Page 91
He nods.
She hands him a plate.
Luis takes one bite, then starts to scarf it down so fast I’m worried Trish will have to do the Heimlich. Halfway through the second bite, he coughs, eyes watering as he fans his mouth.
“Hot,” he rasps.
Edith cackles. “If the food’s hot, you won’t taste the blandness.” She winks at him.
Luis stares at her for one stunned second. Then he laughs. Small. Hoarse. Real.
The sound eases something in the clearing. Carlos hears it too. Some of the fight drains from his shoulders.
Joanie, on the other hand, is not subtle about anything. She’s been staring holes through Carlos since we sat down, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.
He finally catches it and smirks.
Joanie lifts her hand and scratches under her eye with her middle finger aimed straight at him.
Carlos’s grin widens. “Real mature.”
Joanie leans forward. “You started it, Peaches.”
Conversation builds after that, careful at first, then easier. Edith bullies everyone into eating. Barbara asks Luis about Wesker, and for the first time since we found them, Luis answers without looking at the ground.
Poppy listens with her whole face when Luis tells her Wesker used to belong to their aunt.
Carlos sits back with his arms braced on his knees, eyes flicking between faces like he’s measuring every reaction. He doesn’t answer many questions at first. Luis does most of the talking. Parents gone early. Raised in Chicago with their aunt. Lost her in the first wave. Moved from place to place after that. Basements. Empty apartments. Laundromats. A school for two nights until the dead found a way in through the gym.
The answers come in pieces because nothing whole survives out here.
Wesker stays glued to Luis, head lifting every time the kid’s voice shakes. Good dog.
Earl leans over his maps even while he listens, pencil tapping against the paper like his brain can’t stop building routes. Every so often, he marks something with a small X, then glances at Carlos.
Finally, Jacob crouches beside the fire, elbows braced on his knees. Gentle voice. Serious eyes.
“Carlos,” he says, “I don’t want to push you tonight. Not after today.”
Carlos’s face closes instantly.
Jacob holds up a hand. “But we’re running on fumes. We need the basics before morning. Fuel. Routes. Why every obvious place is dry. Anything you can tell us might keep everyone here alive.”
There it is.
Not an interrogation.
A hand on the edge of a door.
Carlos stares at him for a long second, then looks down at Luis.
Luis is half asleep against Wesker, Poppy still showing him drawings like the world can be fixed with paper flowers and a crowned skull.
Carlos’s jaw works.
Then he shifts closer to Earl’s map. “You got the city wrong.”
EIGHTEEN
