I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware of the crinkled foil blankets still tucked under my arm like a sad little bundle.
“I also found these,” I said, lifting them. “Not exactly luxury bedding, but—”
He glanced down. “Better than nothing.”
Then his attention went back to the radio, and his expression sharpened.
“We should try it now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “If someone’s talking out there, I want to be aware of it.”
He was already moving toward the stairwell leading up, radio tucked under one arm, steps quick and purposeful.
Then he stopped when he realized I wasn’t behind him.
“Sloane.”
I looked up.
He tilted his head toward the stairs.
“Come on. Let’s find out if anything alive is still out there.”
* * *
We made it to the roof just as the sun was dipping towardthe horizon.
Sunset painted the sky in violent slashes of crimson and gold, turning the water into a mirror of fire. I could almost pretend, in that fleeting moment between breaths, that the world hadn’t ended yesterday.
If you ignored the smoke columns rising from the city.
If you ignored the city’s new soundtrack—staccato gunfire punctuating human screams that rose and fell like terrible music carried across the water.
Twenty-four hours.
That’s all it had taken.
Now, here we were, standing on the roof of an aquarium like survivors in some bad disaster movie, except nobody was coming to write the third act.
Callan crouched beside the hatch, the marine radio balanced on a low metal housing unit. His big hands worked over the controls with surprising precision, turning knobs slowly while bursts of static crackled through the small speaker.
Shhhhhhhhk—
He adjusted another dial.
More static.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath.
I walked toward the edge of the roof, my boots scraping softly against the gravel surface.
I told myself I was just checking the perimeter.
But when I reached the edge and looked down—
My breath froze in my chest.