He had to tell Devin about what he’d seen in the hospital. Back in Austin, keeping secrets had ruined Devin’s trust, and Joe had promised he’d never do it again. He wanted to tell Devin, even. Needed the support Devin could provide. Three days had gone by, though, and he hadn’t said a word. Flix hadn’t either, even though Joe hadn’t put any limits on what he could tell the others.
Devin put a hand on Joe’s elbow. His vision had improved steadily over the past few days, so he didn’t need to be guided anymore. Joe missed the constant contact.
“We need to take a food break.” Devin’s voice was garbled by the t-shirt he’d fastened over his nose and mouth to keep out the dust. He gestured at the kids walking a few steps in front of them.
Flix and Marcus pulled Peter along. The poor boy’s toes dragged the ground as Marcus and Flix stumbled and swerved with the effort to keep him upright. After the fire, he’d been able to keep up for a couple of days of walking, but today he hadn’t stood a chance. His hair dripped with sweat despite the cooler air. His arms and legs slipped around like wet noodles.
Joe stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistled. The noise cut through his own makeshift mask. The younger boys jerked and stopped. He caught up with them, nudged Flix aside, and wedged his shoulder under Peter’s arm. He hooked his hand around Peter’s waist and started forward again. “I think I see the outline of a building ahead. We’ll see if it’s empty and take a break.”
Peter sagged into Joe and murmured, “Thank you.” His head lolled around. “I can’t do this.”
Joe grunted. Peter was heavier than he looked. Joe hitched his hand lower, onto Peter’s hip, and held tighter. “You’re doing fine. You’ll feel better after you rest and eat.”
The building turned out to be a large, faded red barn. The roof had fallen in on one corner, but the rest of the building seemed stable. Joe pried open the wide door and peeked inside. Vast and empty, with a dirt floor, the place smelled like shit and mold. Joe didn’t care. Despite the hole in the roof, the air was still and free of dust. He pulled Peter inside, dropped him out of the way, and inspected the support beams to be as sure as he could that the barn wasn’t about to collapse around them.
Devin stood next to him, though Joe hadn’t even heard him approach. “I gave the little shits some food. We don’t have much left.”
“I know.”
They’d found water each of the last two nights, first at a farmhouse with a well, then again in a dilapidated school. But food... Joe checked every place they stopped. He hadn’t found anything. Back in Austin, before Devin came along, Joe had spent years storing away enough food to make this journey alone. When his plans changed, he’d been sure he could stretch his supplies to feed Devin, too. The kids, though? He didn’t have enough for five people.
Devin lowered his voice. “What’re we gonna do?”
“What can we do? Keep trying to find more.”
“We told them they’d have to fend for themselves.”
Joe felt a hundred years old. Devin was right, of course, but neither of them would let the twins and Peter starve. Joe leaned forward and pretended to study the cracks in the board in front of them.
“We’ll find food,” Devin said. “We will. Until then, what if you and I took meals in turns? Only one of us eats per meal.”
“We’ll have to be careful so the boys don’t notice.” Joe turned to face Devin, whose eyes focused on him for the first time since the dazzler left him blind. “Maybe we should split things so we’ll be eating at every meal, only half as much.”
Devin cupped Joe’s cheek. So tender, even when his hands were caked with grit.
Joe tilted his head toward the touch and closed his eyes. The words sat on the tip of his tongue, the overwhelming need to tell Devin about the encounter in the hospital, when one of the boys yelped.
Joe jogged toward the boys, Devin at his heels, and found Flix halfway undressed and Peter rolling on the ground.
Marcus, arms crossed, leaned against the wall and smirked. “Morons sat in ants.”
Joe groaned.
Devin took a huge step back. “Fire ants? Vicious motherfuckers. I’m allergic.”
“Everyone’s allergic,” Joe said. “Marcus, help your brother.” He bent and yanked Peter out of the dirt. Ants crawled all over him, thick enough to turn his arms red. “Get your clothes off.”
Fire ants had earned their name. Small and red, they bit and stung and left behind a patchwork of little blisters and hot, swollen welts. Like a thick carpet, they swarmed over the barn floor, still pouring out of the flattened mound. Joe slapped one off his arm and dodged Peter’s shirt, which flew through the air. Peter tripped when he pulled his pants off, and he cried out when he fell, though Joe wasn’t sure whether the fall or the ants were responsible for Peter’s distress. As soon as Peter was on his feet, Joe tugged him to a relatively ant-free area and swiped over and over at Peter’s back and legs, brushing off the ants. More moved in, and some clung to Joe’s hands, biting and stinging, the immediate pain sharp before blurring to a dull throb.
Peter sobbed, shoving frantically at his skin, flinging ants in all directions. His wide green eyes, full of horror, flitted from his own body to Joe’s face. His mouth hung open, practically inviting ants down his throat.
“Close your mouth,” Joe snapped more harshly than he’d meant to. He smacked at Peter’s face and worked his way down, all around Peter’s neck, his shoulders, and over the half-healed surgical incision on his shoulder blade — probably the place where his New American citizenship chip had been dug out
