Page 19 of Romancing in Rot

I immediately stop when she is out of view and fold over.

Trish’s voice comes across the clearing. “Don’t stop. Stretch. Or you’ll get cramps.”

I mentally hold up my middle finger and stretch.

Poppy breaks from the group the second she spots me, sprinting across the clearing with her French braids, courtesy of Edith, bouncing behind her. Her hazel eyes, so much like mine, shine back at me. Sometimes it still catches me off guard how much of myself I see in her. The same long brown hair. The same nose. The same smile.

The only thing she really got from Russ is the light dusting of freckles across her face.

And even those look better on her.

“Mom! Mom!” She skids to a stop in front of me, breathless and bright-eyed. “Earl taught me how to read maps!”

“Did he now?” I crouch, brushing dirt from her cheek with my thumb. “Does this mean you’ll be taking over navigation?”

“Maybe,” she says, grinning. “I can find Chicago.”

My smile catches. For a moment, Russ is there instead. Light blue eyes. The gun. Poppy screaming.

I force the smile wider. “Good. Then when the rest of us get lost, you can save the day.”

“Hell, I’d take her over Earl navigating any day,” Edith calls from her seat near the fire. Her casted leg stretches out in front of her, bandages peeking from beneath her sleeves. She earned the cast when the serial killer Lyla had been hunting crashed a car into Earl’s truck with Edith still inside. Somehow, the broken leg has only made her more opinionated.

Yay for us.

She has a tin cup in one hand and a blanket over her lap, but her eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, are sharp as ever. She winks at me over Poppy’s head.

Earl huffs from beside the hood of his car, where a map is still spread out beneath a wrench and a dented can of beans. He smiles at Edith, and she rolls her eyes, but the look they share is soft.

Russ never looked at me like that.

Another sign I should’ve noticed.

“Joanie!” Poppy shouts, already turning. “Come see this cool frog I found!”

Joanie looks up from where she’s digging through supplies near Max, my silver Outback that Lyla so lovingly named, her face going pale in a way no undead has ever managed to do to her. “If this involves me grabbing the little sucker, I’m out.”

Poppy chuckles. “You won’t have to touch it.”

Jacob calls from near the camper, his colorful tattoos on full display down his arms. “You stab the undead in the head all the time and yet a frog freaks you out?”

“Oh, fuck off, lover boy.”

“Language!” Lyla snaps automatically from inside Bessy, her voice sharp enough to cut through the camp.

“Bite me,” Joanie shoots back, but she’s smiling as Poppy drags her away.

The clearing fills with movement again. Jacob joins Lyla in the camper, loading supplies into Bessy. Metal clanks. Doors slam. Edith glances around, then slides a straw down her cast to scratch an obvious itch.

I shake my head.

Trish is going to have a stroke when she finds out Edith ignored her very clear instructions about not sticking random objects into her cast.

I head toward Max, my dust-coated silver Outback packed tight with everything we need to keep going. Blankets, ammo, food, water, medical supplies, Poppy’s drawings tucked carefully into a folder under the front seat.

It’s better than the old sedan. More space. More room to breathe.

I grab my water bottle from the back, filled with snow I boiled and filtered. Joanie’s stickers line the inside of the rear windows, blocking out the morning rays and, according to her, “adding some much-needed personality.” She’s been collecting them at every stop we make, decorating each vehicle with funny sayings, bright neon creatures, cartoon skulls, smiley faces, and whatever else she can peel off a shelf.