FERN

On the first of our last days, I treated wounds and waited for the sun to set. Then, on the first night, Tex came to me. Again, on the second night, and the third, he returned as if he'd never left, and light became inconsequential. I wanted the dark. I spent all day waiting for it, tracking the sun's position, counting down the seconds until he'd finally be mine.

But he was never mine. I was his, over and over again, while he remained fully clothed, batting away my attempts. Each time I'd try to take control, he'd distract me with his hands, his mouth, until I relaxed into a submissive pile of this-is-what-heaven-feels-like. It was nice—more than nice—but I wanted to touch him. I wanted to memorize his angles the way he had my curves. I wanted to find out if it went both ways. Could I conjure the same reactions from him? Would he feel this euphoric divinity?

Thoughts like that made the waiting longer, and I did my best to stay occupied. When I ran out of wounds to mend, I started teaching the children how to tie knots, safely use a knife, and identify what little plants we had left.

But then I'd catch a glimpse of him and spend an hour wondering. When? Tonight? And my skin would tingle, and I'd need to take a walk to cool my cheeks.

But the fourth night came, and the fifth, and he didn't bend. Like a vampire, swooping in to drain me dry then disappearing as I slumbered. He was more focused than ever on war. I didn't know where we were, how long we had, and there was no time set aside for me to ask him questions. Hushed conversations kept heavy guard over answers, and I couldn't help but feel like I was being purposely shut out. Separated like some guilty pleasure tucked beneath the mattress, only pulled out after everyone else had gone to sleep.

But on the sixth day, Tex woke me with a kiss much tamer than the ones I received at night. "We dropped anchor."

My eyes flew open, and I shot upright. It couldn't be time. Not yet.

Tex twisted toward the nightstand then returned with a granola bar. A dull yellow light bloomed from a lantern I'd never seen before, and it felt like a sign. That this beautiful darkness was ending, and the only darkness to come would be empty. I waited, praying he'd tell me it wasn't true. That they were doing a raid, or he'd changed his mind. But he didn't say a word, and my heart was already broken. "Are we—"

"Not yet." Tex gave my fingers a soft squeeze, then flipped my hand, and pressed the food into my palm. He hesitated, staring at it as he continued, "But we're close. Tomorrow night."

Tonight would be our last. Tomorrow night we'd run into fire, burn to ash, be carried off on a freezing wind, and the world would continue to fall without us. "I don't want to." I dropped the granola bar and climbed onto my knees, straddled his lap, gripped the collar of his jacket. "Tex, I don't want to. We don't have to do it. We can just—"

He kissed me, swallowing my plea into himself, where it could be buried beneath his carefully made plans. His mouth moved to my jaw as he pulled me into a crushing hug that felt far too much like goodbye. "There was a time when I would have agreed." He shook his head. "But things are different now. I'm different." He nuzzled my neck, parted lips dragging across my skin. His voice roughened. "You see, I met this girl who might have been a witch, and she taught me her spells and told me her wisdom." He pulled back, locked me in with eyes that reflected my anguish. "I can't turn back now, not after what she told me."

"What did she say?" I rasped. I'd take it back. I'd take it all back. Didn't he understand? I taught him survival. He taught me life. I wanted to live, and we wouldn't survive.

"It's our job as good people to help."

My lungs collapsed as years' worth of sobs fought to burst free at once. Those words. Daddy's words. They haunted me, even now, even here, because they were true, and it wasn't fair. "Did I ever tell you where I heard that?" The question came out harsh. "From Daddy. He taught me that, and then he died. And John died. And Mama died. And all those people hiding in the barn, they still died. And all of it was pointless, Tex. This feels pointless." I pressed my nose to his chest, breathing in the leather, cigar, and Earth as if it were the last time I'd smell it. "We could have a long life. We could find a way to evade them. We could bring everyone with us, and the kids could grow up normal, and—"

"And the people in Savannah? What about them? What if there are kids in there? Or girls just like you, who didn't get away, who won't get a chance to live. They'll just rot. That's all that happens there, Darlin'. People rot." He took my shoulders and forced me to look at him. "They're real. They're in there, probably going through more hell than you or I could ever imagine." His hold was gentle, but his tone was firm. "Tell me we should leave them, and we will."

* * *

Tex treated the day as if it were our last, and we both knew that it likely was. We left the ship and ventured alone into the woods, revisiting the days where it all began. Tex didn't need my help identifying plants. He gathered as we went, putting them into the basket I had hung over my arm. The air smelled like snow, thick with moisture and biting, and I was surprised at how much he found. Maybe Mother Nature knew where we were headed. Maybe she knew this was the last time we'd visit and wanted to send us off with gifts of yarrow, snakeroot, wild carrots, and parsnips.

It was rare, and a little sad, because I believed that theory. I believed in that connection. I believed there was an unspoken law that humanity had forgotten. As the bounty grew, I said my own goodbye, running my fingers over the bark of the trees, touching the leaves still clinging to youth. I stared up through the branches, finding the spots where the sun could brush my face.

"I found some sunchokes," Tex called like a fisherman reeling in a prized catch. They were his favorite because they reminded him of potatoes. He dropped to his knees and began digging.

I scanned the ground, looking for more, then paused at misshapen impressions in the mud. I set the basket down and slid my bow from my shoulder. It was hard to tell what had made them. I followed the path and found a game trail, and just a few steps up the trail, I found deer droppings. One pile after another. It had to be a popular place to feed, which made sense given the amount of food we'd managed to find. Broken twigs and trampled brush spelled out the words big game in bold letters that filled my eyes like dollar signs.

My heart thudded, banging my ribs, splitting my ears, harder than it had when I'd been my most desperate for food. Because this was his steak, and it was the last chance I'd ever have to get it for him.

I didn't call for Tex, too afraid that the sound would scare it off. The droppings were shiny and wet, steaming against the frigid air. It was close. I could smell it. I eased up the trail, arrow ready, arms poised.

I froze.

It stood, grazing between the trees, and for the longest moment, I just stared. I'd found a myth. A ten-point buck, in November, as still as brushstrokes of velvet brown and snow white on a woodland painting. Sacrificially unaware of my presence.

I sucked in a slow breath, drew back the bowstring. It lifted its head and looked at me just before my arrow pierced its heart. It collapsed. A perfect shot.

"Darlin'?" Tex called from some distant spot behind me.

"I'm over here." My voice didn't lift. I was too in awe. I'd never made a kill so easy. I'd never bagged a deer so impressive. It was a gift. All of them were gifts, and my vision swam. My legs buckled. I gripped the nearest tree, leaned my cheek against it, whispering thanks beneath my breath. It wasn't so much the deer, or the plants, or the unbelievable luck, but the fact that she had given it. I was worthy. I'd found balance, and the connection I'd been building since childhood snapped into place, locking together like pieces of a puzzle that could never be taken apart.

Boot steps crunched the leaves, growing louder as Tex approached, and the stillness broke when he saw what I'd done. He crowed loud enough to scare the birds from their branches, and the next thing I knew, I was flying too. He gathered me into his arms, swung me in a circle, then set me down and raced forward to get a better look. "You got me steak!" he boomed.

I smiled, then laughed, then sobbed and laughed some more. "I got you steak."

He looked at me then, and whatever he saw made him leave the deer and rush back. "Hey..." He pushed my hair back, swiped my cheeks with his thumbs, removing the tears as if they'd poison my skin. "Don't cry."

I sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry. I just—I really wanted to get you the steak, before..." I couldn't finish, but he didn't need me to. We both knew what I hadn't said. We both knew how much more it meant.

He kissed the top of my head. "Teach me how to clean it? Let's cook it. The whole damn thing. And all this other stuff too. We'll make a feast, and by the time the night is over, you'll be Queen of the ship." He grinned, and it was obvious he wanted to change the subject. It was just us. Just now, and we didn't need to spend what little time we had thinking about tomorrow.

I forced a smile. "Help me carry it."