Ghost Town

“It’s all bad,” Claire said. “And it’s all my fault. I can’t stop it, Shane. I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hey, hey, stop that. We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll find a way. But first, we eat, we get some rest, and then we save the world. Right?”

“Just hurry,” she said. “Nothing bad can happen when I’m with you.”

“Wow. I’m not sure if I feel shiny or scared.”

“Scared is useful right now.”

“Good point. I’m coming, okay? I’m ru

She was smiling, though faintly, as she hung up. She stayed in bed, crossbow at her side, until she heard the front door downstairs open and close, and Shane’s voice called her name. Then she got up and took the crossbow and phone downstairs to meet him.

He looked a little worried about the crossbow as he set a grease-stained bag on the dining table in the corner. “Expecting somebody else?” he asked. “Because I hope that’s not for me.”

She put it down, ran to him, and kissed him frantically. He held her close and kissed her back, warm and sweet and soft, and just the fact that he was here with her made things so, so, so much better.

She finally broke free of the kiss and put her head on his chest. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for remembering.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said. He sounded amused. “You may not thank me for the burgers and fries, though. I don’t think Dan’s Drive-In is doing its best work today.”

“Anything,” she said. “As long as you’re here.”

“Claire.” He pushed her away a little, and tilted her chin up. He looked tired, and worried, and she thought he was, deep down, just as freaked-out as she was. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I don’t think I ever could. Not even . . . not even if . . .”

He hugged her, and they really didn’t need to finish that conversation at all. It was all . . . better.

Eventually, he said, “The burgers are getting cold,” and Claire let go and went into the kitchen to retrieve the all-important drinks to go with di

It felt like being in control, at least of the kitchen.

Claire called her mom, who talked about the tests they were ru

The last thing her mother said to her was, “I love you so much, honey. Be safe. And call me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Claire whispered. “Love you, too, Mom.”

She hung up before her voice could tremble, and saw Shane watching her with a kind of warm understanding in his face.

“That was hard, huh?” he asked, and put an arm around her. “Your dad’s okay?”

“Doing better than they expected,” Claire said, and took in a deep breath. “Unlike us, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t count us out yet.”

“I don’t,” Claire said. “But it’s bad, Shane. I feel like we’re really alone this time. Just the two of us.”

He hugged her closer. “And that’s not all terrible. Tomorrow we’re going to get this handled, all right? You’re too shaky right now, and going out in the dark isn’t a fabulous plan. We’ll fight monsters in the morning.”

The Morganville TV station was showing reruns of shows from three years ago. Shane put in a movie, and they talked some about . . . well, nothing, really, and kissed and stayed together until finally there was nothing to do but go to bed.

Shane walked her to her bedroom door, and before he could say anything, she said, “Stay, okay? I want you with me.” He just nodded, and she saw relief on his face. He’d been going to ask, anyway.

They got undressed—mostly—in silence, and slipped under the blankets to hold each other. Claire was too worried and scared to want to do anything else, and she thought he felt the same, really; it was more holding on for comfort right now. And that was good. That was really good.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow,” Claire said finally, into the dark. Shane’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to find out who can still fight, and get down there and pin Myrnin down and fix this,” he said. “I swear. We’re going to make this work.”

“The two of us.”

“Yeah, the two of us, and whoever’s left who’s not bug-eyed crazy.” He kissed the back of her neck, very gently. “It’s going to be okay. Sleep.”

And she did, warm in his embrace, and dreamed of silver rain.

THIRTEEN

Claire woke with the sun in her eyes, again, and for a precious, sweet second she just savored the warmth of it on her body, and the fact that Shane was still curled up against her back, one heavy arm around her waist. Then, regretfully, she turned over to face him. “Hey,” she said. “Wake up, sleepyhead; we overslept.”

Shane mumbled something and tried to put a pillow over his head. She pulled it off. “Come on; get up; we’ve got things to do!”

“Go ’way, Lyss,” he moaned, and opened his eyes, blinked, and finally focused on her.

And then he completely, totally freaked out.

He actually flailed around, got caught in the covers, and, when he tried to get free, fell out of bed onto the floor. Claire laughed and leaned over the side, looking down at him. “Hey, are you . . . okay . . . ?”

The words died in her mouth, because he was still freaking. He writhed around in the covers, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it around his body as he climbed to his bare feet, backing away from the bed.

And her.

He held out the hand that wasn’t holding up the blanket, palm out. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, think, Collins, think—yeah, okay, this is awkward, and I’m really sorry, because I’m sure you’re really—Oh, man. What the hell did I do? Was there drinking? There must have been drinking.”

“Shane?” Claire still had a sheet, and now she pulled it over herself, suddenly cold and feeling very exposed. “Shane—”

He was still backing away, looking panicked and deeply uncomfortable. “So, we’ve obviously been formally introduced at some point in my insane drinking binge. Uh, hi. Look, you’ve got to keep it down, okay? My parents will kill me if—” He stopped and looked around the room. “Oh, shit. This is not my room, is it? This is yours. As in, I never went home, all night. My dad is going to—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Pants. I need pants. Where are my pants?”

Claire felt like her heart was breaking. Really, truly shattering into sharp, jagged, bloody pieces. She wanted to scream, and cry, and most of all, she wanted this not to be happening. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, and he ignored her totally to look around. He found his pants and T-shirt, and awkwardly put on his pants under the cover of the blanket before dropping it. Before he got his shirt on, he turned back to look at her, and it hurt, it hurt so badly to have him see her like that and not know her at all.

Her utter, horrified misery must have shown in her face, because his expression softened a little bit. He took a couple of steps toward the bed and said, “Um, look—I know. . . . I’m sorry; I’m probably a complete douche bag for doing this to you, and I promise, this isn’t . . . I don’t really get drunk off my ass and hook up like this, and you seem . . . you don’t seem like the type. I mean, you’re pretty; I don’t mean you’re not—I’m sorry; I suck at this. But I have to get home, right now.” He pulled his shirt on and looked for shoes, which he slipped on without socks or even bending over to tie them. “Look, I’ll call you, okay? Uh . . . your name is . . .”