spent six terrifying days praying to every god, monster, and devil she could think of. When he woke up, they’d locked themselves away for six more days. On the seventh day, she’d returned to her own bed alone and tried her damnedest to exorcise him from her heart.
Like every other night when she’d left him, she felt him watching her as she walked back to her tent. She told herself it was better this way, but that didn’t make it any easier—or true.
Chapter 11
C hloe wasn’t quite as confused when she woke this time. She remembered stretching out on the cot in an oversize tent filled with boxes and bins. Before that, she remembered a walk through the desert after waking up half paralyzed under a strange sky with an extra moon. She remembered being carried by a cowboy, and she had a hazy memory of being cared for by a woman who acted like a nurse but looked like a burlesque dancer. What Chloe couldn’t recall was anything between being at the bar and that first moment waking up on the ground. More important, she had begun to suspect that this wasn’t a hallucination. She had no logical explanation for the weird sky, the large lizard that looked suspiciously like a dragon, or the Wild West characters who’d brought her to this strange campsite. If they weren’t a hallucination and this wasn’t a coma dream of some sort, she was in a new world—which was scientifically improbable and, quite bluntly, scary as hell.
She took a deep breath. Breathing means not dead. Just to be sure, she checked her pulse.
“It’s real. You’re awake.” Kitty stood in the doorway of the tent. She still looked like a dancer, and the soft voice was still more soothing than any nurse’s Chloe had ever met.
“Thank you,” Chloe said. “You were here. I remember . . . some.”
“Good.” Kitty let the heavy material fall shut behind her. In her hand, she clutched a long swath of fabric. “You’ll adjust, but it’ll take a few more days to get your strength back.”
“How long did I sleep? Strength back from what?” Chloe swung her feet to the ground. When she didn’t feel dizzy or queasy, she stood.
Kitty watched her. “Almost forty hours, but you sort of woke to drink and use the necessary. The fever makes it a little hazy for most folks.” Her voice grew even more comforting. “You’re adjusting from the trip here, but the worst is passed.”
“Right. The trip . . . here,” Chloe echoed.
She walked over to a curtained area that she vaguely remembered Kitty showing her at some point. It was a small victory to not have to ask for the strange woman’s support to go to the toilet and washing area.
When she returned, Kitty gave her an approving look. “You’re not dreaming. Not dead. Not in a coma.” She ticked each item off on her fingers. The cloth in her hand fluttered with each motion. “You’re in the Wasteland. Why? No one seems to know. I’ve been here twenty-six years. Same as Jack.”
“But . . . you don’t look”—Chloe did quick math—“like someone from the 1980s . . . or like you’re old enough to have been anywhere that long.”
“We don’t age once we get here. This is it.” Kitty held her arms out in a look-at-that gesture. “I’ll never get any older on the outside—or have kids, as far as we can tell.”
Chloe stared at her, trying to digest the idea of not aging. That part didn’t sound awful. The idea of never having kids, on the other hand, sounded less appealing. It wasn’t that she’d planned to have them anytime soon, but the idea of not having the choice to ever have them was sobering.
Kitty walked past her and picked up a torn skirt. “And it wasn’t the 1980s when I came to the Wasteland. Time’s off between here and home. It was 1870 at home when I came here. Sometimes there are big gaps in the times people are from. No one’s come through who’s later than 1989 or earlier than me and Jack.”
“I’m later.” Chloe tried to concentrate on
Like every other night when she’d left him, she felt him watching her as she walked back to her tent. She told herself it was better this way, but that didn’t make it any easier—or true.
Chapter 11
C hloe wasn’t quite as confused when she woke this time. She remembered stretching out on the cot in an oversize tent filled with boxes and bins. Before that, she remembered a walk through the desert after waking up half paralyzed under a strange sky with an extra moon. She remembered being carried by a cowboy, and she had a hazy memory of being cared for by a woman who acted like a nurse but looked like a burlesque dancer. What Chloe couldn’t recall was anything between being at the bar and that first moment waking up on the ground. More important, she had begun to suspect that this wasn’t a hallucination. She had no logical explanation for the weird sky, the large lizard that looked suspiciously like a dragon, or the Wild West characters who’d brought her to this strange campsite. If they weren’t a hallucination and this wasn’t a coma dream of some sort, she was in a new world—which was scientifically improbable and, quite bluntly, scary as hell.
She took a deep breath. Breathing means not dead. Just to be sure, she checked her pulse.
“It’s real. You’re awake.” Kitty stood in the doorway of the tent. She still looked like a dancer, and the soft voice was still more soothing than any nurse’s Chloe had ever met.
“Thank you,” Chloe said. “You were here. I remember . . . some.”
“Good.” Kitty let the heavy material fall shut behind her. In her hand, she clutched a long swath of fabric. “You’ll adjust, but it’ll take a few more days to get your strength back.”
“How long did I sleep? Strength back from what?” Chloe swung her feet to the ground. When she didn’t feel dizzy or queasy, she stood.
Kitty watched her. “Almost forty hours, but you sort of woke to drink and use the necessary. The fever makes it a little hazy for most folks.” Her voice grew even more comforting. “You’re adjusting from the trip here, but the worst is passed.”
“Right. The trip . . . here,” Chloe echoed.
She walked over to a curtained area that she vaguely remembered Kitty showing her at some point. It was a small victory to not have to ask for the strange woman’s support to go to the toilet and washing area.
When she returned, Kitty gave her an approving look. “You’re not dreaming. Not dead. Not in a coma.” She ticked each item off on her fingers. The cloth in her hand fluttered with each motion. “You’re in the Wasteland. Why? No one seems to know. I’ve been here twenty-six years. Same as Jack.”
“But . . . you don’t look”—Chloe did quick math—“like someone from the 1980s . . . or like you’re old enough to have been anywhere that long.”
“We don’t age once we get here. This is it.” Kitty held her arms out in a look-at-that gesture. “I’ll never get any older on the outside—or have kids, as far as we can tell.”
Chloe stared at her, trying to digest the idea of not aging. That part didn’t sound awful. The idea of never having kids, on the other hand, sounded less appealing. It wasn’t that she’d planned to have them anytime soon, but the idea of not having the choice to ever have them was sobering.
Kitty walked past her and picked up a torn skirt. “And it wasn’t the 1980s when I came to the Wasteland. Time’s off between here and home. It was 1870 at home when I came here. Sometimes there are big gaps in the times people are from. No one’s come through who’s later than 1989 or earlier than me and Jack.”
“I’m later.” Chloe tried to concentrate on
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