Sunlight streamed in through the cracks, penetrating the dark with streaks of light, allowing her to avoid most of the shards of glass on the floor. A few crunched underfoot, but nothing broke through the soles of her shoes.
The scent of candle wax and watermelon had made its way to the outer room, giving her another minute of pleasure, while her hands dug into the box. The container was full of old picture frames, crammed in at odd angles, as if someone was in a hurry.
Most were made of fake wood, rectangular, and designed for a single photo, but one was perfectly square. It was fabricated out of metal and twice the size of the others, the kind that was designed to hold a number of smaller shots around a central image—a family portrait arrangement, she guessed.
Summer put them aside and kept rummaging, pulling out one after another until she found one she liked: a stainless-steel picture frame—oval shaped and glass included—with a frilly lace pattern glued around its edges. It was beautiful. Even the prop-up stand on the back was intact.
“She’ll love this,” Summer mumbled, covering it in bubble wrap before stowing it in her pack, which she then slung over her shoulder.
She turned to walk away but froze when a loud BANG rang in her ears. It sounded like someone had punched a dumpster somewhere outside, not far away.
Summer kept low and moved behind the dilapidated checkout counter, peering through the slats of boards covering the end of the window. She was now standing in the same location where Avery died, a spot her feet had never been.
A shadow outside cruised past the window, blotting out the sun for only the briefest of moments. Then another shadow came into view with the same direction and speed. Then another. Eventually a total of nine scampered past the store.
Scabs?
Summer turned an ear and listened. She didn’t hear any of the expected heavy breathing or groans. Only the clatter of boots and equipment.
Frost’s men, she decided before moving her feet back several steps, hoping they’d keep on moving and not stop.
So far she thought she’d been pretty quiet, except for the crunches of glass and the noise the cans made when the book flew off her lap and took out the pyramid. She didn’t think the patrol could’ve heard any of it. Not unless they were standing right outside and listening.
“Fan out,” a man’s voice said. He sounded older, but definitely in charge. It wasn’t the deep tone of Fletcher’s voice from before. This one was different, breathier and light, almost nasal.
“Roger that. Team One, with me,” another man said, his voice set in a thick mire of gravel.
She saw something out of the corner of her eye after the movement outside changed the lighting in the room. There was an object she hadn’t noticed before. It was attached to the rear of the counter, hanging in the murky light by a clasp. Maybe two inches in size. Reflective.
Summer didn’t know it was there, probably because she’d always avoided this area behind the counter where Avery took his last breath. She snatched the object and held it in a streak of light.
It was an intricate piece of stained glass. Pink mostly. A pretty tulip design, with a unique inlay near the base where it curved into the stem. The inlay’s shape matched the symbol on the end of her Infinity Chain. June’s symbol. A sideways number eight.
Did she make this?
Regardless of whose handiwork it was, Summer couldn’t believe this delicate keepsake had survived all the damage to the room. The odds had to be astronomical.
Perhaps it was like Edison said, things work out how they are supposed to, even if it takes a while to understand why.
Right then, she knew she had to keep it.
Out came the bubble wrap again, and so did its contents. The stained glass was much more delicate than the frame inside, needing special protection. She unwrapped the frame and replaced it with the stained glass, its smaller size allowing her to triple wrap it.
Summer opened the metal box from her pack and removed the forty or so crayons she’d found and put the fragile trinket inside, compressing the bubble wrap in order to work the lid closed. Both the frame and the bubble wrap went back into her pack and so did the loose crayons, then she zipped it up and slipped the straps over her shoulders.
She couldn’t believe her luck today—what a haul. Everything she needed and then some. Plus, an unexpected nap, some delicious peaches, and a quick read of something new.
A grin crossed her lips when she realized that life after The Event wasn’t all doom, boom, and gloom. It had its moments, like now. Simple pleasures. If only this place had a working bathtub and hot water, she’d never leave.
Unfortunately, Summer had to get back to the insanity of the silo. Sure, that concrete prison kept her out of the cold, but it certainly wasn’t home. Not her idea of it, anyway. There was no privacy, no quiet, no place to read, and certainly no place where she could ever fire up the candle and enjoy its aroma. Everyone would smell it, then they’d swarm to take it.
She took one more whiff of air, wanting to remember the watermelon scent. It might be a couple of weeks before she could make it back here, depending on the weather and the Seeker assignments.
“Goodbyes suck,” she muttered, letting her eyes scan the room. Who knew she could get so attached to a place? A rundown place with crap everywhere. Her little slice of heaven.
Summer put her hoodie on and made sure her clothes were ready for the temperatures outside. She pushed the rear door open and began to squeeze through the opening. First her shoulder, then her torso went through. However, her backpack was fatter than before, getting caught on the edge of the door frame. It took a second try, but she was able to work it free and finish her exit.
Once the door was pushed shut, she slid alongside and stepped out from behind the delivery truck. That’s when she saw them. Rifles and pistols, all pointed at her face.
“Hold it right there, missy,” a man’s voice said as the ratcheting clatter of charging bolts forcing rounds into their respective chambers landed on her ears.
“See Slayer, I told you I smelled watermelon. Must have been this chick,” another man said, his index finger moving in and out of the trigger guard. “They all love their scents. It’s like a religion with them.”
“Hello, Summer. We meet again,” Slayer said, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, just like he’d done earlier. “Only this time, Fletcher’s not here to save your sweet little ass.”
Summer didn’t hesitate, climbing onto the hood of the bread truck, then up the windshield and onto its towering cab. She took a running leap toward the roofline of the store and grabbed the fascia wall, pulling herself up and over in a heartbeat.
Summer spun around, then leaned over the wall and looked down at Slayer and his men. They stood there with their mouths agape and rifles flat against their chests.
She brought both hands up and flipped them a pair of birds. “Suckers!”
Slayer waved a hand signal at some of his men. They broke into action, their boots hitting the metal bumper of the delivery truck, then its hood.
Summer turned and took off, wondering if any of the brutes could make the leap she had just made, then manage to pull their heft over the fascia wall. Probably not many, she decided as she raced across the flat roof and down the exterior pipe that led to the ground.
Sometimes it pays to be small and wiry.
And hyper-motivated.
CHAPTER 7
Security Chief Krista Carr stood behind the podium, shuffling through her notes as she prepared her opening statement for her meeting with The Council. She’d rarely been on this side of the process, taking a moment to admire the symmetry of the circular Committee Room.