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  “Let me help you up,” Liam said. To Noah, he said, “I don’t know if she can speak English. Or Spanish, for that matter.”

  “Te puente ayudar,” Noah told her.

  “Te puede ayudar,” Liam corrected sharply. “She’s not a bridge.”

  The woman stared at Noah. The blackness of her eyes scared him, and he unconsciously backed away until he hit the edge of the kitchen door and had to grab onto the frame to keep from falling. Liam shot him a dirty look, then turned back to the woman.

  “I can help you,” he said.

  The woman touched the red stains on her dress with trembling fingers. She blinked away tears and, and Noah felt an overwhelming urge to help.

  Liam held out his hand. She eyed it with hesitation, and he wiggled his fingers. She slowly took it. He helped her to her feet and guided her back to the couch.

  “Do you need anything?” Liam asked. “Water? Food? Are you hungry?” He mimed eating, which she seemed to understand. He turned back to Noah. “Hey, make her some food!”

  Noah didn’t want to protest in front of the woman. He turned back into the kitchen.

  The refrigerator operated off a small generator he had built to feed power into the house. When he had first found the house, the entire kitchen had to be stripped of Grid appliances and replaced with older generation finds from throughout the city. He had found the refrigerator rotting in the backyard of a crumbling home whose previous owner had apparently been a hoarder. It didn’t take long to wipe down the refrigerator and install it in his kitchen.

  He opened the door and extracted two eggs and a package of cheese that he’d picked up earlier that week. The old stove no longer had natural gas, but Liam had outfitted the burners with flammable coils. Making sure to keep his hands free from the coils, he pulled out his lighter from his back pocket and quickly produced a small flame. The burner ignited. With one hand, he cracked the eggs. They sizzled as they hit the Teflon surface. He sprinkled some grated cheese onto the eggs and fluffed them with a fork.

  The smell filled the kitchen and drifted into the front room where Liam sat in a plastic lawn chair, watching the girl in awkward silence. He heard Noah scrape the eggs onto a plate, and he gave his roommate a grateful look as he brought the plate of food into the living room.

  The woman was sitting still on the couch, hunched over with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Her eyes darted from his face to the plate and to the glass of water in his hand.

  “Has she said anything?” Noah whispered, his voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

  “Maybe let her eat first,” Liam suggested.

  Noah set the plate down on the coffee table. To the woman, he said gently, “I didn’t know how you liked your eggs, I figured scrambled is pretty standard, but I can redo them if you like.”

  The three of them looked at the plate, waiting.

  “Okay, then are you thirsty?” This time he held the glass out to her. She looked alarmed, but when she realized he wasn’t going to throw water at her face she tentatively reached for the glass. Their fingers touched, and a shock went through both of them. She jumped back in alarm.

  “Wait,” Noah said quickly. He worked with electricity so much, he was used to shocking people. “It’s okay, you’re okay-”

  “Don’t-” Liam started, but it was too late.

  She pushed her arms out straight in front of her and something hit Noah with incredible force. He sailed through the air and into the wall, his head bouncing against brick before he slid to the floor. His eyes watered from the pain. A crash filled the air and he opened his eyes just in time to see the woman run out the front door. She had thrown the door open so hard that it left a dent in the wall. Eggs lay strewn across the rug.

  Liam ran after her.

  “No! Don’t!” Noah shouted. But they were gone.

  Chapter Four

  Ellie pressed the cold metal stethoscope against the boy’s chest. “Deep breath, please,” she instructed gently.

  His shoulders rose and fell. She moved the diaphragm over a few inches.

  “Again.”

  She listened to the whistle in his lungs and kept her face neutral as she studied him. He was only five years old, but he looked back at her with a grim expression that made him seem so much older. His skin was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His ribs protruded from his back. It was hard enough to eat a well-rounded meal. It was worst to have no appetite as well.

  Most kids who survived the Fall had that same look to them.

  She removed the eartips and draped the stethoscope around her neck. She pressed lightly along his throat and jawline, then pulled her light out of her pocket.

  “Open, please,” she said.

  The boy’s mother stood nervously behind her in the kitchen, hand placed subconsciously over her mouth. Two more children, a boy and a girl, ran around her legs, screaming and throwing toys. She scooped up the youngest and placed him on her hip, no older than two years. The older child ran past Ellie and toward the open front door. She hesitated on the front steps for a short moment, laughing at the rain. Ellie looked nervously in her direction.

  “Mija!” the mother called sharply. “Ven aca!”

  The girl jumped back into the house and disappeared, screaming excitedly down the hall. The mother set down the toddler, who went running after her.

  Ellie perched on the edge of the Gonzalez’s cracked pleather couch, her medicine bag sitting at her feet. Toys and trash lay strewn across the room, the sour tinge of diapers and body odor permeating the walls and furniture. It was hard to keep proper hygiene when there was no trash service. The family hadn’t been able to afford to leave town during the exodus. They were one of many whose poverty kept them from getting the help they needed. With three children ages five and under, Ellie made a point to check on them often during her house calls.

  She tried to smile reassuringly, and the boy released a guttural cough.

  “El esta bien?” the woman asked nervously.

  “Infeccion pulmonar,” Ellie answered, placing her stethoscope in her bag. A lung infection was normally an easy diagnosis to treat, but antibiotics were long gone from the city. People were still breaking into homes to steal medicine from the cabinets. She had done her best to salvage what medicine she had from her work, but expiration dates and demand worked against her supply. She had no antibiotics left.

  “Que hacemos?”

  Ellie studied the boy’s face sadly. “Miguel?” she asked. He nodded. “Bebe agua y descansa,” she said. All he could do was drink and rest. He nodded again.

  There wasn’t much else she could do. She packed her bag, reminded his mother to keep her son elevated when he slept and to keep a wet towel in his room at night. Then she tied a scarf tightly around her head to protect her naturally tight curls, and stepped out in the rain.

  The rain brought a welcome reprieve from the summer. She had seen many heat-related illnesses that summer, not to mention the seasonal norovirus and croup in children. Rain meant a reprieve, but it also meant a shift in public health. Now came the humidity-related illnesses. Mold. Mosquitos.

  Overgrown trees hung heavy over the empty roads, but their branches did little to keep the rain from falling on her. She lived only a few short blocks away in a small standalone bungalow surrounded by a metal chain link fence. Her house had been over a hundred years old pre-Fall, and now the lack of available maintenance plagued it with crumbling stucco and chipping paint. The yard was overgrown with five-foot weeds and shrubs. She liked it because she had it to herself, but most importantly because it came with secure bolts on all the gates, windows, and doors. Most residents moved into the Barrio Historico along downtown Tucson, but Ellie had been drawn to this location. She had attended nursing school at the University of Arizona where her father had also taught, and it made sense to set up their practice in the area.

  She stopped on the front porch to pick up a canister of fr
esh water. Being the town nurse had its perks. Her neighbor was a quiet, older man who lived alone in a small bungalow just behind her own. She had treated his viral pneumonia a year ago, and since then she would often find little gifts on her porch. A bowl of oranges in late winter. Mason jars of freshly preserved jam. He kept a small garden in his yard, too small to take to the trading post, but enough to share treasures with his neighbors.

  She kicked open the front door and struggled past the tiny living room and through the archway leading into the kitchen, staggering under the weight of the canister. She dropped her bags on the floor next to the fridge and turned to hoist the canister onto the counter.

  “Ellie.”

  The canister slipped and hit the cement. water spread rapidly over the kitchen floor and soaked into the living room carpet.

  A man sat on her couch.

  “Marcus! Jesus.”

  He had a strong build, with broad shoulders and large arms. Closely shaven head. He was only a few years older than her, but from the look of his sun-damaged and wrinkled skin, he could’ve been 20 years older. Tattoos lined the back of his neck and onto his shoulder, stretching down his right arm to his fingertips.

  He didn’t smile. “Sorry. I was waiting for you.”

  Marcus was well-known throughout the neighborhood, but not for good reasons. He ran the Tucson Kings gang, a discrete group of drug dealers who rose to prominence after the Fall. Their territory stretched across downtown Tucson and the university campus. She had the bad luck of living in their jurisdiction.

  “Oh yeah?” Ellie’s voice was tight. She picked up the canister and set it on the counter, the metal clanging against the granite. “Why?”

  “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play with me.”

  “I told you already. There’s none left.”

  Marcus stood and towered over her in the tiny family room. He took a step forward, and his shoes squelched in the puddles. Ellie swallowed hard. She couldn’t show fear. She wouldn’t show fear. He didn’t stop moving until he was just inches away from her.

  Do you need another lesson in loyalty?” She smelled a putrid mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, and cologne. Thunder rumbled. Rain drummed heavily on the roof. She looked away from him. “I’m not going to ask again,” he said, his voice a low growl.

  Her kitchen knives were on the other side of the room beside the gas-powered stove. “No, I don’t,” she said.

  He hovered over her for a few seconds, wavering slightly as his eyes looked her up and down. He sniffed and touched her chin lightly with a calloused finger. She shivered with revulsion. “Where is it?” his breath tickled her cheek.

  Somehow she kept her voice steady. “In the back,” she said.

  He smiled. She closed her eyes and held her breath as he planted a kiss on her forehead, but her stomach turned anyway. He released her chin and moved past her toward the back of the house. She blinked hard and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her face felt hot, her breathing shallow. She thought of her father, and a deep feeling of shame and regret filled her stomach. She wanted to throw up.

  Ellie crossed the kitchen to the stove and pulled a large carving blade from the knife block. Rustling and banging sounds came from the back. Marcus wasn’t bothering to be gentle with her things. If she tried to stop him, he would get angry. He would kill her.

  She considered her options. She could follow him to the back and stop him before he took her things. She could wait until he came out with his arms full. She could-

  She could…

  Her hands shook and light refracted off the blade and onto the ceiling. She had never stabbed someone before. Was it easy? How much force would it take? Would there be a lot of blood? Of course, there would be a lot of blood. She’d operated on lacerations before, it didn’t take much to find a major artery and cause serious blood loss resulting in-

  The rustling grew louder as Marcus began walking toward the front of the house. Cardboard scraped against the wall, shoes against the cement. Suddenly repulsed, she threw the blade back onto the counter.

  Marcus emerged carrying a large box under his arm. He stopped to look at her. She faced away from him, watching the rain slide down the front window.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You’ll hear from us next time you’re needed.” He crossed the front room and opened the door.

  “I’m not working for you anymore.”

  He stopped on the threshold. “What?”

  Her nails dug painfully into her palms. “I’m done.”

  The box thudded on the floor just outside the door and he rushed toward her. Before she could move, he had his fingers in her hair.

  “No- stop!”

  “You aren’t done until we’re done with you,” Marcus snarled, his breath hot against her face. “You don’t have a choice.” He released her, pain radiating from her scalp. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Now he was the one to look at her with revulsion. She backed away from him until her hip hit the counter. He turned and walked out of the house. The door slammed shut.

  Ellie let out a strangled sob, finally breathing deeply for the first time since coming home. Finding strength, she pushed herself off the counter and walked to the back of the house.

  Ellie and her father had worked for months collecting prescription and over-the-counter medication for their practice. “A family doctor should always have a good inventory for their patients,” her father used to tell her when she was a child. Her father was a family doctor. She worked as an ER nurse in the same hospital where he conducted newborn visits. He used to hang around during lunch so they could eat together before heading back to his office.

  Since the Fall, she and her father had kept an impressive stash of medication in the house. Pain medicine, antibiotics, vitamins, stomach treatments, cancer pills. He had warned her that their stash would run out eventually, but they would cross that bridge when they got there. They used the spare room to house all of it. Now they would conduct house calls and even invite people into the home to treat them.

  “Our purpose is to help people,” her father told her. “There’s no better time to do that than right now, when people need us the most.”

  He was the one who wanted to stay in the city during the evacuation. Ellie stayed because she believed in him. They just didn’t anticipate the gangs.

  Marcus knocked on their front door a few weeks after they moved into the house. Ellie answered the door, but her father quickly intercepted. The men shared a quiet conversation in the family room while Ellie waited in the back. When Marcus finally left, her father called her out. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

  From that point on, they served as medical providers to the Tucson Kings in exchange for protection. Although protection from what, Ellie wasn’t so sure. It seemed most of the protection the neighborhood needed was from the Kings themselves.

  Ellie stopped in the doorway. The shelves were completely empty.

  She walked out of the room and toward the back door. The hinges groaned loudly as she stepped onto the porch, and she let the screen slam shut behind her. She walked carefully through overgrown mesquite trees and bougainvilleas, their spines catching at her clothes and hair. The garage was on the backside of the house, its driveway obscured from the street by thick vines that tangled through the chain link fence. A heavy padlock hung from the front gate.

  Gasoline-powered vehicles were rare, as most of the working ones were already gone from the city. Ellie grabbed the garage door handle and yanked hard, feeling the momentum as the door swung up and into the ceiling. She looked at the 2035 Dodge Charger hidden inside. Two-door, turbo engine, six-speed manual transmission, sport suspension, peeling orange paint job. It was a classic vehicle and no doubt held sentimental value to its former owner, but it was terribly archaic.

  Ellie slid behind the wheel and grabbed the key from be
hind the sun visor. Its metal bulkiness felt foreign in her hands. Its creators had intentionally referenced the first century of vehicle design, opting for the flat, serrated blade over the remote keyless system. She squeezed her eyes, inserted the key into the ignition and twisted, half expecting the vehicle to blow up or fall apart. To her great surprise, the car sputtered to life. It struggled, emitting a high pitched grown as the engine tried to turn over. She held her breath, and a moment later it made the connection. The engine purred. She looked quickly at the gas mileage and shut off the engine. Silence reclaimed the garage.

  Half a tank of gas.

  She did the math. That could work. Her father had taught her about gas to mileage conversions when they first found the car. On half a tank of gas and no traffic, she could get to the California border. From there...

  She didn’t know what would happen next. But it was better than staying here.

  Chapter Five

  The sun dipped low on the horizon behind rain-soaked clouds, sending a cast of orange, magenta, and pink across the sky before fading to purple along the mountain ridges. Liam followed the woman out of the Barrio Historico and toward Congress Street, keeping a careful distance. Tall skyscrapers loomed over him, silent giants against the sunset. He passed empty storefronts and splashed through the flooded streets, the occasional raindrop landing lightly on his head. Congress Street used to be the home of Tucson’s thriving downtown scene. Liam had fond memories of rock concerts, street festivals, and nights out with his friends after patrol shifts. It was painful thinking of them now as he walked down the center of the empty street, void of any activity.

  When he turned the corner onto the main downtown strip, she was gone. He stood there for a moment, considering his options. The Stone Street Parking Garage was a quick way to climb high enough to overlook the downtown district. From up there, he could-

  He jumped at the sound of scraping rock and turned to see five distinct shadows cross into the street, their bodies bobbing lightly as they walked. Their coarse, brown fur glinted in the sunlight, their small hooved feet clopping against the crumbled pavement. One was nearly the height of his kneecaps, while the other three only came up to his mid-calf. The larger animal turned its flat, round nose at him and sniffed the air before turning to saunter down the road.