the papers he discarded, shooting Katie a sharp look that she laughs out loud at.

  We enter the small house, where the square space is more vertical than anything. With the dozen or so people in our group, it doesn’t seem like there’s much room in the small kitchen area we find ourselves in.

  From where we stand, I can see out the windows, into what looks like a small backyard. It’s quite different from the large farmland we left, but still more outdoors than our office building.

  Despite it being dark, we all move to the backyard at Barclay’s request. There’s a small fire pit that some people immediately get lit. We all gather around it as best we can.

  I decide it’s not cold enough yet for me to want to stand with the crowd. I move over and sit with my back against the fence spread out with a few others that do the same. I pull my knees up to my chest, and rest my head against the fence, and close my eyes for a moment.

  “You okay?” Barclay asks me, and I start, almost rising to my feet. “Sorry, it’s okay, just me.” His shadow takes a step towards me and then pivots, taking a seat next to me, crossing his legs.

  “How’s the arm?” I ask him, and he turns to face me. I’m overly aware that his knee is touching my leg.

  “You’re avoiding my question.” He replies simply.

  “Not intentionally.” I reply back, resuming to rest my head back and closing my eyes again.

  “My arm is fine.” He says. “One of the people stationed here used to be a nurse, so she’ll take a look at it. Hard to tell exactly how much damage there is without an x-ray, but maybe she can make sure it was re-set properly at least.”

  “I’m not sure what good that will do if you spend all this time running.” I reply back.

  “Don’t have a choice.” Barclay replies. I think on that for a minute, and I’m reminded that he wasn’t even part of the original group that left. Primarily because of his injury. But he had followed us because he saw Alyx’s aura.

  “You could have told me,” I say quietly, “I could have kept an eye on Alyx. Not that it likely would have helped any.” I say the last part a little louder, meaning it, and knowing that Barclay still carries the guilt of Alyx’s death.

  “When are you going to figure out that it’s you I’m trying to keep from danger?” He answers, and when I open mine to look at him, I notice he’s tilted his head back as well, eyes closed.

  “Why?” His eyes open then and he sits up more, and I am surprised for a moment, but completely freeze when he turns and his hand reaches out to brush against my cheek.

  “You know why, Cain.” I can’t quite tell in the low light, but I think I catch his eyes flicker to my lips for a moment. But then he moves back, his hand back at his side, and his eyes closed. Maybe I imagined it.

  Despite him removing his hand, I can feel the warmth of his hand against my skin still, and I’m having trouble remembering how to breathe.

  Eventually someone comes out of the house and calls for Barclay, presumably the nurse wanting to look at his arm.

  “Can we talk later?” I ask him as he gets up. He nods and turns towards me, placing his good hand on my shoulder, but barely adding any weight to it as he gets up. And even through my shirt, I can feel the comforting warmth of his hand.

  I watch him as he strides easily into the house.

  I don’t move right away, though many have started heading into the house to set up bedding and have some snacks prior to sleeping, I just don’t want to be around them yet.

  Pulling a jacket from the bag at my feet, I wrap it around my shoulders. I also dig through and find a crushed granola bar and unwrap it, hating how much noise it makes. I stay and think, and watch the stars come out above me.

  My mind wanders to after this mission. Will they be able to restore technology like Barclay says? Would that even be a good thing?

  Then my mind shifts back to Barclay, and I am not sure what to think when it comes to him. Heat rushes to my face unexpectedly when I think about his hand against my cheek earlier. And when he showed up at my floor back at base, vulnerable, and in tears because he feels what I feel. And I wonder how far that stretches, if he can feel what I feel even now. I push that thought away, too intrusive to even consider.

  I think back to his eyes lowering to my lips, and our almost-kiss in the stairwell. Despite myself, I smile into the darkness. I don’t think I imagined it.

  But I shake my head, clearing it of all those thoughts. We have a mission to get through first.

  There’s light cast into the yard from the kitchen and a few lamps, and I see someone step outside the back door, holding one.

  “Cain?” The voice calls out and I know it’s Barclay. I shuffle to grab my things and rise. I meet him at the back door and see that he has a new sling, and his arm looks more natural.

  He leads me through the house and upstairs into one of the bedrooms. Judging by the large table in the middle and the chairs around it, it’s more of a boardroom than sleeping quarters now.

  He shuts the door behind us, and places the lamp in the middle of the table, casting warped shadows around the room. It seems odd to see a computer on a desk in the corner. Forgotten modern advancement — and useless these days.

  “So you wanted to talk?” Barclay says and he walks around the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing to me.

  This seems awkwardly formal, and I’m suddenly wondering if I want to talk to him at all. I liked it better in the darkness, with the voices of others around us.

  But I take a seat, thanking him, and he sits down next to me. He fiddles with the strap of his sling and I realize that he’s nervous — and that I’ve been staring. I clear my throat and look away from him.

  “I don’t think you should go on this mission. I mean, the running, with your injury and everything.” It sounds lame saying that out loud, but it’s too late for me to take it back now.

  “I have to.” He sighs, and without hesitating he turns and grabs my hand. I turn to face him, startled. I’m suddenly very aware that I haven’t washed my hands since we were out running, and they’re probably sweaty and— “I don’t know how much clearer I can be about this.” He laughs a little, “I can’t risk losing you.” Barclay’s eyes are intense now, and my breaths have become shallow, or maybe they’ve stopped entirely.

  I look away and try to take a breath before I speak, but I leave my hand in his.

  “You won’t lose me, but there’s no way you’re,” I pause, catching my breath again. “You can’t heal you collarbone, and I’m sure you’re causing worse damage by going out for hours a day.” He nods, and while I’m not sure he’s agreeing, he’s at least not immediately arguing. He pauses for a moment before replying, adjusting his hand so that his fingers thread through mine.

  “Fine,” He says, and for a moment I think I’ve won. But I should really know better. “I’ll stay if you do.” I glance up at him, shocked, thinking this is a challenge. But through the shadows on his face, he’s not angry or upset, there’s only worry and an ultimatum.