Exchange Rate by Bonnie R. Paulson Page B

my bag, jerking it to my side to pull on. “Let’s go now, then. Get it out of the way.” I lifted my eyebrow at John, his small side-smile indicative I’d suggested exactly the time he wanted.
    The men joined me. Bodey grabbed at his dad’s bag. “Hey, do you have any more bread in there? I could handle another slice.”
    John grinned, lifting his eyebrow. “I do. Pull it out and let’s finish it off. But stay away from the jerky and the dried fruit. The MREs Phahn gave us were hard to tuck into that pack, so leave those alone, too. We need something in case this doesn’t work.”
    We procrastinated, all of us eating the rest of the bread in silence, like if we didn’t acknowledge what we were doing, it wouldn’t count if we failed or not.
    Excitement warred with our instincts to be cautious. Power and music were more than we could hope for. The list of things that would keep us from trying to join the community was very short and growing shorter.
    Out of habit, we fell into step with John at the lead and Bodey bringing up the rear. The gate wasn’t on the side we’d come upon. We stayed out of sight, just inside the forest line.
    The chain link fence didn’t end. At the concrete brick towers, the fence turned off to a sharp ninety-degree angle and ran for what could seem forever with no end in sight.  We trekked and pushed on.
    We had to find an entrance. There had to be one. If there wasn’t, then how did people get inside? How did they get out?
    The question would drive me nuts, if we didn’t find the entrance. Instead of the perfect camp, we’d forever seek entry to a mirage compound.
    We turned another corner and suddenly a large entrance with half-sized towers stood guard on either side of the double gates. Men dressed in bright green jumpsuits, holding black semi-automatic weapons, paced on the platforms near the top of the towers.
    John pointed toward the arrival of a Jeep, rolling through the triple-layers of gates. Bodey and I gazed at each other, our mouths agape.
    A car. A running car. We hadn’t seen one...
    I wiped at my cheeks, the moisture from my eyes unwelcome and yet not surprising. “Do you think that means things really might be turning around?” To skip the worst stage and move toward better or best just couldn’t be right.  Something couldn’t be right... yet, I wanted the world so desperately to be fine. I twisted my wedding ring on my finger. What if I lost Bodey? Where would I be? What would I do?
    We paused. John carefully studied each of our faces. His seriousness stilled my jitters. “Are we ready, guys?” If John was nervous, then it was okay for me to be.
    Ready? For what? We’d grown used to survival mode, living minute by minute, running from groups and fighting for every bite, every sip, every right to sleep and be.
    I nodded shortly, swallowing hard on my growing anxiety. But nothing was wrong. We needed inside those fences.
    No one had mentioned it, but how did we know the group asking about us and setting the Scoggins house on fire wasn’t feet behind us? Inside the fences we would at least have the peace of mind everyone had to live according to some kind of rules.
    Rules. Crap. Rules. I hadn’t fully come to terms with the ones I’d already accepted.
    Pray.
    Trust no one.
    Stay alive.
    Stay together.
    I could handle those four, but add more and I might not be able to keep everything straight.
    “Okay, here we go.” John reached out and clasped Bodey’s hand. My husband grabbed my fingers in his, our comfortable go-to. I loved that he wanted to touch me during little moments.
    This was a big moment and he needed to hold me, and I him.
    Who would have known I would develop such strong feelings for him? I had never known loving someone so much was possible. Our fingers mashed together.
    “Here we go, one, two, three.” John counted us out of the forest. I breathed with the cadence.
    We stepped onto the gravel which marked the land around the fence and