smokeSCREEN: bookONE

"Ow!" The barrels of her shotgun press hard aginst my nose. I push itaway from my face, and she wipes sleep from her eyes.

"Sorry! Sorry… force of habit… I do a lot of field work," she says, tucking the firearm back under the covers. We sort of laugh, and now it's just Crow and I in the half-light, staring at each other. Her eyes, still cracked-sapphire blue, aren't cold. Just pale. Shining.

"Did you come to say goodbye?" she asks finally. I smile.

"Back in Westwood? We don't have floors. It's just us – we're alone."

"That must be rough," she says, turning on her side and looking up at me.

"Well, everything's rough," I say. She smiles. "But… it's not so bad. With you guys, I mean. It's cool to…"

"Trust someone?" she finishes. I cross my legs under me and lean down to her.

"Well, I don't know about trust, you said you'd kill me to escape Westwood."

"That was a long time ago," she says. I can feel her breath on my face.

"It was last night."

She sits up now, and I lean back so we're sitting erect and facing.

"Sort of a lot's happened since then," she says.

We stare at each other for a long time.

I want to kiss her, though I don't know why. Not that I've ever kissed a woman, but I almost feel sick with it.

I'd read about moments like this in books – I always took them with a grain of salt, as it's the popular belief that it was a disease transmitted through contact that wiped everyone out.

Her lips are a perfect, soft pink. I realize I'm staring, and my eyes rise to find hers, staring down at my face. She looks up to me, but doesn't smile.

"Tell me you're staying," she says.

"I'm staying."

"None of us know what to think any more. You changed everything."

"Nothing's different," I say. "Nothing's changed – just us."

"I guess so." She stares at me long and hard, like she's working things out. "Did you like it? When the others touched you?" I nod. "It really doesn't hurt?"

I hold up a bare hand, and she starts, then relaxes, nodding. She raises her hand and brings her fingertips inches from mine, then pauses.

"Fuck it," she says, grabbing me by my shirt and throwing me down on the bed. She climbs on top of me and lays down – her cheek resting against mine. "…whoah…" she whispers. Her fingers caress my face, and her breath quickens. "I can… it…" She leans back and stars down at me. "It really doesn't hurt." Her hands roam my face and throat, even scratching through my hair – my own hand cups her cheek, stroking her face and lips.

"It's…"

"It's amazing," she gasps. She seems to fall forward, but stops an inch from my face – her breath is hot on my lips, and she's just staring at me. "Is this alright?"

I don't answer, I just lift my head slightly as she lets hers fall. Our lips meet… and stroke… waves of sensation crash through me – her hair on my face – her hand gripping mine – the soft, sweet smell of her skin – and her lips.

I feel, in this moment, that perhaps I could die, and be perfectly content with it. I am lost in her smell – the feel of her lips caressing mine – her small hands holding me to her. She leans back, eyes half-open, lips still moving slightly, and breathing deep.

"I didn't like it when the others touched you," she says. "I wanted to… I wished I could have…" My hand strokes her cheek, and she melts into it, sighing. She flops down, her weight pressing warmly down on me, and my arms instinctively wrap around her. "What is this?" she asks.

"What's what?"

"This," she points to the bulge at my crotch.

"Oh. That just… happens. It's normal."

"But you're staying?"

"Yes."

"Will you stay here tonight? I mean, you don't have to, but-"

I gently pull her head down to rest on my shoulder, and she takes a long, satisfied breath.

We lay silently for a long time – her head at my shoulders, our fingers gently stroking, until she finally says, half-asleep;

"Cypress."

She mumbles the rest, but I sleep well.

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