Tori gasped. “Aren’t they guarding the border?”
“We’re going to find out. A week there and back, easy, and that’s not counting us having to actually find something.”
“Then you won’t be back until after the New Year,” Sarah said. She sounded disappointed.
“Nope,” said Chris, and then looked up as Lena hip-butted the kitchen door with an armload of firewood. “Probably not.”
“Probably not what?” asked Lena.
“Chris and Peter won’t be here for New Year’s,” Tori said. “They may have to cross over into Wisconsin for supplies, if they can get across the border. It’s not fair they fight on Christmas Eve and now this.”
Lena did her usual eye-roll, but this time Alex agreed with her. Life hadn’t exactly been fair, in case Tori hadn’t noticed.
Chris said, “If you guys want something special, make a list. I can’t promise anything, but—”
“Real coffee,” Lena said. “Failing that, a one-way ticket out of here would be nice.”
“Here we go again,” said Sarah.
Alex was tired of that subject already. “I don’t understand, Chris. You said there are other towns, right? And there are the various groups of raiders you guys keep fighting, right? So why don’t we, I don’t know, organize? Or trade? Or maybe just share and share alike? That way, you guys don’t have to worry about getting shot all the time and you don’t have to travel as far.” She remembered the discussion she’d had with Tom about this. “What you’re doing is kind of inefficient.”
“She has a point,” said Jess. She didn’t look up from scrubbing potatoes.
Chris looked uncomfortable. “That’s really not my call.”
“Why not?” Alex persisted.
“Well, first off, we’d have to have something worth trading,” Sarah pointed out.
“We’ve got supplies. We’ve got tools and weapons and—”
“We’re not going to trade weapons or tools,” Chris said flatly. “That’s like handing them the keys to the front door.”
“Well, what about clothes?” Alex persisted. “Or soap or candles or lanterns or—”
“Or us,” Lena said. She dumped wood in a loud clatter. “How much you think I’m worth, Chris?”
Chris looked like he’d been slapped. “Lena, it’s not like—”
“Oh, bullshit. We’re your precious little baby-makers. So what do you think you can buy with me? I guess that depends on when the guy gets tired—”
“You know,” Jess interrupted, “we could do with more wood.”
“Right. I forgot. Your house, your rules,” Lena said, and banged out of the kitchen.
Tori broke the silence first. “More coffee, Chris?”
“No.” His cheeks were splashed with scarlet. He wouldn’t meet Alex’s eyes. “No, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Chris,” Sarah said gently, “she didn’t mean that. She’s not angry at you.”
And Alex thought, Oh yes, she is. Lena was rude; she was obnoxious; but she was deliberately baiting Chris, really pushing it.
The question was: why?
Fifteen minutes later, Alex shrugged into her parka and scuffed outside. It was snowing again, big powdery flakes spinning slowly as feathers. The snow was deep, an easy two and a half feet, and hard on Honey. For the past few days, Chris had taken her to and from the hospice in a Portland cutter, and he’d just left the house five minutes before her. Alex expected to see him in the dark blue cutter, but only Nathan was there, holding the reins of a white dray.
“Where’s Chris?” she asked as Nathan’s border collie pranced up to be petted.
Nathan chinned in the general direction of the backyard. “Headed that way when he come out. Said he’d be right back.”
Puzzled, Alex retraced her steps, then ducked around the house. Jess’s yard was very large, about an acre before it blended into the woods. She spotted Chris in the far left corner by the woodpile—with Lena.
Whatever she’d been about to say dried up on her tongue. Chris and Lena were facing each other, and Lena’s arms jerked in emphatic, angry gestures. Fighting with Chris? Knowing Lena, that was a safe bet, but after that little scene in the kitchen, why would Chris go out of his way to talk to her? Alex was too far away to hear, but she saw Chris shake his head and start to turn away. In the next instant, Lena grabbed his arm and flung herself into Chris so hard he staggered, and then she was threading her arms around his neck, pressing against him …
I don’t want to see this. Stunned, Alex stumbled back, her boots tangling, and she let go of a startled, involuntary yip. Chris’s head darted around, and then he was trying to disengage from Lena, pulling at her arms. He might even have called her name, but Alex wasn’t waiting around. Floundering back up the walk toward the street, eyes smarting, she couldn’t breathe; her chest was tight, like someone had punched all the air from her lungs. Just get Honey and go. But no, she couldn’t; Nathan would stop her because she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without an escort. Well, that was all right, that was fine; she didn’t care what was going on between Chris and Lena, she didn’t care….
“You find him?” asked Nathan as she clawed her way onto the cutter.
“Yeah.” As she settled herself onto the seat, she saw Chris wheel around the house. He was moving fast, and she smelled him coming: no apples this time, or shadows, but a roiling, angry storm cloud. She looked away as he clambered aboard, and then, with a crisp snap of the reins, Chris urged the dray to a trot and they glided off. He was silent, a black boiling wall pressing the air between them. Her heart was hammering and her stomach was twisting and fisting like her hands.
“It’s not what you think,” Chris said tightly.
“I don’t care,” she said, not daring to look at him. “It’s none of my business.”
He said nothing. Their sleigh swept past the village hall, where a knot of Rule men were marching a cluster of refugees inside, and then they were heading northeast down the approach road to the hospice. The forest closed in and echoed with the clop of horse hooves. Alex watched the snow fall, felt it melt on her cheeks like tears.
Chris cleared his throat. “Alex …”
“It doesn’t matter, Chris.”