***
"Where've you been?" I ask from the shadows, where I'm leaning against the inside of the junk wall in front of our shack. Evening and night are colliding quickly around me, the dim light waning into a half-grey mist. White stars scatter the gunmetal sky, twins with the first snowflakes of the year, drifting slowly, gliding into a dappled vortex around the self-contained world of the Outpost. The air channels the smell of snow and fire, fresh and smoky and sweet all at once. I am strangely not cold.
Jonas stops one step past the opening and squints to see me. He turns and walks toward me. "You missed me?" he says. His words are a swirl of warm vapor near his mouth. As he draws closer, I can see he's smiling— one of those smiles that's half cockiness, half amusement. He stops one step away from me with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
I open my mouth to reply that I did not, but I know what his next question will be. Why am I waiting for him? I fast forward, skipping over them both, and looking away from him say, "It's so stuffy inside." I normally sit out back when I want to get away, a fact I hope he'll miss.
The smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before falling away entirely. He looks at the snow flakes, taking their time to meander toward the ground. They're large and fragile, almost fluttering as they make their slow descent. I watch his green eyes track one, sweeping calmly across and down, and then zigzagging back as a breeze swirls against the wall. When that flake touches down, he looks up and tracks another one. The angles of his cheekbones, his jaw, his straight nose are all perfect, like smooth, carved stone, the strong profile offset by the delicate curve of his eyelids, his long, dark lashes. His eyes move suddenly back toward me, and I'm staring at him. It's too late to look away.
Neither of us say anything. We just stand in the snow and gaze at each other. The world is quiet, and distant, and soft. What at first is uncomfortable eases quickly into a hushed, ethereal moment. If God is real, he has cupped his hands around us, shielding us away from the rest of the universe. We are two figures in a snow globe, with all the light and sparkle and magic held tightly within. There is nothing else outside our dome.
A sudden tension forms in Jonas' shoulders. He pulls them forward, such a small movement I barely perceive it. His brow furrows in the same infinitesimal way. I think he's going to say something, but he doesn't. My heart beats once, twice, sounding in my ears, moving the rush of blood through my body. Still he says nothing. I feel the slowing of every second, and I'm suddenly trying to catch my breath. I wait, and wait, and wait.
When I think he will never speak, his hand reaches out quickly and catches mine. "It's freezing," he says. "Let's get inside before we catch cold." He turns and pulls me along toward the door, and I go with him, even though I want to stay.
He drops my hand to open the door and walks inside before me. I follow, the hot air hitting my face, pressing against my skin. The confines of our shack make me miss the airy cold immediately. I pull off my jacket and sit on the end of the bed. Jonas takes a seat on the couch next to Neveah. Our friends are all quiet, into their own things. Neveah has a tray on her lap, and is separating seeds from chafe. Miranda, at the table, appears to be crushing open seed pods. Apollon is bent over a book.
"What are you reading?" I ask, because I don't like the silence.
Apollon glances up, flashes me a quick smile, and lifts his book so I can see the cover. "Shakespeare," he says. The cover reads, The Tempest.
"Is that more poetry?" I ask.
"Not exactly."
He goes back to reading and I swing my feet. Neveah and Miranda are still sifting through seeds. Jonas is watching as Neveah's hands work away, sorting patiently.
I'm not feeling so patient. "Matt's not putting his people out there anymore," I say. "He's reinforcing the wall."
They all look at me.
"He wants to try to figure out the food thing with whatever we have here. Inside the Outpost." Maybe this is why I was waiting for Jonas— because I wanted to talk to him about this. Now, the only way to do it is to talk to all of them. That's OK, though. They all need to know. Still, I find myself looking at Jonas to gauge his reaction.
He stares at me quietly, and, as usual, I can't decide what he's thinking. I lift my eyebrows at him, and still, he just stares.
Miranda squirms in her seat. "But that's—" she sputters. She shakes her head firmly. "No. There's not enough. It won't work. I mean, that's... it's crazy."
I look from her to Jonas, who is still just staring at me. It's making me uneasy. I glance at Neveah, and Apollon. Neveah is gazing thoughtfully, distantly, at her seeds. I don't think she's seeing them. Apollon avoids my gaze and looks at Jonas. But Jonas does not look at him.
"Isn't it?" I say pointedly, in answer to Miranda's statement.
The muscles in Jonas' jaw tighten. He shakes his head. "Where did you hear this, Eden?"
"Oscar," I say. "He's been listening..." A brief surge of guilt washes over me for putting him up to it. "It's true. We need to figure out what we're going to do."
Now Jonas and Apollon make eye contact, and there's something in it that catches my attention. Jonas' face is still unreadable. I squint at Apollon, trying to put my finger on it. He swallows, and looks down, scans the cover of the book that is now closed in his lap.
My eyes flick back to Jonas. "We really need to do something," I say again, and note that he does not look at me now.
He looks at the floor, and says, very quietly, "There's nothing to be done right now. We just need to continue as we are— try to hang on."
Apollon purses his lips and nods.
"Seriously," says Miranda. She's frowning. "Just hang in there?"
Apollon jumps in before Jonas can answer. He sounds very reasonable. Very calm. "We're better off putting our energy into trying to survive than getting involved in all this other stuff. There's nothing we could do about it anyway."