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Claire

T he last few weeks of January passed by in a blur of activity.

Summerhurst’s revival began to take shape.

John and Kimmy successfully repaired the irrigation system and the truck.

We finished planting in the greenhouse, and we got the distillery up and running again so that it’d be ready for spring.

John started hunting and trapping again to supplement our food supply, and Kimmy and I got up early every morning to feed and care for the animals together.

John busied himself working on the tractor, which needed major repairs to be ready for the spring.

Restoring the truck meant that I had my first car ride in over a year—and the only car ride in which a person was driving. The compound only had self-driving vehicles, which were a public utility that anyone could use.

“I promise not to leave us in a ditch,” John said with a playful grin as he palmed the steering wheel to make a U-turn.

I was nervous at first, but the truck was clearly built for offroad driving, and he quickly put me at ease.

He navigated Summerhurst effortlessly, the way he did most things, and just like when I first saw him ride Ghost, watching him drive was strangely sexy.

His strong hands on the wheel made me picture all the times they’d been on my naked body, and I had to distract myself by gazing out the window.

Spending mornings one-on-one with Kimmy made the work go by quickly.

Her easy sense of humour and friendly nature reminded me of why she’d become one of my best friends.

We laughed together and chatted easily as we worked, and I looked forward to it every day.

Unfortunately, however, one of our most frequent topics of conversation was Kimmy’s frustrations with Asha, who remained, if anything, more distant than ever.

After she’d left on her first scav mission, she hadn’t looked back and was gone for days at a time.

“I hate that she goes off on her own,” Kimmy complained one morning as we were collecting eggs from the chicken coop. “It’s against the rules. We scav in pairs for a reason.”

I sighed. “Why do they let her, then?”

Kimmy hesitated. “Because she’s an outsider, and they don’t want to go with her. They don’t trust her.”

“But they’re still willing to take anything she brings back,” I noted, unable to keep a note of bitterness out of my tone.

“Yeah, it’s fucked; I know. Worse, she’s good at it, even on her own. All the more reason she shouldn’t do it, but apparently being here with us—with me—is so fucking unbearable that she just has to escape.”

“I don’t think it’s that, Kim,” I replied, touching her arm. “She cares for you. She just doesn’t know how to do that the right way anymore. I’d bet anything that she’s realizing that now, and her response is to run away. It’s easier than admitting that she cares about staying here and fitting in.”

We fed the hens, then began the walk back to the farmhouse with our basket of eggs.

“I should talk to her about it,” she said, resigned. “She’s just…super sensitive about it, and sometimes will pull away even more if I come across too confrontational.”

“All you can do is your best. If she needs space to figure out what her place is here, then it’s okay to give it to her. But you don’t have to wait around for her, either. ”

Kimmy sighed. “I guess. I’m glad to be going back to work soon. I need the distraction.”

A few days after that, Kimmy went back to the clinic to treat patients, while John was to begin his new outrider duties, which mostly involved patrolling and responding to complaints and emergencies.

He also briefed Danny about the Order, detailing our experiences with them, and I drew a sketch of their masks for reference.

“I doubt we’ll have problems with them this far away,” John said as I handed Danny the sketch. “But they’re a real threat, and they seem hungry for power, so…you never know, I guess.”

Danny nodded thoughtfully. “Best to keep our eyes open, in any case.”

The morning after that, I went with John to the small outrider office in the Lodge that they used as a central command center. The outriders on patrol communicated by radio with Danny, who, as Chief, was usually the one manning the desk.

They held a small oath-taking ceremony in the office, where John pledged to follow and enforce council law, guard their borders, render aid when needed, and to protect the Valley and everyone in it to the best of his abilities.

He gave me a pointed look when he said the last part, and I smiled.

John wasn’t one to express pride in himself, but he was practically glowing. His happiness was infectious.

“Congrats, man,” Danny said, shaking John’s hand. “You’re finally in. Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. Your initiation just started.”

John grinned. “Got it.”

Danny handed him his new handheld radio, then sent us on our way. John would have his first patrol shift the next day.

“Command to Ghost,” the radio buzzed as we walked out to the truck. “Do you copy?”

As if he’d been doing it his whole life, John lifted the radio to his lips and replied, “Ghost to command. I copy.”

“Good,” came Danny’s reply. “No escape now, rookie. You’re stuck with us.”

I chuckled, then asked, “Why does he call you Ghost?”

“Precaution,” John replied, caging me against the truck door with his arms. “It’s unlikely anyone could hear the calls outside the Valley—the mountains block out everything—but just in case, we use our horses’ names.”

Happiness lit up his handsome features, and I couldn’t help touching his cheek. The roughness of his stubble under my palm contrasted the tender look he gave me.

“Look at you, achieving your dreams,” I said, touching his cheek. “We should celebrate you tonight.”

He grinned and turned his head to kiss my wrist. “I know what kind of celebration I’d like. It involves a certain someone getting naked and waiting for me, bent over the bed.”

“Well, I hope that someone is me, or else I have a lot of questions.”

He laughed and kissed me. “Luckily, it is you. The first few months of duty tend to be rough, from what I’ve heard, so I have to give you a night to remember. Something to keep you warm on those nights I’m on patrol.”

John wasn’t wrong; his new schedule was brutal.

New recruits had to take the overnight shifts that nobody wanted as a kind of initiation, plus they had to work more hours than the more senior outriders.

Suddenly, he was gone almost every night and slept during the days, which meant that I saw him less and less as we headed into February.

I was proud, but I missed him, especially as I was trying to find my place here.

Any free time we did have together, however, he took me on horseback rides, showing me more of the Valley and teaching me how to ride.

It was always my favourite part of any given day—pressed against John’s warm, hard body on Ghost’s back, learning the many things he simply knew, as if by instinct.

I still hadn’t chosen a community job, and no one seemed in a hurry to give me one. The idea of teaching was still there, hovering in the back of my mind, but I hesitated. I’d broached the subject with Asha again one evening, when John was patrolling, and Kimmy had gone to visit Isla.

“It might make our case stronger if we offer together,” I said as we sat together at the kitchen table. “And Jenna is eager to learn. It’d be good for her to see different teaching styles, and you have a better grasp on teaching science and math than I do.”

Asha was quiet. This was the first night she’d been home in several days. She always had a restlessness about her now, as if staying in one place was unbearable. I wondered if the trip here had conditioned her to always want to be on the move.

“I don’t want to be a teacher,” she finally said after several minutes. “I never loved it like you did, and I don’t want to deal with the Wastelanders here more than I have to.”

I frowned. “Including Kimmy? Because it sounds like you’ve been ghosting her a lot lately.”

Her mouth thinned into a hard line.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Isn’t it?” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “She’s my future sister-in-law, and she deserves better than to be strung along. She cares about you, but if you’re not into her, why not just tell her? Save her the pain of worrying about you all the time.”

“Butt the hell out, Claire,” Asha shot back, her hands clenching into fists on the tabletop. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Not everyone can moon over mediocre men and suck Wastelander dick every five minutes like you can. Some of us have self-respect.”

The words hit like a blow, and I stood up abruptly from the table. I took a deep breath, trying to remember that Asha tended to lash out when she felt attacked. It’s not personal , I told myself.

“I’m trying to help you,” I said, and I hated the tremor in my voice.

She shrugged. “So am I. How do you think the people here are gonna react when they realize your uterus is useless to them? That’s what they want, by the way.

They need to keep their population up, and there’s no way to do it anymore without new blood.

If they let you stay after six months, it’ll be because they think you’re going to pop out a few babies for Farmer Boy. ”

“It’s not up to them,” I replied, but I didn’t sound certain even to my ears.

“Have you even talked to him about it?” Asha asked, raising an eyebrow. “Surely, he knows that you’ll never be able to give him kids. That kind of thing creates resentment over time.”

Truthfully, with everything that’d been going on lately, my fertility was the last thing on my mind. Asha was right, however. My implant effectively made me unable to get pregnant, and only the Cave leaders—whoever they’d been—knew how to deactivate it.