Flicker by Anya Monroe Read Free Book Online Page B

limbs to keep roadways clear. No one’s done that for sixteen years.
    “We’re going to follow this street for the rest of the day. We’ll sleep in the tent. Tomorrow we’ll make our way to the city; our compound was built thirty miles outside of the nearest one. It’ll take us about two days.” Her eyes are fixed on something I can’t see, something unsaid.
    “Okay, and then what?”
    “Then we find someone who can help us get where we need to go.”
    The rest of the day is long and exhausting. At one point I tug on Mom’s sleeve in wonder as two small deer stop and stare at us. I’d seen these animals before, as they walked around our property, but for the first time in my life, there is no protective gear barring me from them. Beyond that nothing transpires besides my growing head and side aches from walking; Mom says it’s from all the apples. We pitch our tent under the canopy of a cedar tree and once we’ve unrolled the sleeping bags, all I want to do is curl up in a ball.
    “Are you hungry? You should eat something, you look terrible.” Mom digs around her pack and miraculously produces two granola bars. “Which kind do you want? Oatmeal Raisin or White Chocolate Macadamia?” She smiles as she dangles them in front of me.
    “Where did you get these?” I ask, shocked at the contraband.
    “My secret stash. I thought we might need them someday. I was right.”
    “These would have kept us alive another meal,” I point out, annoyed at her hoarding.
    “Offering six granola bars to the group wasn’t going to change anything. They had made up their minds. I took the bars knowing I wasn’t going to let their choices determine what would happen to you.”
    I snatch the oatmeal bar from her hand, not wanting her logic or her reason. Thinking about everyone laying back under the apple tree ties my stomach in knots. I burrow myself into the sleeping bag, turning from her, and eat the bar she has given.
    “I’m sorry, Lucy.”
    As I chew the gummy bar, I can logically understand Mom’s choice; she stashed these bars for my survival. My frustration isn’t about her; it’s about everything else. Once finished with my meal, I try to fall asleep, but I’m startled awake with each new sound, the noise of rustling leaves and gusts of winds outside the tent. Mom tosses in her nylon sleeping bag too, leaving me to wonder if I’ll ever feel safe.
    In the morning we eat another bar and an apple as we start our hike across the highway, lined with bright green sword ferns and white petal trillium. Cars used to cruise along these streets at sixty miles per hour, but our pace is slow as we take in everything around us with curiosity, the blue-winged Stellar Jays watching our every step. The world already feels so big, and I’ve only seen a dozen miles of it.
    We pass a few abandoned cars, but there are no signs of life besides mosquitos that nip at us in the September heat. I stuff my coat in my pack and wrap my sweatshirt around my waist as the sun beats down on me. Wrapping my thick hair in a messy bun atop my head I bask in the light, ignoring my sore feet.
    Four hours into our trek we reach a giant expanse of water. “The Puget Sound’s still here. We lived a day’s hike away,” Mom says, leaning down to pick up a small stone from the rocky shore, tossing it into the water. We stand still, listening to the plunking sound as it hits the still surface. “Unbelievable.”             
    I logically knew there was an ocean here from the atlas I’ve read, but seeing it fills me with anger for the sixteen years lived in a sealed house. The salty seaweed air hits my nose, and even though it’s strong, I breathe in deeply. A seagull dips low to the water and I watch its wings spread wide, flying away. Mom’s face shines, taking in the blue-green water and the driftwood collecting at the foamy shore. My face is not bright like hers. It’s clouded from the reality of what’s been hidden from me for