Once An Eve Novel Read Free

see two dark shapes, one smaller than the other, moving between the burned cars. After a moment, Isis set down the binoculars. “There’s a dog with him,” she said. “A Rottweiler.”
    Maeve took the binoculars. “Keep your aim, and if there’s any aggression, don’t hesitate to shoot.” The two figures moved closer. The man was hunched over, his black shirt camouflaging him against the charred pavement.
    “He isn’t wearing a uniform.” Quinn eased her grip on her gun.
    Maeve kept the binoculars to her face. “That doesn’t mean anything. We’ve seen them out of uniform before.” I studied the figure, looking for any resemblance to Caleb.
    When he was less than two hundred yards away he stopped to rest beside a car. He squinted at the hillside, searching for signs of life. We crouched further down behind the ledge, but the man didn’t look away. “He sees us,” Harriet hissed, her cheek pressed against the stone. The man reached into his knapsack and pulled something out.
    “Is it a weapon?” Isis asked.
    “I can’t tell,” Maeve replied. Isis moved her finger, resting it lightly on the trigger.
    The man stalked forward, a new resolve in him, and Quinn aimed her gun. “Stop!” she yelled out to him, keeping low so he couldn’t see her behind the ledge. “Do not go any further!” But the man was running now. The dog was right beside him, its thick black body heaving with the effort.
    Maeve inched forward, whispering in Quinn’s ear. “Don’t let him get off the bridge. No matter what.”
    Her eyes betrayed no feeling. The day I came across the bridge with Caleb, we were unbearably tired, the past weeks weighing us down, making every step difficult. His pant leg was soaked through with blood, the fabric stiff and wrinkled where it had dried. Maeve had stood at the entrance to Califia, an arrow aimed at my chest, the same hard expression on her face. No matter what threat this man posed, at that instant he was only guilty of trespassing—nothing more. I took the binoculars from Maeve’s hands.
    The man was quickly approaching the end of the bridge. “Do not go any further!” Quinn yelled again. “Stop!” I steadied the binoculars, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Then, for only an instant, he looked up. His face was like a corpse’s, with sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks. His lips were gray and chapped from days without water, and his hair was cropped close to the skull. But I felt the pull of recognition.
    I looked at Quinn’s gun, and then at the figure racing toward the end of the bridge, moving steadily around overturned cars and piles of charred debris. “Don’t shoot!” I yelled.
    I started down the hill, the thick brush scratching my legs. I ignored Maeve’s shouts behind me. Instead, I tucked the rifle under my arm, my eyes on the figure as I moved closer. “Arden,” I whispered, my throat choked. She had stopped, one arm resting on the hood of a truck, her back hunched from the effort of breathing. She looked at me and smiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re here.”
    The dog lunged at me but Arden held it back, whispering something in its ear to calm it. I ran toward them, not stopping until we were together. I wrapped my arms around her frail body, enveloping her. Her head was shaved, she was twenty pounds lighter, and her shoulder was bleeding—but she was alive.
    “You made it,” I said, squeezing her tighter.
    “Yes,” she managed, her tears soaking my shirt. “I made it.”

three
     
    THAT EVENING, I TOOK ARDEN TO MAEVE’S HOUSE. THE narrow two-story home was connected to six more, the whole row of them nestled into the side of the hill. Residences in Califia were easier to conceal if they were spread out, so of the six, hers was the only one that was occupied. The walls were patched in places, the floors a mosaic of mismatched tiles. Arden and I were in the small bedroom upstairs, our skin rosy in the lantern light. Maeve slept in the next room,