Which meant he needed to bring Trina into the picture before another ten minutes ticked off the clock. He hurriedly got dressed and went out to look for her.
He found her up by the stream, in one of the quiet places she went to read some of the books they’d salvaged from an old library they’d come across in their travels. That girl loved to read like no one else, and she was making up for the months they spent literally running for their lives, when books were few and far between. The digital kind were all long gone, as far as Mark could guess—wiped away when the computers and servers all fried. Trina read the old-school paper kind.
The walk toward her had been as sobering as usual, each step weakening his resolve to have a good day. Looking at the pitiful network of tree houses and huts and underground burrows that made up the thriving metropolis in which they lived—all logs and twine and dried mud, everything leaning to the left or the right—did the trick. He couldn’t stroll through the crowded alleys and paths of their settlement without it reminding him of the good days living in the big city, when life had been rich and full of promise, everything in the world within easy reach, ready for the taking. And he hadn’t even realized it.
He passed hordes of scrawny, dirty people who seemed on the edge of death. He didn’t pity them so much as he hated knowing that he looked just like them. They had enough food—scavenged from the ruins, hunted in the woods, brought up from Asheville sometimes—but rationing was the name of the game, and everyone looked like they were one meal a day short. And you didn’t live in the woods without getting a smear of dirt here and there, no matter how often you bathed up in the stream.
The sky was blue with a hint of that burnt orange that had haunted the atmosphere since the devastating sun flares had struck without much warning. Over a year ago and yet it still hung up there like a hazy curtain meant to remind them forever. Who knew if things would ever get back to normal. The coolness Mark had felt upon waking up seemed like a joke now—he was already sweating from the steadily rising temperature as the brutal sun rimmed the sparse tree line of the mountain peaks above.
It wasn’t all bad news. As he left the warrens of their camps and entered the woods, there were many promising signs. New trees growing, old trees recovering, squirrels dashing through the blackened pine needles, green sprouts and buds all around. He even saw something that looked like an orange flower in the distance. He was half tempted to go pick it for Trina, but he knew she’d scold him within an inch of his life if he dared impede the progress of the forest. Maybe his day would be good after all. They’d survived the worst natural disaster in known human history—maybe the corner had been turned.
He was breathing heavily from the effort of the hike up the mountain face when he reached the spot where Trina loved to go for escape. Especially in the mornings, when the odds of finding someone else up there were slim. He stopped and looked at her from behind a tree, knowing she’d heard him approach but glad she was pretending she hadn’t.
Man, she was pretty. Leaning back against a huge granite boulder that seemed as if it had been placed there by a decorating giant, she held a thick book in her lap. She turned a page, her green eyes following the words. She was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, sneakers that looked a hundred years old. Her short blond hair shifted in the wind, and she appeared the very definition of peace and comfort. Like she belonged in the world that had existed before everything was scorched.
Mark had always felt like she was his as a simple matter of the situation. Pretty much everyone else she’d ever known had died; he was a scrap left over for her to take, the alternative to being forever alone. But he gladly played his part, even considered himself lucky—he didn’t know what he’d do without her.
“This book would be so much better if I didn’t have some creepy guy stalking me while I tried to read it.” Trina spoke without the slightest hint of a smile. She flipped another page and continued to read.
“It’s just me,” he said. Half of what he said around her still came out sounding dumb. He stepped from behind the tree.
She laughed and finally looked up at him. “It’s about time you got here! I was just about ready to start talking to myself—I’ve been reading since before dawn.”
He walked over and plopped down on the ground beside her. They hugged, tight and warm and full of the promise he’d made upon waking up.
He pulled back and looked at her, not caring about the goofy grin that was most likely plastered across his face. “You know what?”
“What?” she asked.
“Today is going to be a perfect, perfect day.”
Trina smiled and the waters of the stream continued to rush by, as if his words meant nothing.
CHAPTER 2
“I haven’t had a perfect day since I turned sixteen,” Trina said as she thumbed down the corner of her page and placed the book by her side. “Three days later and you and I were running for our lives through a tunnel that was hotter than the sun.”
“Good times,” Mark mused as he got more comfortable. He leaned up against the same boulder, crossed his legs in front of him. “Good times.”
Trina gave him a sideways glance. “My birthday party or the sun flares?”
“Neither. You liked that idiot John Stidham at your party. Remember?”
A guilty look flashed across her face. “Um, yeah. Seems like that was about three thousand years ago.”
“It took half the world being wiped out for you to finally notice me.” Mark smiled, but it felt empty. The truth was kind of depressing—even to joke about—and a dark cloud was forming over his head. “Let’s change the subject.”