![]() The upstairs looks like a normal house, and smells like a normal house, and is full of normal-house things but it’s off somehow, as though it were tipped just a few inches on its foundations. It’s the only place where we can shed the false skins, fake names, fake pasts. Normally it’s my favorite place in the house, this secret space-Tack and Raven’s, too. The fight has soured the air Tack was right. “You know Tack.” “Yeah,” I say, feeling awkward. ![]() I can hardly breathe.” Then he’s pushing into the pantry and the door closes at the top of the stairwell, and Raven and I are left alone. “Where are you going?” Raven demands, and for a moment something flares in her eyes-some need, or fear. Then he brushes past me and pounds up the stairs. I know they’re angry about other things-that it’s not just me-but I feel a hot rush of guilt anyway. Give her a break, okay?” Tack stares at her mutely for a second, his mouth a thin white line. Don’t you get it? We-” Raven cuts him off. “What did we tell you? It’s all about staying under the radar.” Sometimes it feels as though Tack and Raven take their roles as Thomas and Rachel-strict guardians-a little bit too seriously, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Nothing happened.” “It’s not cool, Lena,” Tack says. “Only for, like, a minute.” I almost tell them about the pictures and decide, at the last minute, that I won’t. I spoke to Julian Fineman.” “You what?” Raven bursts out, and Tack sighs and rubs his forehead. What happened?” “I missed the first round of buses.” Before Raven can start lecturing, I quickly add, “I left a glove and had to go back for it. As I do, Tack turns away, passing a hand over his eyes. It seems like they’re always bickering about something. I hate listening to Tack and Raven fight-I’d never heard any adults fight until I escaped to the Wilds-though over time I’ve grown more used to it. You have to trust me.” “You’re the one who isn’t trusting-” His voice cuts off sharply as I shut the door behind me, a little louder than I normally would, so they’ll know I’m there. We’re supposed to be on the same side.” Raven responds sharply, “You know that’s unrealistic, Tack. Raven and Tack are fighting-nothing new there-and I hear Tack, sounding pained, say, “I just don’t understand why we can’t be honest with each other. A light glows dimly in the basement, and I hear the staccato rhythm of voices. I ease it open to reveal a set of rough wooden stairs. One of the pantry’s three walls is, in fact, a hidden door. You never know when the hunger will be back. We pack granola bars in our bags and stuff our pockets with sugar packets. The memory of a long hunger is difficult to shake, and all of us-the ones who know-are secret hoarders now. It is lined with narrow shelves and absolutely packed with food. Past the stove is a little alcove pantry. Holmes, the scientist credited with performing the first-ever successful cure. Hanging on the wall above the table is a photograph of Thomas Fineman, and another of Cormac T. At the back of the apartment is the kitchen. They feel no passion, no hatred, no sadness they feel nothing but fear, and a desire for control. In Zombieland, someone is always watching. This keeps the heat in and also the eyes-of the neighbors, of the regulators, of passing patrols-out. The curtains are closed in the living room. That way there is never any trail to follow. It wasn’t until I moved to New York City that I understood Raven’s obsession with order in the Wilds: The surfaces must look right. It’s best, actually, if nobody ever goes digging around here. It’s better if you don’t have to go digging for your documents. ![]() ![]() You never know when there might be a raid, or a census. Of course, Rebecca and Thomas don’t really exist, any more than Lena Morgan Jones exists: a thin-faced girl, also unsmiling in her official ID.
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