The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed
Page 72
“I’ve had the same thought. Some company would be nice. Like I told you, I haven’t been there in years, though I have someone check on it. I can’t say it’ll be livable since he hadn’t made it over after the snow this winter, but it’s usually in pretty good shape.” His laugh lines deepen a tad. “Wait, am I invited?”
His smile says he’s teasing, and I laugh with relief. “Of course I meant with you, bestie. We’d help fix whatever needs fixing.”
“How could I refuse that? I’ll come by your hall later and we’ll figure it out.” He lowers his brows. “You have food? I thought you turned it all over to us.”
I give him my best hangdog expression. “Yeah, about that… We don’t have a ton, but it’s enough that we won’t starve to death immediately.”
“It’ll be our secret. I’m going to get some breakfast. Did you eat?”
“I did. I’d join you anyway, but I have someplace I need to be. Thank you. For everything.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” Barry winks as we part company, and I turn when he calls my name a moment later. “We may need that plan. I hope not, but we may.”
The way he stands so somber in the sunlight, all traces of humor gone, makes my head fuzzy and my legs unsteady. I nod and push out the doors, mind racing. We’ll also need food and water and weapons. We’ll need to carve out an existence in a world that wants us dead in countless ways, and we’ll have to anticipate them all. Head them off at the pass.
Panic flaps in my chest like a caged wild bird. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun. It’s perfectly warm and dry, the kind of spring day that promises summer is coming. My mother, an Oregon native, said the beautiful Oregon summers were payoff for gray winters. We moved out here in fall, in time to start the school year, and Mom died the following spring before she got that payoff. Pancreatic cancer came on fast, and it seemed no sooner did she complain of a stomachache than she was in a rented hospital bed in the living room, filled to the gills with morphine and drawing her final breath.
Maybe that was when I realized how many things there were to worry about, if cancer could swoop in and knock what seemed a healthy, vibrant woman to her knees in mere months. I’d always been somewhat fretful, but now I had to be vigilant. To try to see the bad thing coming because I wouldn’t—couldn’t—be blindsided like that again. If I saw it coming, I could stop it, or at least be prepared. It doesn’t work that way most of the time, I’ve learned that much over the years, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.
All the fears I’ve wrestled with pale in comparison to what I face now. We’re stuck between worlds—the old world is gone, and there’s no guarantee of making it to the next one. Building the next one. I can see what’s coming, but I can do nothing to stop it. I’m not prepared. That doesn’t mean I can’t get there, though. I started the other day, and I won’t stop until I’m sinewy and dangerous and able to kick ass.
I walk across the lot to the museum, then slip in the door. Soft music greets me, the gentle twang of a guitar and a low, melodic voice. I can’t make out the words, but the tone is lovely, and I know from whom Clara inherited her singing talent.
When I enter the open space, Tom looks up from where he sits, his fingers stilling the strings. He sets down the guitar, and his smile makes my next breath a struggle in a different way—a not entirely unpleasant way. “Ready, Red?” he asks.
I fill my lungs, as much with courage as with oxygen. “Ready.”
Thanks for reading!
Stay tuned for World Between
Book two of The Cascadia Series, coming in 2021
Read the two series that started it all:
Until of the End of the World
The City Series
Visit www.SarahLyonsFleming.com
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Sarah Lyons Fleming is the author of the Until the End of the World series and The City Series.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, she now lives in Oregon with her family and, in her opinion, not nearly enough supplies for the zombie apocalypse. But she’s working on it.
Acknowledgments
I have a ton of people to thank—even more than usual. Maybe because this is a long-ass book.
As always, my parents and my mother by marriage. You’re all awesome. Thank you for reading my stuff multiple times. I’m a lucky gal to have folks like you.
My beta readers. I had a ton this time around, though I’d like to give a special shout-out to Lindsey Pogue, Denise Kawaii, and Beth Hegy, who answer my crazy questions and deal with my how-much-do-I-suck? writer insanity with basically every book. You’re fucking awesome. I owe you all a drink or three.
More betas who went—or always go—above and beyond:
Cheree Castellanos (Who was busy editing her butt off and still took the time to read.)
Bethany Fayard (Who was willing to discuss the story until I’m sure she wanted to hit me over the head with a brick. Bethany, I’ll try not to kill the lesbians—but no promises.)
Jessica Gudmundson (Who always drops her crocheting to read my stuff.)
Danielle Gustafson (An oldie but a goodie. Thanks for sticking with me, lady!)
Michele Miller Heeder (Superfan and Best. Cheerleader. Ever.)
Jennifer Knight (This lady is honest, and it’s awesome.)
Julie Schultz (Who answered question after question and even re-read.)
Shelley Veelo (Who gave super detailed, incredibly awesome notes.)
And a giant thanks to more beta readers:
Stephanie Bartee, Lindsey Fairleigh, Nikki “Fucking” Francone, Candice Rideout, Terri Seminuk, Gabrielle Villarrubia, Julia Vowles, Ryan Winne, and Deb Zeman.
The fact that you’re all so excited to get a book from me means more than I can say.
So many thanks to my volunteer proofreaders:
Jen Anderson, Stephanie Bartee, Michele Miller Heeder, Jes Gates, Ashley Hermann, Lisa Mastandrea, Diana L. Paty, Julie Schultz, Tanya Veverka, and Sharla Vignone.
Let’s hope we caught all those sneaky typos!
And a big kiss to Will Fleming, husband and editor. Awesome at both jobs. I say it every time, but he makes the books better—and they gots better grammar now, too.