Year Seven A.C. (After Collapse)

No one without a gun was getting food that day.

What Elysia lacked in firepower, however, she made up for in stealth. Winding her way around the edge of Baltimore’s crumbling Fells Point Market, she hid in the shadows and waited for the goods to fall. Her tiny frame, as well as some extra quality she didn’t want to examine, made her invisible to the Uzi-toting “warlords” and the vendors who feared their threats.

The transactions around her created a surreal tableau. The gangsters calmly pointed their weapons at the farmers, sparing their lives in exchange for meats and vegetables. Once upon a time there was money, she reminded herself.

Dollars were worthless these days, so everyone bartered. A week ago, Elysia had traded her last carton of cigarettes for a salami roll and a bag of potatoes. Two career options remained: prostitute or thief. Her strange new attributes made it an easy choice.

She wasn’t the only scavenger today. A familiar form sidled along on the opposite edge of the dingy pavilion.

Darien.

The late afternoon sunlight glinted off his nape-length wavy hair, the color of dark chocolate, something she hadn’t tasted in months. He entered the pavilion and slid through the crowd. His gaze shifted from side to side, maybe searching for someone. Nothing but muscles bulged beneath his tight black T-shirt, vest and jeans, so he probably wasn’t armed. Yet no one dared bother him and his six-foot-four, gunmetal-gray-eyed self.

Including Elysia. Darien’s grudges were as notorious as his fourth-degree black belt, and she’d earned the mother of all vendettas by leaving his bed without so much as a note. They’d been friends for almost ten years, since college, a world that lay just a few miles north but might as well have been on Mars, as lost as it was to them now.

Just then, a struggle broke out at a nearby produce stand. One of the gang lieutenants—a skinny guy with straggly blond hair known as Chump—reached for the throat of the diminutive farmer, who protested in broken Spanglish. As Chump leaned over the cart, it wiggled beneath his weight.

Elysia slipped into the adjoining stall, which was dark and empty, like most of the market. Few vendors were desperate or greedy enough to sell their wares in the city, and now with this mass robbery, even these would probably never return. The end of food would soon be upon them.

She hid behind the vinyl drapery covering the empty cart and hoped no one saw her tattered brown boots underneath.

“What did you call me?!” Chump lunged for the babbling farmer, and the cart spilled.

Elysia whipped out a burlap sack from her back pocket. “Come to Mama,” she whispered. A mesh bag of apples bounced past. She snatched it up and shoved it into her sack without leaving her shelter. Score. What she couldn’t eat right away she could slice and dry in the stifling summer heat.

The scuffle continued, and Elysia heard the shouts of approaching robbers. She frowned. If she stole any more, they’d catch her.

That’s when it spilled a few feet away. Corn.

They said this would be the last year for corn. It needed too many fertilizers, and the oil to make them—the oil to make anything—was long gone, or at least so expensive it might as well not exist.

She wanted to taste corn one more time. On the cob, slathered in butter, ground into meal and baked into a muffin, simmered with those tedious potatoes into a creamy chowder.

Her hand reached out from under the flap. Too late, she realized she hadn’t summoned whatever weird power allowed her to move unnoticed.

A hand grabbed her wrist and yanked Elysia forward into the light. Her face hit the rough wooden floor, sending a bolt of pain up her nose and branching out over her eyes.

A click sounded near her head, and she felt steel press against her temple.

A rumbling voice said, “Looks like we caught us a thief.”

Darien heard the commotion at Federico’s produce stand and realized the Fells Point Market had just turned from hellhole to shitstorm.

He shifted his path to take him out of the pavilion, but before the sunlight hit his face, he heard a woman’s voice. He stopped. Could it be—?

She was pleading now, which convinced him it couldn’t be Elysia. She’d sooner bite off her tongue than beg for anything.

Not that it mattered, he resolved as he stalked back toward the produce stand. If the Canton gang had stooped to harassing women, someone had to show them there was a line they couldn’t cross. Besides, what did he have to lose by pissing them off? By sundown, Baltimore would be a flaming dot behind him.

The voice of Leo, the Canton leader, rang out. “Get up!”

Elbowing his way through the gathering crowd, Darien heard Leo cackle. “Not on your feet, girl! On your knees.”

When he reached the overturned produce cart, Darien’s stomach sank. It was her. The one he’d come for, the one he hoped would hold the key to the mystery inside his own mind.

Kneeling before a gloating Leo, Elysia bowed her head, her long, tangled chestnut hair veiling a face that sparked with an intensity that had drawn Darien to her nearly a decade ago. Too many gang members had gathered around for him to simply step forward and demand Leo release her. The knight-in-shining-armor act could get them both killed.

He swore under his breath. As if in response, Elysia tilted her head his way. But she couldn’t have heard him under all the shouts and hoots of the crowd.

“When are you gonna learn this is our territory?” Leo shoved the 9mm into his shoulder holster and unbuckled his belt. “Maybe you need a reminder that’ll stick.”

Darien started to move forward, but Elysia reached out and wrapped her left arm around Leo’s knees.

“Please,” she said, almost sniveling. “I promise I won’t ever come here again. Just give me one more chance.”

Darien stopped. Something wasn’t right. She’d always been the type to fight back.

A cold finger of dread tapped his spine as he saw her right hand reach into her boot and withdraw something shiny.

Leo snorted. “Oh, you’ll get another chance. Another chance to—aaaugh!” The warlord’s eyes rolled skyward as he shrieked in pain, then collapsed like a slaughtered steer.

In a blur, Elysia grabbed the apples and hurtled straight toward Darien, her hand and wrist soaked in blood. “Out, now!”

Darien turned for the exit. Like a battering ram, he cleared a space through the crowd, Elysia on his heels.

When they burst out of the pavilion, she shot ahead of him and turned down a side street. His legs strained to keep up with her sprint as she darted down alleys, finding passageways he didn’t even know existed.

When he turned the next corner, she was gone. The street of burned-out row homes was empty. Darien didn’t dare call her name, in case one of Leo’s minions was pursuing them. He walked forward cautiously, past the silent doorways of abandoned homes.

“Boo!”

Darien looked up and across the street. Elysia waved to him through the torn screen of a kitchen window.

He hurried over to the sidewalk below her. “Lyse, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of stabbing him in the crotch, but figured I might not get my knife back. Achilles tendon seemed more efficient. Want an apple?” She pushed the fruit through the screen and tossed it to him. “Least I can do, after you bull-in-a-china-shop’d us out of there.”

“No time for that,” he said, though he pocketed the apple. No one ever turned down food. “We have to leave.”

“That’s what we’re doing. My place is a few blocks away. I just stopped here to hide while you caught up.” With the bag of apples in her teeth, Elysia grasped the open window sill and slid her feet through the gap in the screen. She vaulted onto the sidewalk with the agility of a gymnast. “You can hide out with me until this thing with Leo blows over.” She started to head up the street.

“No.” He grabbed her elbow and made her face him, ignoring her glare. “We have to leave the city. Tonight.”

Elysia squinted up at Darien, confused. “Leave the city tonight? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He made a broad gesture with his bare arms. “This place is total anarchy. Five minutes ago you almost got killed over a bag of apples.”

“Leo wouldn’t have killed me.” She pulled a tea towel out of her pocket (stolen from the abandoned house) and wiped the gang leader’s blood off her right hand. “Though he probably wants to now.”

“It’s not just that,” Darien said. “We have to find—”

“Wait, how would we leave? You have a car? With actual gasoline?” She almost feared to hope.

“No.”

“Diesel?”

“Yes, but not a car. My boat.” He leveled his dark gaze at her in a way that made her want to squirm. “Remember my boat?”

She turned away. “Better get moving before Leo’s boys find us. My blade can’t fend off bullets.”

He didn’t follow her. “My boat’s in the other direction.”

“Toward the water? Funny place for a boat.” She quickened her pace. Not that she didn’t want to leave Baltimore—she wanted nothing more in the world than to escape this tinderbox of a town—but the thought of being stuck on the water in a tiny cabin with Darien made her feel like she had a pillowcase tied over her head.

The last time she’d been on his boat, they’d “celebrated” the last of the good Scotch and had made a very sloppy mistake. At least, she thought they had. Her memories were as blurry now as her vision had been that night. Not that a girl needed whiskey goggles to find Darien attractive.

His steps closed on hers, and she realized her wandering thoughts had slowed her pace. Damn it. Cloudy images of Darien’s taut, naked ass wouldn’t save her life if Leo’s gang caught up with her.

“Do you have a place to go?” she asked him. “Somewhere down the coast?”

“The boat’s not seaworthy. I thought we’d head into the Bay, then up the Susquehanna.”

“But do you know where you’re going?”

“Not exactly, but I’ll know it when I find it.” He touched her arm but didn’t try to slow her. “When we find it.”

The gesture—both his touch and the offer itself—warmed her, but her suspicion flared. She and Darien were friends, but others were closer to his heart—and other body parts. “Why me? Why not one of the human blow-up dolls you call ‘girlfriends’?”

He looked over his shoulder, then pulled her behind the marble staircase of the row house next to them. The porch was high enough to block even his lofty stature. “Remember the night we spent together?”

She shimmied her arm out of his grip. “Not really. We were pretty drunk. Too drunk to be…impressive.”

“I’m not talking about what we did. I’m talking about what you told me. About the foxes.”

A wave of heat crept up Elysia’s neck like a rushing fever. “That was stupid, I was just blabbering, it was nothing—”

“I had the same dreams, Lyse.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “About—”

“But for me it was bears.” His gaze nailed hers so she couldn’t look away. “They’re calling me, the way the foxes are calling you. They want us to join them.”

Darien saw fear and hope clash in Elysia’s caramel-brown eyes. For a moment, he thought she would give in, that she would let him take her away, now, without question. To meet their destiny, however crazy it sounded.

He was wrong, as usual.

“Are you insane?” She shoved his hands off her shoulders. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“I don’t—”

“Bears and foxes calling us? That’s the most whacked out thing I’ve ever heard.” She grabbed his wrists and flipped them over to examine his arms. “Are you using? You’re high, aren’t you?”

His slow-boiling anger began to stir. “After all these years,” he growled, “you know me better than that.”

She looked away, spots of red forming on her cheeks. “I thought I did.” She let go of him and started down the sidewalk. He followed, even more reluctantly than before.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” she said with a catch in her voice, “and you’re no longer invited.”

“It’s not safe.”

She whipped the knife out of her back pocket and waved it over her head. The jagged blade was still stained with Leo’s blood. “I can take care of myself, remember?”

“If you stay, you’re an idiot.”

“And if I go with you, I’m a nutbag. I’ll wait for a third option.”

She took off like a racehorse from a starting gate. He sprinted after her, but her surprise headstart was too much; within moments she had disappeared around the corner. When he got there, she was gone.

He cursed and gave a heavy sigh. Now what?

Wait a second. Darien took another deep breath, letting the air roll into his nose and mouth.

He could smell her. She wasn’t wearing perfume or scented lotion. It was her skin, her breath, he could smell. That’s new, he thought.

Darien took two steps northward, and the scent diminished. He headed east instead, jogging now, pulling in her essence with every breath.

A few steps past a rowhouse covered in pale gray formstone, the scent disappeared. He backtracked and ran up the porch stairs to the front entrance, whose storm door had been left open a crack. He pushed it wide with his shoulder.

“Lyse, are you—”

She stood in the foyer, her body rigid with fear. In front of her stood a man and a woman, each pointing a shotgun at her. Three small children huddled in the doorway to the living room. Paper peeled from every wall, and Darien thought he saw a rat scurry across the kitchen floor at the other end of the hallway.

When the gun-toting couple saw him, they changed their aim. “We don’t want no trouble,” the man said, “but we need this here house. Ours burned down, and I won’t have my kids living in the street. So run.”

Elysia cleared her throat. “Can I just get—”

“Run!” The man stepped toward her, and she jumped back. Darien caught her arm to steady her and realized that his own presence gave these people cause to feel threatened. Not only could he not save her, but he’d risked her life by following.

“Whatever it is you need, hon,” the woman said softly but firmly, “we need it, too. Clothes, food, everything. So just get on out, okay?” Her lips trembled. “Please…”

Elysia looked at the children, who were eyeing her bag of apples. She clutched it to her chest and turned slowly toward the door.

“Leave them, too,” the woman said.

The muscles in Elysia’s neck quivered, and her jaw took on the stubborn set Darien knew all too well.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Just do what they say.”

Elysia looked at the bag of apples in her hand and thought of the blood she’d had to shed to get them. It’s not fair. You’re taking my house, my clothes, my books, my—no, my coffee!

Then she thought of the shotguns pointed at her back and the desperate eyes of the man, woman and children who now occupied what used to be her home. She looked up at Darien, who shook his head slowly.

She lowered the bag of apples to the floor. They left the house without looking back.

On the sidewalk, she kicked the first piece of garbage she saw, a green sludge-encrusted bottle. “Guess I’ll leave town with you, freak.”

Darien laid a friendly arm over her shoulders. “Sorry about your house.”

She shrugged, but not hard enough to make him let go. “It wasn’t mine. I was a squatter, just like those people.”

At the last house in the row, she trotted to the backyard and climbed over a chain-link fence, noting how nimble she’d become lately.

“What are you doing?” Darien said. “We need to leave before it gets dark.”

“I knew I’d lose that place one day.” She approached a boarded-up doghouse in a corner of the yard. “So I planned ahead.” With a splinter-inducing yank, she removed the plywood from the door. Inside lay a battered green backpack.

“What’s in there?” he asked her.

She slung the pack over her shoulder. “Everything important.”

Elysia blocked Darien from the eyes of passersby as he untied the lines holding his boat to the dock. If anyone suspected they were leaving, they would know he had fuel, one of the few things worth dying for. Because of the wind’s direction, they couldn’t leave under sail power and would have to use the engine to get out of the marina.

To feign casualness, she watched the skyline glow red in the sunset, the rays giving the glass-and-steel buildings their only light. She remembered how the city used to sparkle all night, back when everyone had electricity.

“Anyone notice?” he said quietly as he slipped past her onto the deck.

She followed. “Two slips down, three big guys.”

“Olsen brothers.”

“They’re watching from their deck, but haven’t moved.”

In the tiny cabin, he switched on a solar-powered lantern, then unlocked a drawer beneath one of the berths, the one they’d shared a few months ago for roughly twelve awkward minutes. As she recalled, they’d fallen off it in their futile efforts at satisfaction.

Her thoughts dissolved when he pulled a shotgun from the drawer. “You know how to use this?” he said.

“My dad used to take me hunting when I was a kid. Back in my hillbilly days.”

“Good. When I start the motor, the Olsens and everyone else will know I have fuel. If they come close, just point it at them and pump it like you’re going to fire. The sound alone ought to discourage them.” He gave it to her. It felt cold and heavy and merciless in her hands.

“Aye, aye, captain.” She opened the cabin door.

“Wait!” Darien caught her arm. “Whatever you do,” he whispered, “don’t pull the trigger.”

“I won’t. I’m not a killer.”

“No, I mean, it’s not loaded. You pull the trigger, they’ll probably figure that out.”

“What?!” She leaned closer so no one could hear. “Why isn’t it loaded?”

“I traded my second-to-last box of shells for food and enough diesel to get us out of the harbor.”

“What about the last box?”

His jaw tightened. “Marta stole it when she left.”

“Who the hell is Marta?”

“My last—” He stopped himself. “The last woman who stayed here.”

“When was this?”

“Yesterday.”

“Ohhh, so that’s why you picked me.” She leaned the shotgun against her shoulder, muzzle up. “Not because of this animal spirit mumbo-jumbo. You need consoling, and I’m nothing if not a consolation prize.”

“Believe what you want.” He brushed past her into the cockpit outside, then bent to examine the motor. “I’ll just be over here saving our asses.”

Elysia gripped the shotgun and gave him a long, evaluating glance. If any ass was worth saving, it was Darien’s, especially in those jeans. It should be in a museum, she thought as she launched herself onto the deck, ready to defend their last chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Darien started the motor, and all hell broke loose.

The sailboat’s engine roared to life, unused for months, but coddled like a sick baby. He whispered thanks to the gods of internal combustion, the rumors of whose deaths seemed greatly exaggerated.

Within moments, shouts of rage and greed came from the dock. He concentrated on maneuvering the boat away from the pier before any wanna-be-pirates could board. He wished he were the one defending them, but Elysia could no more steer a boat than climb a skyscraper. He had to trust the power of her bravado to keep them safe.

No worries there. She hurled a stream of invectives that would have made a Marine drill sergeant’s ears bleed. With her fierce battle posture and long hair streaming in a sunset-tinted corona around her head, Elysia looked like a victorious Valkyrie—if Valkyries ever stood at five-foot-one and wielded twenty-gauge shotguns.

The Olsen brothers—four of them now—stood in front of a small, but belligerent crowd, all clamoring for the fuel Darien’s boat obviously held. Everyone wanted a ticket out of Hell, but they weren’t getting his. Elysia pumped the shotgun, and its shunt-click! seized their attention, along with her next string of artfully chosen profanities.

He edged the boat backward out of the slip. A glance to his right showed Brad Olsen dashing back to their boat.

Darien switched the engine to move forward, carefully turning the boat so it didn’t hit the dock. His steering had to stay precise or they’d ram the boats jutting out of the adjoining slips. But his mind kept returning to Brad and what he could have been retrieving.

Suddenly Darien knew. He turned just as Brad Olsen clambered onto his own bow holding a rifle. Olsen lowered the muzzle to point at Elysia.

Darien launched himself out of the seat. Just as he reached up to yank Elysia into the cockpit, she spotted Brad, yelped and hurled herself at Darien.

“Get down!” they screamed at each other, as they collided midair. They tumbled into the recessed floor of the cockpit.

A crack! sounded, followed by glass shattering over their heads. Darien rolled her off him. “Stay down. I’ve got to steer.”

She yanked the front of his shirt. “You’ll get killed!”

A spine-shattering squeal sounded, the rub of hull against hull as Darien’s boat slid against another one. He grabbed the long tiller pole with his feet and jerked it starboard. The boat swung hard to the left.

A bullet punctured the wooden cabin door, and Darien heard something shatter inside. He poked his head up far enough to see that they were at least twenty feet away from the dock. The problem was…

“I can’t see where we’re going,” he said. “We’ll hit something if I can’t look over the cabin top.”

“Then I’ll be your eyes.”

Before he even realized what she’d said, Elysia had heaved herself atop the cabin and was scuttling towards the bow.

“What are you doing!?” he shouted. “Get back here!”

By now she was already beyond the curve of the cabin top, which provided partial cover from Olsen’s rifle if she lay flat against the deck.

Elysia called out directions, guiding them through the maze of docks, boats and buoys. Lying on the cockpit floor, Darien steered the sailboat with a precise touch, for he knew it better than the body of any lover.

Another bullet pinged off the hull. Elysia cried out, and Darien’s heart stopped.

“Lyse, you okay?”

She laughed a high, mocking hoot. “Gotcha!”

If she survives, Darien thought, I’m going to kill her.

Five minutes later, they were out of the marina. Darien stood to see Elysia leaning against the bow railing. She raised her fists to the sky. “Woo! Queen of the world, baby!”

He gave a long, deep exhale and caressed the boat’s hull. “Yes, I love you.”

Elysia hopped onto the cabin top, steadying herself with the empty mast. “What’d you say?”

“I was talking to the boat.”

“Oh.” She peered down at him, hair blowing across her face. “Good.”

“Get off there,” he said, “before you give me a heart attack.”

She leaped into the cockpit with light steps. “That was fun. What’s next?”

Darien watched the harbor widen into the Patapsco River and thought, Good question. He and Elysia were heading into Unknown Tomorrow territory.

Unknown Tonight, for that matter.

“What’ve you got to eat?” Elysia popped open the cooler next to the galley. Now that they had safely moored in the bay, her stomach had stopped rolling and had started demanding food. “We should celebrate not getting killed.”

“We should ration it.” He edged past her, toweling off the grime of the outboard motor from his hands.

“Ration, schmation, I’m celebrating.” She opened a cardboard box of protein bars. Another box held airtight plastic bags of pretzel rods—good for seasickness, she guessed. “MREs—jackpot!” Elysia smiled and pulled out a dull brown military package labeled Meal Ready-to-Eat.

Darien grabbed a bag of pretzels, then sat on the floor next to her. “Tomorrow we can fish, though we’ll have to wait until we hit land to cook it.”

“No, we won’t.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a flat, silver object.

“What’s that?”

“A sun stove.” Elysia unfolded it to form a box with a black interior and silver flaps. “You put the food inside, leave it in the sun and it cooks.”

He slid closer to examine the contraption. “Where’d you get it?”

“Off the internet, before the Collapse.”

“Good thinking. Does it work?”

“I never tried it. I was afraid to leave it at my house in case someone stole it.”

“Or stole your house.”

She winced. “And that’s what happened, so I was smart, wasn’t I?”

He gave her a slow smile. “‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.’ I saw that on a T-shirt once.”

She drew her finger across her chest. “It was here. That was my T-shirt.” She noticed that his gaze lingered, so she turned away to close the backpack.

“What else is in there?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” He grabbed for it, and she pushed it out of his reach.

“Leave it alone!” She saw the hurt look on his face as he sank back away from her. “Really, it’s nothing.” Just the key to my soul, she thought.

As they snacked in silence, she absorbed the reality of their cramped quarters. They’d never be more than a step or two away from each other in this cabin, so she’d better get used to it.

She feared, though, that she’d get too used to it. If it could be just the two of them from here on out, that might be fun…even romantic…but that voice was hastily silenced. But they would undoubtedly meet others on their journey north, people in trouble, and Darien wouldn’t be able to resist playing hero. She understood why, and she admired his compassion, but she also wanted to believe she was special to him.

Ever since their intimate episode this past summer, just the thought of Darien with another woman made Elysia feel like kicking kittens. She wondered how she’d tolerated the countless, seemingly nameless females parading through his life over the years.

Somewhere along the way he’d transformed from a dopey hunk of a boy into a mature, contemplative man. Maybe it was his martial arts training, or maybe it was just the State of the World, but Darien had turned into someone who deserved better than bimbos.

“You were amazing out there tonight,” he said. “Did I thank you for saving our lives?”

She shrugged. “Payback. You saved my life by getting me out of the city.”

“True.” He hesitated. “But the way you moved across the cabin top was incredible. Anyone else would’ve fallen into the harbor. And then later, you saw things in the water I couldn’t see until we were on top of them. Like that buoy with the light burned out. We might’ve hit that rock if it weren’t for your eyes.”

“Shhh. Let’s not talk about that.” Her face felt like it was on fire, and her hands began to shake. She pulled another pretzel rod from his package and put it in her mouth. “So what do we do now?”

“Same as before. Survive.”

She gave his knee a light shove. “No, I mean now -now. What do we do?”

The corners of his lips twitched as he gazed at her. Elysia’s mouth went dry, and she cursed the pretzels she’d eaten, which now seemed to stick in her craw. He blinked slowly, dark lashes curling like beckoning fingers. For a long moment, neither of them breathed.

Then they both looked away, past each other, clearing their throats.

Darien sighed. “Now we sleep.”

Darien couldn’t sleep.

Even unshared, the sailboat’s berth was too small for his six-foot-four-inch frame. The last to share it was Marta, who’d disarmed him, literally, when he refused to take her away from the city. There was only one person he trusted, one person who understood where they had to go: Elysia, who lay on the other berth a few feet from him, her breath as deep and even as the waves that cradled them on the Chesapeake Bay. His certainty had been born that summer night when they’d drunk too much, said too much, done too much.

Now, with the scent of her hair and the memory of her skin filling his head, too much felt like not enough. Restlessness drove him out of bed.

Unfortunately, like everyone these days, Elysia was a light sleeper.

She rolled off her berth, nimble as a ninja. Steel flashed in a patch of moonlight.

He grabbed her wrist just before the blade reached his leg. “Lyse, it’s me. Darien, remember?”

Her shriek of outrage faded into a grumble, and she dropped the knife. “Sorry. Habit.”

He rubbed her wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

She pulled her hand away. “What time is it?”

“Nighttime. I was getting some air.” Which he needed more than ever now. He opened the cabin door.

Elysia followed. Outside she uttered a long, breathy, “Whoa.”

He turned to see her gape at the black velvet sky, patterned in a million tiny, twinkling suns. She craned her neck, wavering. He steadied her, and this time she didn’t pull away.

“At home,” she said, “I could only see a piece of the sky from my window, and I never went outside at night.”

“Light pollution is one thing I don’t miss about the old days. Here, you’ll get a stiff neck.” He guided her to the starboard cockpit bench.

She stretched out, resting her head on a cushion and propping up one bare foot. “What’s weird is that all these stars have always been there. I just couldn’t see them.” She pointed to the mooring light atop the boat. “Can you turn that off?”

“It’s against regulations.”

“You think the Coast Guard still exists?”

He hesitated. He wanted to believe that somewhere out there, somebody was in charge. Somebody would help them. But nobody had come for Baltimore. Its citizens had been left to cower in their homes, slaughter each other over a tank of gas or flee for the dubious safety of the wilderness. From what they’d seen on their voyage so far, the suburbs had fared even worse.

No one was coming. Darien reached into the cabin and turned off the mooring light.

“Perfect,” Elysia said softly.

He sat on the portside bench and gazed at her face. Her eyes devoured the sky like it was nourishment itself.

“So what do you miss about the old days?” she said.

An easy question. “Music.”

She sat up suddenly. “Your guitar! It’s not in the cabin.”

“I sold it.” His chest tightened. “For supplies.”

“Darien, no…” For a moment, he thought she would cry. “But you didn’t sell your voice, right?” She crossed the deck to stand in front of him. “Sing for me.”

“Uh-uh.” He took her hands. “I’ll sing with you, though.”

She laughed. “I’ll scare the fish away and we’ll starve.”

They took their chances, belting out old tunes with all their breath, repeating first verses when they forgot the third. Twentieth-century songs poured out, from a time they never knew, when life was disastrously beautiful and the future was infinite.

They built a soundtrack for their voyage, following “Born to Run” with “Refugee,” then “Ship of Fools” by The Doors. As they sang, Elysia smiled at him, touched him, her reticence dissolving as they slipped into their familiar, easy cadence. Darien could almost pretend that they were back in college, full of hope and denial; he could almost believe that the last decade of rage and chaos had never happened.

Finally he stood to announce a solo number, wielding the fishing net as a guitar. “I’d like to dedicate this one to my best friend, Elysia.”

She scoffed but smiled. “Your only friend.”

He launched into the opening chords of “Foxy Lady.”

Elysia laughed. “Jimi Hendrix, right? But which song—?”

“Shh.” He sang the chords and looked right in her eyes when he whispered,

“Foxeeyyy…” with all the soul he could muster.

Her smile vanished.

“No!” Elysia hurled herself at Darien and tore the fishing net out of his hands. “Stop it. Shut up!”

He kept singing, launching into the first line of “Foxy Lady.” She slapped him. He rubbed his cheek and glared at her. “What the hell?”

“Why did you have to ruin it?” Her palm stung, and her throat ached from the effort not to cry. “We were finally having fun, then you had to go and sing that song.”

“No, we were having fun until you got uptight.”

“Uptight? Darien, I told you I don’t want to talk about the foxes and bears and Spirits and whatever other batshit ideas you have. I don’t want to remember how crazy we are for taking this trip into East God-Knows-Where.”

“How crazy ‘we’ are?” He grabbed her shoulders, smiling. He was actually smiling. “So you admit it. You hear the voices, too, calling us away.”

“Why would that make you happy? Shouldn’t one person on this boat be sane?” She broke away from him and entered the cabin, which felt smaller than ever as he followed her in.

“Lyse, we have to talk about it sooner or later.”

She sank onto her berth. “Then I choose later. Much later. Maybe after I’m dead.”

“That’ll be a long time, if I have anything to do with it.”

She looked up at him in the darkness, wishing they could return to the world of Five Minutes Ago, when she could pretend they were the only two people on earth, pretend that it would always be the peaceful, perfect present. Maybe there was a way.

“Come here.” She leaned back against the wall and patted the cushion beside her.

He sat down, facing forward and reclining a bit to put himself at her eye level. Though his posture was guarded, the glint in his eyes and the way he’d let her touch him outside hadn’t escaped her notice. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him, they wouldn’t be discussing Spirits or destinies or anything at all for the rest of the night.

His broad hand smoothed the blanket over the cushion between them, and she imagined it traveling over her skin with the same caress. A grown man could die ten different ways at those hands, but she knew Darien would sooner cut them off than hurt her. He had even worried about bruising her wrist after she’d almost stabbed him. And he’d called her his best friend.

“I’m sorry I avoided you,” she said, “after the last time I was here.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to see you either. I was embarrassed. It was…less than spectacular, wasn’t it?”

“We were drunk.”

“And stupid.”

“We’re not drunk now.”

“But we’re still stupid.”

“Definitely.” She kissed his forehead, softly. “Complete.” Then his cheek, less softly. “Idiots.” His mouth—much, much less softly.

Darien’s lips parted at the touch of her tongue. He slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her into a deeper kiss that made them both moan. She filled her hands with the silky dark waves of his hair, arching her back to bring their bodies closer together.

Definitely not drunk this time, she thought. Every nerve was alive and screaming for his hands and mouth. She needed to be covered by him.

As if reading her mind, he curled his arm around her back and slid her body beneath him on the berth. The motion was so effortless, it was almost as if his strength were—No, she wouldn’t think about that. She wasn’t about to sleep with a superhero. Elysia caressed his hard, bulging biceps to confirm that his mightiness was all-natural, 100% organic.

Just like her stealth, and her nimbleness and her night vision.

No. She definitely wouldn’t think about that at a time like this. Darien’s mouth moved to her neck, where his kisses turned hard and biting, sending waves of electric blue lust down her spine. She wound her legs around his hips and drew him tighter against her. His hand slid under her shirt.

He eased away then, just a few inches, and stared down at her. She moved to kiss him again, but he pulled just out of reach.

“Elysia?”

Something inside her twitched. He never called her by her full name.

“Elysia, what’s in the bag?”

Elysia stared up at Darien, her face flushed and eyes wide. He could smell her desire, and it took every shred of self-control not to erase his own question with another kiss.

“What’s in what bag?” she said, but he knew her innocence was feigned.

“Your backpack.” He brushed a lock of chestnut hair out of her eyes. “What’s so important that you boarded it up in a doghouse so no one would steal it?”

“Why are you asking me now?” She cast a nervous glance at the pack, which sat on the floor at the foot of her berth. “Can’t it wait?”

“I wish it could. I wish it didn’t matter.” He kept his voice soft, though he knew it was too late. He’d spooked her. But he couldn’t have done that if she truly trusted him. “What’s in the bag?” he whispered.

“I told you, nothing.”

He sighed and started to pull away, despite his body’s urge to do the opposite.

She grabbed his arm. “Wait! I’ll tell you.”

Hope sparked within him, and he stayed, pressed against her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It contains…the meticulously maintained…painstakingly preserved…severed head of my last boyfriend.” She clutched his shirt and filled her voice with melodrama. “It means everything to me. It’s a one-of-a-kind original.”

“Don’t play games, Lyse.” He rolled off her and stood up, nearly smacking his head on the ceiling.

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you just open it and look?”

“You know I won’t do that. I want you to tell me.”

“Why?!” Her voice hardened. “Why is it so important?”

“Because I’m offering you everything. Everything in this boat.” He sat beside her, took her hand and touched it to his head. “Everything in here. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, show you everything I have. But I need to know that you trust me the way I trust you. Otherwise, we can’t do this.” He tugged her shirt down to cover her belly. “Because screwing without trust is just…poison. And we can’t survive poison.”

She touched his thigh, almost tentatively. “I trust you with my body.”

“I know,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Elysia looked at him for a long moment, as if searching his face for a reason to believe in something, anything. But he knew it couldn’t come from him—it had to come from inside herself, and she wasn’t ready.

She pulled her hand from his and rubbed her face hard. “All right, no sex.” She turned her back to him and slung the blanket over herself. “Fine with me. I’m not the one with a raging hard on.”

“Fine.” Hearing the sharpness of his own voice only stoked his frustration. He went to his own berth, lay down and turned to the wall. “And I’m not the one who’s been sleeping alone for three months.”

“What? How did you…” He heard her turn toward him. “There’ve been other guys since you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but no one you really wanted.”

She didn’t answer him, and he cursed his own vindictiveness. He hadn’t meant to tease her or hurt her feelings. But he had to make her understand that this voyage wasn’t a party. She was so used to living in the present, fighting for each meal, that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—set her mind on the future.

Maybe she didn’t care if she survived. But he did. After touching her, kissing her, feeling her body beneath him again, he knew he’d bleed his last drop to protect her.

“Hey, Darien?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you satisfied yet?”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Are you?”

A loud fake snore was her only reply.

He almost said “I love you,” but didn’t dare.

The next day they sailed north under clear skies. By midday, Elysia’s muscles ached from the many tasks of running a boat. But Darien was a patient skipper and didn’t get mad when she screwed up. She liked that he didn’t correct her terminology, making her say “starboard” instead of “right,” or “line” instead of “rope.”

His proximity was the real problem. They had to stay on the same side of the boat to counter the wind’s pull, and her internal mercury spiked every time he reached over her shoulder to adjust the sail. To hide her heat-flushed face, she zipped the windbreaker up past her chin and pulled the oversized Orioles cap down low.

If only they’d had sex last night, she thought, the tension would have disappeared. But he’d pulled away, knowing she didn’t trust him, all because of the backpack and its contents.

She couldn’t show him. It would be like unzipping her soul and letting him peek inside. She wasn’t ready.

Which probably meant they weren’t ready to sleep together. If they were going to be partners in survival, then hasty sex would only drive them apart. Her head knew this, but every part below her neck disagreed.

“What do you call your boat?” she asked him during a quiet period, while he was checking the chart and she was steering them through a deep, level part of the Bay. “There’s no name on the back—the stern, I mean.”

“I didn’t want anyone to ID me when I left.” Seated beside her on the cockpit bench, he pulled the chart closer to his nose to examine it. She wondered when he’d become nearsighted. “Boat names are all vanity, anyway,” he said.

“Does she have a secret name?”

He gave a cryptic smile and said nothing. She sighed. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging to know.

“Maybe I’ll name her Elysia,” he said.

“Don’t. It means ‘struck by lightning.’”

“I thought it was from the Elysian Fields, the ancient Greek version of Heaven.”

“That, too.” She stretched her leg to relieve a cramp. “Heaven’s too much to live up to, so I stick with the literal translation.”

“At least you’re named after Paradise. I was named after a yuppie town in Connecticut.”

“But no one goes to Connecticut to die.”

“Nah, that’s what Florida’s for.”

She gaped at him. “You made a joke. Since when are you funny?”

“Since always.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s why I never asked you out in college. I liked the smart, scrawny clown-boys. Not jocks like you.” Back when life was about entertainment, not survival.

She wondered if her near-feral attraction for him was a response to the way the world had changed. Instinct was probably ordering Elysia to snag a man who could protect her, who could father strong, blindingly handsome spawn.

Blech. She wasn’t an animal. Not that he couldn’t persuade her to act like one. But maybe now more than ever, they had to hang on to the things that made them human.

He pointed ahead. “Stay on course to take us into the Susquehanna.”

“Then what?”

He paused. “Remember when I said I didn’t know exactly where we were going?”

“Yeah.”

“I lied.”

Her stomach felt like lead as she turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Darien paused again, then looked into her eyes with an intensity that spooked her. “These powers we have, this calling. I think it’s for some greater purpose.”

“A greater purpose than our own survival?”

His gaze narrowed. “Of course. This isn’t just about you and me.” He gestured to the river. “It’s about building a new life for everyone.”

“Everyone?” She scoffed. Her worst fears were coming true. “I thought I was your only damsel-in-distress.”

He frowned. “Would you grow up and think of someone besides yourself for a change?”

“You can’t save the world, Darien.” She turned away, eyes stinging from the wind. “Even if you did, it wouldn’t bring him back.”

His silence fell sudden and heavy. Elysia wiped her mouth, wishing she could stuff the words back inside.

“You think this is about Peter?” His voice was hoarse. “That was eight years ago.”

“And you still blame yourself.”

“I don’t blame myself. I take responsibility, a concept you obviously can’t understand.”

“Right.” She grabbed his hand and put it on the tiller pole. “You steer the damn boat. I’m going inside.”

“You can’t run away from me here, Lyse. We’re discussing this now.”

Elysia stopped and turned a suspicious gaze on Darien. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Sit down and let me finish.”

She sat at the far end of his bench, hunching her shoulders as if bracing for a blow. He wanted to shift closer so he wouldn’t have to shout above the wind, but sensed she’d only move away.

“We’ll stop and camp at the state park,” he said. “It’s too rocky to sail any farther, anyway.”

“And then what?”

“Then we wait.” He took a deep breath. “Wait for the Spirits to guide us.”

“You mean, wait for the voices in your head to start talking again.”

“It’s not just my head. You told me—”

“I was drunk that night. I didn’t know what I was saying.” She tugged her cap down so he couldn’t see her eyes. “It’s your boat, your fantasy. I’ll go along since I have no choice. But I won’t believe.”

“Lyse, why are you so hopeless? Can’t you feel it? The world’s on the edge of a new beginning.”

She shook her head. “All I feel is the end, so despair seems like the only rational response.” She tore off her cap and crumpled it in her hands. Her eyes were so full of pain that he wanted to wrap his arms around her, if he thought she wouldn’t throw him overboard for trying. “Things won’t ever get better, Darien. People can’t fix it. They can only ruin it.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Then you’re an—” She cut herself off and turned her gaze to the water. “You’re a better person than I am.”

“Listen. The Bear says if we go to this place, the Spirits will show us what to do. He says they need us.” He touched her knee, and she flinched. “Doesn’t the Fox tell you the same thing?”

Her jaw clenched. “The wind just shifted.”

She was right. He gave her the tiller pole so she could steer, then adjusted the mainsheet line to trim the angle of the sail. From the corner of his eye, he watched Elysia’s face grow stony. Like an intruder in the night, he’d set off her alarms, and now her doors were locked.

“Hope” was a four-letter-word to her. Her few shots at happiness—college, her writing career—had been snatched away by the Collapse.

Unlike Elysia, Darien hadn’t always been poor. His family had lived the American dream until he was ten, when his parents’ real estate business went under; skyrocketing interest rates and insurance premiums had demolished the housing industry. Little by little, their savings for retirement and their sons’ college education were turned into food for their table.

Maybe he would have been better off without the lacrosse scholarship to Johns Hopkins. Then he would have spent those three years learning a useful trade instead of studying ancient history. But then he wouldn’t have met Elysia.

She was with him when he discovered his younger brother, Peter, dead from an overdose. Only someone like her could have helped him survive that, could have comforted him without judgment, without asking what he could have done to stop it, the question he’d asked himself a thousand times. Only someone like Elysia could make his future seem bearable, even now.

He looked at her, at the way her lips trembled despite the firm set of her jaw, and he knew that underneath her tough facade lay a heart that could still break.

Later that afternoon they made landfall at the state park. Elysia caught and cooked a smallmouth bass while Darien took down the sails for what was probably the last time. The boat had been his only home for two years, and the thought of living on land again made his feet itch.

They ate dinner in silence, watching the trees across the river blaze orange and red in the rays of the setting sun. After the last bite, Elysia professed exhaustion and tumbled into bed.

Darien lay on the cockpit seat, watching the stars wink on, wondering for the first time whether he and Elysia were going to make it.

What seemed like only a few moments later, his eyes flew open to see a bright first quarter moon. A wave swelled against the hull, too large for such fair weather.

Something was coming. Fast.

“Lyse!”

He lurched for the cabin door just as his boat buckled under a crunching impact.

Elysia’s world shuddered and shattered. She tumbled from the berth and banged her knees on the hard floor. Before she could draw a breath, Darien was there.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“What happened? Something hit us.”

“Another boat.” He helped her to her feet. “Come on.”

They stepped outside. Elysia blinked into the moonlight, unable to believe her eyes.

A large yacht, at least twice the length and height of Darien’s boat, loomed over them. Its bow was planted against theirs, crumpling the prow of his anonymous little beauty.

“Bastards,” she hissed. “Why didn’t they watch where they were going?”

“I don’t think she’s occupied,” he said. “Must have been moored upriver and broke loose.”

“Then why are the sails up?”

“Maybe they—” His eyes widened. “No…”

“What is it?”

“Wait here.” He ducked into their cabin and threw open the closet.

Elysia stepped along the deck to the yacht. With a quick vertical leap, she grabbed the lower bar of the bigger boat’s railing. But the hull was too slick to give a foothold, so she hung there, feebly.

“You never listen, do you?” Darien’s voice came from below her.

“Shut up and give me a boost, okay?”

He pushed her feet, and she clambered onto the yacht. “Whoa.” She stroked the deck’s polished teak. “These people must be loaded.”

“Not anymore.” Darien swung aboard, then pulled a clean rag and a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket. She followed him to the aft cockpit. With gloved hands, he put a rag to his face, then shoved open the cabin door.

The stench of death hit Elysia like a hammer to the temple. She staggered back against the wheel.

Darien moved into the cabin, turned to his left, and shook his head sadly.

Elysia spied a handwritten note taped to the wall inside the cabin door. Covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve, she stepped forward and grabbed it.

She began reading aloud. “‘It appears we’re not strong or stubborn enough to want to go on living without the people and things we love.’” Elysia steadied her voice. “‘Take whatever you need for your survival. There’s a hunting bow with a user’s manual in the corner. (It’s harder than it looks.) Please don’t worry about burying us—you have more important tasks ahead. Just remember our names, Priscilla and Stephen Holmes.’”

Darien gazed at the bed, then closed his eyes and crossed himself.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“You don’t want to see this.” He looked at her suddenly. “But maybe you should.”

She stepped back. “No.”

“Yes.” He held out his hand. “Come see what despair looks like. Then tell me if it’s the rational response.”

“I don’t need to see it, I can smell it.” She turned away, eyes watering—only from the stench, she told herself. “Let’s take the hunting bow and go.”

They returned to Darien’s boat to pack in silence. Before they headed into the dark woods, he laid a hand on the vessel that had been his home and greatest love. Elysia looked past him at the yacht drifting down the riverbank, the name on the stern visible now in the moonlight: Pollyanna.

After a wordless, half-mile hike, they pitched the tent and crawled into their sleeping bags.

Despite her exhaustion, Elysia’s mind couldn’t turn away from the suicidal couple. They must have had everything—money, family, a big house. She and Darien had nothing in the world but each other.

“How did you know they were dead before we got there?” she asked him.

“By the smell.” He sounded wide awake.

“All the way from your boat? When did you get such a sensitive nose?”

“Probably the same time you got your night vision.”

Though the air was warm, Elysia began to shiver. “Darien, I’m scared.” She bit her lip, as if that would take back what she’d said. “Sing to me, okay? Sing me to sleep.”

She heard him turn to face her, then his voice came low and soothing and melodic. He stroked her hair, drawing his fingers through the strands to their tangled ends. A tear dribbled from each of her eyes.

The words “I love you” wanted to crawl out of her throat, but she locked them inside. If she gave him those words, and he didn’t return them, a wall would form. Survival might be simple, but love was complicated.

But if he did return them, if he did love her, then maybe they could survive anything.

Darien woke when a hand shook his shoulder. Elysia whispered his name, then said, “Close your eyes.”

“They were closed when I was asleep.”

“I’m turning on the lantern, and I don’t want to blind you.”

He shut his eyes, then saw the light shine beyond his lids.

“Okay.” Her voice was softer than he’d ever heard it. “When you’re ready, go ahead and look.”

Darien turned over and squinted into the light.

Arranged on the space between their sleeping bags, in two neat lines, was an array of foxes in every form: a framed photograph of a red fox, a stuffed animal, a silver fox pendant, a smooth red stone with a fox carved in black upon it, and a dozen other representations of her Spirit Animal.

He looked up at Elysia. She held her backpack upside down and shook it. It was empty.

“I’ve been collecting these things for years.” She caressed the red totem stone. “It was like a compulsion I didn’t understand. Not until—” She swallowed and didn’t look at him. “Not until Fox spoke to me. But I was afraid to believe. Afraid to hope.” Her eyebrows pinched together. “Because, what if it all led to nothing?”

“It won’t,” he whispered. “Do you believe now?”

“I believe in something. That couple on the Pollyanna, they couldn’t hold each other up.” She raised her gaze to his. “But I think we can. I believe in that.”

“I do, too.” He sat up and reached for her hand. She placed it, trembling, in his palm. “Elysia, I love you.”

A smile washed over her face like a beautiful wave. “Good. That’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss her.

She stopped him and took his face in her hands. “I love you, too.” Her voice shook. “I’ve never said that to anyone but my parents.” She closed her eyes hard. “I think I might pass out now.”

“I think you might not.” He kissed her softly and felt her steady beneath his lips. Darien sat back and examined her collection. “Hmm. That doesn’t fit with the motif.” He pointed to a box of condoms.

She grinned. “They might come in handy.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t bring any?”

“I didn’t know that when I finally skipped town it would be with my overly conscientious friend Darien. Figured I might have to sleep with random roadside stragglers. A girl can’t be too careful.”

The remaining item from her bag caught his eye. He picked up a tattered copy of Jack London’s Call of the Wild.

Elysia scratched her arm and looked embarrassed. “I’ve had it since I was a kid. My mom bought it for me at the library book sale for a quarter. She knew I liked dogs. I don’t think she realized how violent it was.”

“But Buck survives in the end.”

“Of course. He’s strong and smart.”

“Well, I’m strong, and you’re smart,” he said, handing her the book, “so together we should be okay.”

“No.” She ran her finger over the novel’s wrinkled spine. “We’ll be better than okay. ‘The function of man is to live, not to exist.’”

“What?”

“It was something Jack London supposedly said. I wrote it down.” She opened the back cover and read, “‘I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in a magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. I would rather be ashes than dust.’”

She closed the book and looked at him. The fire he’d always loved had returned to her eyes, and he felt a passion rise in him so fierce and so fast, he could no longer contain it.

“You’ll never be dust,” he whispered. “Come here.”

Darien swept Elysia into his arms and lifted her onto his sleeping bag. She noticed he was careful to avoid crushing her fox collection.

He laid her down gently and knelt beside her. “I’ve always loved you, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I knew it would scare you away, and I didn’t want to lose our friendship. After that night this summer, when we got totally stinking drunk—”

“And totally stinking naked.”

“It was a disaster, and I hated myself, because I wanted to give you something beautiful.” His finger traveled a meandering line from the hollow of her neck, between her breasts, past her navel. “I wanted to show you how I felt.”

His hand stopped, and a puzzled look crossed his face. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“For ten years I’ve been thinking about this, creating a hundred fantasies of what we would do. Now I can’t decide where to start.”

Even now, he was thinking too much, but she loved that about him. “Just take off your clothes, okay?”

He sat back on his heels, his head brushing the tent’s ceiling, and slowly peeled off his T-shirt. The sight of his contoured muscles sent heat waves to her toes, fingertips, and everywhere in between. She had to touch him—now.

“Wait.” She sat up. “Let me.” Elysia slipped one hand around the back of his jeans and the other up the front. He groaned and tilted his head back. In the low lamplight she saw his lashes cast fluttering shadows on his brow.

The taut muscles of his abdomen quivered as she unfastened, then drew down, the layers separating them. He was hard already, and grew harder in her hands. His breath turned to ragged gasps.

“Stop.” He drew her away from him. “I’m close to the edge as it is.”

“Then take me there with you.”

He undressed her slowly, and she noticed he was careful not to let his fingers so much as graze her skin. By the time she was naked, her flesh was crying out for his touch.

He stretched out beside her. She reached for him, but he gently pushed her hands away. “Just let me touch you,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.”

She shut her eyes. Fingertips stroked the side of her neck, slid over her shoulder, then down her arm, where her skin grew goosebumps. His touch disappeared, and she forced herself not to squirm.

He caressed her stomach, tracing the ridge of her lowest rib. Her breath quickened as his fingers traveled up her middle and drew a large circle around her breast. He took his hand away, and she clutched the sleeping bag in anticipation.

The warm skin of his palm glided over her. She moaned.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

Darien allowed her no respite. He gave her his mouth and hands until she was sure the delirium would steal her sanity, and she begged him to stop.

Finally he lay beside her again. She opened her eyes to gaze at his face.

“I hope that makes up for the last time,” he said.

“Almost.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “Almost?”

“We got this far last time, though not nearly so well.”

“Then the bottle of Scotch made us numb, and we passed out. I remember, sort of.”

She touched his cheek. “I think this time will be hard to forget.”

For ten years he had dreamed of this, but none of his fantasies came close to the reality. Her taste and scent filled his senses until it seemed like a piece of her inhabited every cell in his body.

Finally he rolled off her so she could breathe, but pulled her close to kiss her. “I want you again,” he murmured. “Soon.”

“Then let’s stay here all day and…rest.”

“See? That’s why you’re the smart one.” He let his muscles go slack and tried to catch his breath. “You’re right about your name. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning.” She chuckled, and he added, “Then again, I also feel like I’ve been in Paradise.”

She lifted his chin to look him in the eye. “That would be sweet if it weren’t so corny.”

“Maybe it’s sweet because it’s corny.”

Elysia smiled and kissed him quickly. “I’m thirsty. Want some water?” She eased out of his arms to crawl to the corner of the tent.

“Thanks.” He gazed at her naked form bent over the backpack, already planning how he would enact Fantasy #48.

She glanced to her left, out one of the tent’s windows. “It’s already getting light. Do you feel like breakfast or—” Her body went rigid, and her head slowly turned back to the window.

The fear on her face drew him to her side in an instant. “What is it?” He followed her gaze into the clearing but saw nothing.

Elysia shoved a flashlight into his hands. He shined it out the window.

Four yellow eyes reflected in the glow.

Elysia stared at the red fox sitting not twenty paces from their tent. It seemed unconcerned that a hulking black bear loomed beside it, sitting on its haunches.

“They’re here.” Darien’s whisper shook. “Lyse, it’s real. We weren’t crazy.”

She’d known that all along, but hadn’t wanted to believe. They dressed and stepped outside the tent, but came no closer to the animals.

The bear turned and started to lumber away, joined by the fox. Both animals looked back over their shoulders at Darien and Elysia.

She took his arm. “I’ve seen enough Lassie movies to know they want us to follow.”

“Should we bring our supplies?” he asked them. In response, the fox and bear sat down to wait. “Looks like a ‘yes.’”

They quickly packed under the creatures’ watchful gaze. The sun was rising by the time they left, and they headed deeper into the woods.

“Notice anything weird about them?” she asked Darien.

“Besides the fact that the bear could eat the fox in two bites but doesn’t?”

“They don’t make any sound when they walk.”

“And they don’t have a scent. It’s like they’re not really there.”

“Maybe they’re not.” She fingered the strap of her backpack. “Maybe the whole night’s been a dream, and I’m going to wake up on your boat, with no dead yachters and no mind-blowing sex and certainly no ghost animals.”

“Spirit animals,” he said.

“Whatever.”

He looked down at her. “Are you saying the sex was an out-of-body experience for you? Because to me it was very in -body.”

She smiled at him and took the hand he offered. With his profession of love tucked safely in her memory, she was prepared for anything.

The woods opened into a clearing. When they reached the edge, she stopped cold.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

A hundred people, maybe more, stood in a circle—all ages, all races, people who seemed to be strangers to one another, except for a few groups of two and three. Most looked as bedraggled as she felt.

“It’s okay,” Darien said. “This is what we’re here for.”

It is? Elysia shot a glare at the fox, who had disappeared. She reluctantly joined the others, giving a tight smile to the bright-eyed middle-aged woman next to her.

“I’m Gina,” said the woman. “Otter.”

“Huh,” was Elysia’s first response. Darien squeezed her hand. “Oh. Sorry. I’m Elysia, and this is Darien. Fox and Bear.” She turned her gaze to the grass. This was too weird.

“Elysia, that’s an interesting name.”

“It means ‘struck by lightning.’” Darien reached across Elysia to shake Gina’s hand. “How are you today, ma’am?”

Ma’am? Elysia thought. Is he running for office?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the circle split apart.

The animals came, like in Noah’s Ark, but one by one instead of in pairs, predator marching peacefully beside prey. Birds descended from thin air. Each creature approached one person in the circle.

The red fox sat before Elysia and “spoke” to her using the same low, feminine voice she had heard in her dreams. The One Spirit will now speak through us all.

The voice began.

Greetings, beloved ones. You have been called here, and to many other places on earth, to be reawakened. We call you to live humbly on the land, to share what you have with each other, to learn from past mistakes.

Life will be hard, and you will be driven to the end of your strength. But in return, we grant you powers never before possessed by humans. Each of us has chosen one of you to embody our essence, whether as a warrior, a healer, a builder or another role vital to your continued life.

We will always be with you, to guide you and love you. But survival rests in your own hands. Remember, each of you is an essential part of the whole. The voice paused for a moment. Try not to destroy one another.

The fox tilted its head at Elysia. It’s just me again. Any questions?

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” she whispered to it.

Because you wouldn’t have come. You and I are not made for community. We’re not leaders, like him. The fox looked at Darien, who was contemplating the enormous black bear in front of him. Nor are we followers, like most of the others.

“What are we, then?”

The fox blinked its piercing black eyes at her. Alone.

You must lead your people. The Bear’s voice sounded in Darien’s head. Keep them strong and united. Defend them at all costs.

“I don’t know how to be a leader.”

You know more than you think.

“But how do I—”

Goodbye.

The Animals dissolved into air, and the people stared at each other, bewildered. When no one stepped forward, Darien entered the circle to address them. A murmur that sounded like relief trickled through the crowd.

“My name is Darien, the Bear. The Spirits have blessed us with a chance for a new beginning. Let’s show them we can do it right.”

“But where do we start?” asked a thirty-something woman in a stained T-shirt. “We don’t even know each other, and they expect us to make a whole new society?”

“Let’s start by sharing our names and Animals,” Darien said.

“I’m Sarah.” She frowned. “Squirrel.”

“Sarah, it won’t be easy,” Darien said. “The important thing is to stay calm and focus on each other’s needs. Shelter comes first.”

A thin young man stepped forward. “I’m Lance, the Wolf. The park has cabins just over the hill.”

“Good. Lance, you and Sarah find out how many tents we have. Everyone will have a place to sleep tonight. Give priority to the children and older people for the cabins. Winter’s coming.” He turned to the others. “Let’s follow Lance to the cabins, where we can assess our rations and decide what we need to hunt and forage.”

To his surprise, everyone gathered their belongings. He rejoined Elysia, who raised her eyebrows at him and said nothing.

They made their way down the trail with the others. An African-American woman with a salt-and-pepper braid walked beside them.

“I’m Maxine, the Hawk.” She laid a soft hand on Darien’s arm. “Thank you for stepping forward. For a minute I thought we were doomed.”

Elysia grunted, but didn’t speak. She’d kept silent ever since the Spirits’ address.

“The thing is,” Maxine said, “people who already have cabins won’t like being told to give them up. They probably would have done it to be decent, but you’ve decided for them.”

“So what do I do?” he asked her.

“Let them choose how to divide the food. If you tell them to pool it so it can be redistributed, it’ll feel like socialism. People will hide what they have.”

“I’m a Cougar! Rrrawr!!” A young boy, maybe seven years old, ran past them through the trees and launched himself onto a branch nearly twenty feet in the air.

Maxine gave a low whistle. “It’s like living in a comic book.”

“So what’s your power?” Darien asked her.

“Photographic memory. Funny, just when I was hitting that age when people forget things.” She shrugged. “And I can talk with all the Spirits, not just Hawk. I’d gladly trade it for that boy’s slam dunk ability, but I guess the Spirits chose us, not the other way around.”

Darien noticed a red-haired man near his own age walking to his right. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Okay.” The man shook himself out of a daze. “Sorry, I’m John. Crow.”

“Crow? What’s that do?”

“I have no idea.”

They reached the camp, and though Darien had planned to let people set their own direction, they bombarded him with questions and pleas for assistance, until he started to believe the Bear’s unlikely proclamation. Elysia fielded the hunting and fishing issues, looking slightly disgruntled.

Gina the Otter approached him. “Darien, I wanted to thank you for taking charge. People feel safer when someone knows what they’re doing.”

Or at least fakes it well enough, Darien thought. “Otters are healers, right?”

“I’m a doctor, a family practitioner. I guess that’s why Otter chose me.” She gave a grim smile. “Now I’m glad I didn’t go for that plastic surgery specialty.”

“I was thinking, now would be the time to find out if anyone has medical issues. Keep it private, obviously. And ask for help in collecting whatever supplies you need.”

She nodded. “Anything else?”

“Have somebody make me a list of everyone’s name, Animal, and talents—magical and mundane. We need engineers, cooks, gardeners, everything. No doubt the Spirits have filled our requirements, personnel-wise.” He looked at Elysia, whose eyes had filled with dread. “There’s a reason we were each chosen.”

When the Otter had left, he asked Elysia. “What’s wrong?”

“Darien, I—” She started to shift away, then faced him again. “I don’t think I can stay.”

Darien blinked hard at Elysia’s announcement. “What?! Why can’t you stay?”

She gestured at the camp, panic creeping over her. “I’m not meant for this life.”

“What other life is there?”

“Alone, out there. That’s what we had. That’s what I wanted.” Her heart twisted. “I know you have to stay here, but I didn’t sign up to be First Lady of the Promised Land.”

“What about your Spirit?”

“She said I don’t belong.”

“That’s bullshit! She must be testing you.”

Elysia hesitated. Maybe the Fox had played on her paranoia. But for what purpose? “I never knew about the Reawakening until I got here. Fox probably only gave me powers so I could survive on my own.”

Darien gave her a look of agony. “Why would you want to leave this?”

“This is one step away from Lord of the Flies. Look, those three are plotting against you already.”

Fifty yards away, a pair of large men—Wolverine and Badger—were conferring with the Wasp, a woman with spiky blonde hair.

“How can you tell?” Darien asked.

“Because I see what’s really there, not what I want to see. Even with a good man like you as a leader, it’ll all end in pain. That’s the human way.”

“No, we can make it better.” He took her hands, and she didn’t know whether to feel touched or trapped. “Please stay. I need you.”

“You just need someone to rescue.” She turned away from the hurt in his eyes and began to pack her bag.

“I thought you’d changed,” Darien said. “I thought you’d finally learned to care about someone besides yourself. I thought you loved me.”

“I do. Too much to watch you form a new harem of Darien-ettes. I’ve seen how the women look at you.”

“Is that what all this is about? Your jealousy?”

“Be practical.” Her tone turned venomous. “This place needs babies, and the alpha male should breed early, breed often.”

“Stop it. We’re not animals.”

“Tell that to those guys.” She pointed at Marcus the Wolverine, striding toward Darien, flanked by his Badger pal, a hulk named Hugh.

“Yo, Bear man!” Marcus called.

“Can it wait?” Darien glared at him. “I’m in the middle of—”

“No.” The Wolverine stopped a few feet away. “What happens when other people come? Not magic people like us.”

“If they’re friendly, they stay,” Darien said. “If not, they go.”

Hugh frowned. “We should kill anyone who tries to enter our territory. Friendly or not.”

“Or this’ll turn into some kind of refugee camp,” added Marcus.

“We won’t kill anyone who isn’t a threat,” Darien said in a low, firm voice.

“And who decides what’s a threat? You?” Marcus stepped close to Darien, nearly matching his height. “If you can’t make tough decisions, maybe you’re not fit to be our leader.”

Darien crossed his arms and met his gaze. “Then we’ll hold a vote.”

“Democracy is dead.” Hugh withdrew a rusty pipe from the back of his jeans. “And so are you if you don’t step aside.”

Darien went still, and Elysia knew he’d sunk into The Zone.

Marcus threw a right cross. Darien flipped the Wolverine onto his back, then slammed a spinning roundhouse into the Badger’s gut. He waited while they recovered, maybe to see if they would give up before he was forced to hurt them.

Instead of relenting, they circled him, searching for his weak spot. Despite their speed and strength, Elysia knew they were no match for Darien’s fighting skills, even without his Bear powers.

Though it had been years since she’d watched her friend Tae-Kwon-Do someone into the dust, Elysia turned her attention from the fight to the gathering crowd. She found the missing conspirator: Kiley, Marcus and Hugh’s Wasp friend. The woman stood near the front of the crowd, about twenty feet behind Darien.

The clang of metal against bone drew Elysia’s focus back to the fight. Hugh howled and crumpled to the ground.

Darien, now wielding the pipe, stood over a writhing, prostrate Marcus. “A coward would bash in both your skulls right now. But you can be useful to me, if you’d like to live.”

The men nodded quickly, holding back tears.

Elysia glanced at Kiley just in time to see the woman pull a shiny object from her back pocket.

“No!” Elysia sprang forward as Kiley released the dagger.

The blade entered Elysia’s chest, hot as a flame. She stared at it, uncomprehending, then collapsed.

Darien saw Elysia fall, a crimson stain spreading across her chest.

“No…” He dropped to his knees at her side. The screams of the crowd sounded a mile away.

Her eyes grew wide with pain. “Darien, are you—”

“Shh.” He clutched her hand and pressed his lips to her hair. “Just hold onto me, okay?” If she gave her life to save his, he wouldn’t want to live it anymore. “I won’t let you go.”

Her grimace almost verged on a smile. “Even you can’t kick Death’s ass.”

“Don’t say that!” His voice choked. “You’re not going to die.”

“He’s right,” said someone behind him. He turned to see John, the red-headed Crow, aiming a trancelike stare at Elysia. “You’ll live.”

“How do you know?” she gasped.

“I see it.” John’s apprehensive gaze shifted to his shoulder as if something were sitting on it. “So that’s what a Crow does. Shit.”

Gina ran up and knelt beside them with a medical bag. She examined the position of the wound, from which the dagger still protruded. “Too high for the heart, too low for the brachial artery. Probably hurts like hell, but it shouldn’t kill her.” She turned to a nearby woman. “Get a blanket to use as a stretcher so we can take her inside for surgery.”

Darien exhaled hard, suddenly weak. He wondered if their Promised Land would turn out to be just another level of Hell.

Elysia sat near the large campfire, left arm in a sling. The pain pills had clubbed the agony into a dull ache, and Gina had conjured a yellow light that somehow soothed her wound.

Darien approached her with a cup of tea. “Gina says this will help you sleep.”

She gave him a sly smile as she took it. “So you can have your way with me?”

He chuckled and sat beside her. “No one ever gets their way with you.”

“I’d like to have my way with Kiley.”

“Uh-uh. Lance has taken them into custody until we can decide their penalty.” To her frown he replied, “We need them. They’re good fighters, and their aggression could be channeled into protecting the community.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”

“A wise man, the Godfather.” He cleared his throat. “We need you, too. I need you. Will you stay?”

She hesitated. “On one condition: split the power. These people need your strength, but they also need someone to lead from wisdom.”

“Someone like you?”

“Ha!” Her laughter made heads turn their way. “No, I’ll keep tabs on everyone and watch your back. That’s a Fox’s job. But I was thinking of Maxine. She’s got age, experience and a direct line to the Spirits.”

He nodded. “A smart choice. I’ll ask her to join me. On one condition.”

“You’re conditioning my condition?”

“Marry me.”

“Wh-what?” She must have heard him wrong.

“I don’t want to share you, any more than you want to share me.” He took her hand. “And I don’t want anyone but you. Ever.”

Stunned, she shook her head. “How can we get married here?”

“We’ll declare our commitment in front of everyone, invent a Spirit ceremony together, make it up as we go along.”

She fought back a smile. “That sounds kind of fun.”

“Is that a yes?”

Elysia touched his cheek. After all these years, they had found each other, and she had nearly thrown it away, thinking she could never love anyone but herself. If she was willing to die for him, surely she could learn to live with him.

“How could I not marry this face?” Her hand slid down to his chest. “And these pecs.”

He laughed, then kissed her. “Wait here and close your eyes.”

She sighed but obliged him. “Now what?”

“Our wedding gift,” he said from several feet away. “From Lance, sort of.” She heard him sit beside her again, with the echo of a familiar, almost forgotten sound. “He said I could borrow it whenever I wanted.”

She heard the soft, low strum of a guitar. When her eyes opened, they were full of tears.

Darien eased into a century-old blues tune, looking as happy as she had ever seen him. His ghosts were resting, at least for a while. The others around the fire nodded and tapped their feet to the rhythm, hearing the ever-human currents of hope and desire.

Spirits willing, Elysia thought, they would not just survive, but live, and never be dust.

Experience more of Jeri SmithReady’s magical world with the Aspect of Crow trilogy from Luna Books:

EYES OF CROW

VOICE OF CROW

THE REAWAKENED

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