Page 38
“I’m not looking,” I grumble.
“It’s not that. You know I can’t pee if you can hear me.”
I shake my head, exasperated. The last thing I’m paying attention to is the sound of her squatting and peeing in the woods, but I know if I don’t move, she won’t give in.
She’s relentlessly quirky. And chatty. When we’re walking on pavement, she avoids stepping on cracks. She still carries a grudge against Adrian, a kid she met in an archery class when she was seven, because he said girls can’t shoot as well as boys and then he outshot her. When I boiled our drinking water earlier, I was filling her canteen and she told me she’d prefer Perrier with lemon and extra ice.
I could lie down and go to sleep on the ground right now. We kept a brutal pace today, bypassing residential areas and not seeing any signs of other people. It’s muggy and marshy here; both of us went through all our extra dry socks within the first few hours.
“I’ll need extra water tomorrow,” Amira says as she walks out of the woods to join me at the side of the house.
“You feeling dehydrated?”
“No, I’m starting my period and changing my cup can get messy.”
“Oh.” I look away, wishing I hadn’t asked.
“Come on, you can handle period convos. Didn’t the women on your ... uh, firefighting team have periods?”
She’s being better about keeping our cover. But I don’t want to talk about this, or anything else. I’m beat.
“I know one of them used birth control pills to not have periods.”
Amira sighs wistfully. “I’ve done that before. Now it would be easier to get bars of solid gold than birth control pills.”
She’s right, but I don’t think she’s looking for a response, so I busy myself scanning the road. It’s dark, making it easier for people to sneak up on us, or worse, shoot before I even know they’re close.
“Do you need ... supplies for it?” I ask.
“For what?”
I glare at her. “You know what I’m asking.”
“You can do it. You say period, and I’ll say prostate milking. This can be a growth moment for both of us.”
I’m not doing this with her. The blisters on my soaking wet feet are burning.
“Let me know if you do,” I say.
She laughs softly. “If there are tampons to be found in the apocalypse, I don’t know where they are. I’ve got my cup, so I’m good.”
“The first aid kit has pain relievers if you need them.”
Her smile is bright—amused. “Are there any mood relievers for you?”
I mean to give her a dismissive glare, but a smile slips out instead. She’s quick with comebacks, I’ll give her that. I’m a straightforward person and I’m not used to her brand of humor.
“Time to rest your voice,” I quip. “And feet. We’ll search this house and stay here if it works.”
She furrows her brow. “I think we should keep going. We haven’t seen anyone and the weather’s clear.”
She’s a machine. Even though her superendurance is from her aromium implant, I won’t admit I’m whipped.
“Yeah, that works. I figured you’d want a bed for the night, but we can keep going.”
Realization dawns on her face. “You know, beds would be nice.”
I know what she’s doing. She’s offering to stop because she doesn’t think I can go as hard as she can. My SEAL squad had a motto—if it’s too hard for them, it’s just right for us. Seeing the virus take out the brothers and sisters who were the strongest people I’ve ever known changed me. Everything I do now isn’t about me. It’s for them.
