They were delegated as runners after that.
Attie and Iris ran through the winding streets of Avalon Bluff, delivering meals and messages and anything else that either Marisol or Keegan needed. Iris had come to know this town like the lines on her palm, and she often ran the same routes she had with Roman when he had been training her. When they had run with the dawn. She was pleased to discover how much her stamina had improved since that first jog.
She only wished he could run beside her now.
The platoon stationed on the bluff needed a meal, and Iris and Attie ran to deliver it to them. Afternoon clouds were beginning to swell, blocking the sunlight, and Iris could smell a hint of smoke on the wind. She knew why when she reached the crest of the summit.
In the distance, Clover Hill was burning.
She delivered the baskets of food to the soldiers, studying each of their faces just in case Forest was among them. He wasn’t, but her hope remained like iron within her, even when she stood and watched the smoke rise in the distance. She wondered if there had been any survivors in Clover Hill, or if Dacre had slaughtered them all.
“How much longer until Dacre comes for us, do you think?” Attie asked, coming to a stop beside her. The land that sprawled between them and Clover Hill was peaceful, idyllic. Its innocence was deceiving.
“Keegan said he would come tomorrow morning,” Iris replied. They still had four hours of sunlight remaining in the day, and then night would come. Beyond that, Iris could only imagine.
In some ways, this quiet stretch of waiting was more difficult to bear. Hour after hour of wondering and preparing and anticipating. Who would die? Who would live? Would they be able to successfully hold the town? Would Dacre burn it to the ground, like Clover Hill?
“If things go bad and we have to uphold our vow to Keegan,” Attie began. “I’ll grab Marisol. You grab Roman. We’ll meet at the lorry.”
“How do we know when things are bad enough?” Iris asked, licking her lips. She could taste the salt of her sweat. “At what point do we know when to flee?” She had wanted to pose this question to Keegan but had swiftly swallowed it, worried that the captain would think it unnecessary. Shouldn’t you know when things are bad enough?
“I’m not sure, Iris,” Attie replied grimly. “But I think in the moment … we’ll just know.”
Iris felt something brush her ankle. She startled as she heard a sorrowful meow, and she glanced down to see a calico cat rubbing against her legs.
“Why, look here!” Attie cried, delightedly scooping up the cat. “A good luck charm!”
“I didn’t realize cats brought favor,” Iris said, but she smiled as she watched Attie coo over the feline.
“Who do you think she belongs to?” Attie asked. “A stray, do you think?”
“I think she’s one of the O’Briens’ cats. They had about seven. I’m guessing this one was left behind when they evacuated.” It looked suspiciously like the very cat that had been curled up in Roman’s lap the day before. Iris reached out and scratched behind its ears, craving to touch something soft and gentle.
“Well, she’s coming home with me. Aren’t you, Lilac?” Attie began to walk down the hill, purring cat in her arms.
“Lilac?” Iris echoed, following. She passed the O’Briens’ yard. The crate where she had appointed Roman to wait for her was long gone, harvested for the barricades. It felt so strange, to realize how much could change in a day.
“Yes. My favorite flower,” Attie said, glancing back at Iris. “Second only to an iris, of course.”
Iris smiled, shaking her head. But her happiness dimmed as she con tinued along the path back to the B and B, around barricades and chains of soldiers. As she watched Attie speak affectionately to the cat.
It was just one more thing they would need to grab if things fell apart.
* * *
“You brought a cat back with you?” Roman exclaimed. He was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling a mountain of potatoes. His eyes flickered from Attie to the cat to finally rest on Iris, his gaze rushing up and down her body, as if he was searching for a new scratch on her.
Iris flushed when she realized she was doing the same to him—searching his every bend and line to ensure he was all right. She felt heat crackle through her when their gazes united.
“Yes,” Attie said, her embrace tightening around Lilac. The cat emitted a plaintive meow. “The poor thing was on the hill all alone.”
“In case you didn’t know, I’m allergic to cats,” Roman drawled.
“I’ll keep Lilac in my room. I promise.”
“And if her fur gets on your jumpsuit, I’ll wash it for you,” Iris offered. If cats truly were good luck charms, they were going to need it.
“Then I’d have nothing to wear,” Roman said, returning his attention to the potato in his hand. “Because my second jumpsuit is missing.”
“What?” Iris breathed. “What do you mean, Kitt?”
“I mean it was hanging in my wardrobe this morning, and now it’s gone.”
She continued to study him, realizing his dark hair was damp, slicked back like in the old days at the office. His face was freshly shaven, his nails scrubbed clean. She could smell a faint trace of his cologne, and her heart quickened.
“Did you just take a shower, Kitt?” It was the most ridiculous thing she could’ve asked, but it felt so strange to her. That he would wash in the middle of the day, when things were about to collapse. Although perhaps it shouldn’t take her by surprise. He had always liked to look his best. Why should the end of the world change that?
Roman met her gaze. He didn’t say anything, but a flush was creeping across his cheeks, and before Iris could say anything further about it, Marisol strode through the kitchen and set a heavy basket of carrots in her hands. “Peel and chop these for me, please, Iris.”
That ended the deliveries and building barricades and running through the streets and imagining Roman Kitt in the shower. As the sun began to set, they all worked together to make several pots of vegetable soup and fresh bread for the soldiers.
Iris’s stomach was growling by the time Marisol said, “Attie? Why don’t you see if Iris can help you with that particular matter upstairs.”
“Right,” Attie said, jumping up from her chair. “Come on, Iris.”
Iris frowned but rose. “What do you need my help with?”
“It’s hard to explain, so just follow me,” Attie said, waving her hands. But she glanced over Iris’s shoulder and widened her eyes, and Iris turned just in time to see Roman drop his gaze.
“What’s going on, Attie?” Iris asked, trailing her up the stairs. It was almost dusk.
“In here,” Attie said, stepping into the lavatory.
Iris stood on the threshold, confounded, as Attie turned on the faucet. “Why don’t you shower while I go and find—”