Until We End (23 page)

Flipping through a stack of papers, I found a picture, crinkled like it'd been folded and refolded over and over. It was a picture of Dad, Coby and me smiling in front of the gates to Disney World.

A sob burst from deep within me. I bit the inside of my cheek and covered my mouth to stifle it, but couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Dripping onto Coby's head.

I remembered that trip well. It was Coby's fifth birthday, and Dad had taken the weekend off as a surprise. I'd turned fourteen that year and put on a big pouty show about Disney World being too childish for me.

But really, I was thrilled we were all together.

I tried holding my breath to keep from making noise and waking Coby. I was desperate to keep him asleep; I couldn't stand facing him yet. But without any outlet the force of my despair pushed my heart faster, until my pulse felt like a bird's frantic wings flapping against my ribs, trying to escape my body through my throat.

Brooks put his hand on my knee, a comforting touch, reminding me that I was not alone.

And I wouldn't ever be alone, because nothing would happen to him. I'd make sure of that.

Coby didn't wake up, not even when Brooks pulled the car over and cut the engine.

I folded the picture of my family and slipped it into my pocket, jostling Coby as little as possible. But the movement made my hip screamed in pain and I had to cover my mouth to smother a gasp. There was no adrenaline left to mask the ache.

Brooks leaned over and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. Holding me together. I stared at the sky through the windshield, sure that if I stepped outside I'd fly off the earth and land in the stars. There were so many more stars in the city now.

Dad told me once that the stars reminded him of how small he was. How small we all were. He'd said that like it was a good thing.

In Brooks' arms, the grisly still-shots that flashed behind my eyes cleared. The ear-shattering gunshots faded to a whisper. I could think. I could feel.

I would not lose him.

He'd knelt beside me as Lonnie died, held his hand with me. He got soaked in Lonnie's blood and sweat, same as me. But he had no vaccine.

“Brooks—“ I choked out.

“Hush,” he whispered in my ear.

“I won't be able to sleep.”

“That's okay. Just lie with me.”

His grip never loosened, throughout the whole night. Together, we watched Savannah brighten as drawn crept over the city. And I made a plan.

Brooks rested his forehead against mine. “Don't worry,” he whispered. “I'll take care of everything. I'll find you a place to live, some food, and you two will be safe.”

“It won't happen like that,” I said. “If a vaccine was created once, then someone could do it again. We could go back to the shelter and tell the scientists everything.”

“They won't listen to us,” Brooks said.

“They will,” I said, skimming my fingers over his cheek and the permanent stubble on his jaw. He caught my fingers and held them there before they could fall away. “They'll have something they didn't have before.”

“What?” Brooks asked.

“Me.”

Frankie Brown
writes, sells and hoards books in Athens, Georgia, a funky little town famous for its music scene. But, as anyone who has ever heard the fruits of Frankie's musical endeavors can attest, her talents lie elsewhere. She's turned her creative energy to crafting stories and can typically be found hunched over a keyboard in her neighborhood coffee shops.

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

Copyright © 2013 by Frankie Brown

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First published in December, 2013
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request
ISBN 978-1-61963-467-1

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