Belly down on my surfboard, I glanced over my shoulder to gauge the approach of the next oncoming swell. Perfect. I paddled hard, but of course the wave was faster. Within a few breaths, it built under me. The wind hit my face as my board caught the leading edge, and I grinned into it.

I wasn’t the only one out on the water on a steel fog afternoon, but I knew with a perfect surety that this wave was mine.

Here, at the Lane—Steamer Lane as non-locals called it—the waves could be rough. If a surfer wasn’t careful, they’d find themselves crashing into the cliff wall to the side, or mashed into the shallow rocks below. That same wall reflected waves to make them higher, and those rocks could split a wave into useful dips and valleys along the top of the crest.

I raced the surfer next to me, but I was closer to the roll of the wave. I had the right of way, and she knew it. She turned at the last second, bowing out.

Two more strokes before I felt it was time. I rested the flat of my hands on the spine of the board and popped up to my feet in a fluid motion.

Then it was pure exhilaration. The feel of rushing downhill as the wave crested and took me and my board—faster and faster—toward the shoreline. I nudged the tip of my board upward, trying to ride up the side of the wave and keep the momentum. It worked the first time, but then I got cocky. The white foam caught the tail of my board, dragging it down. I tried to jig to the side, but the roll of the wave caught the side edge. The board lurched under me as if an invisible hand had reached out and grabbed it.

I spilled off the side in a controlled dive just before I biffed completely, swanning under the wave to come up safely behind it.

A faint cheer drifted through the air from a couple of spectators perched up on the cliff. I couldn’t tell if it was for me or the guy catching the next set, but I grinned back anyway.

It was a good day to surf. The waters were unusually warm, and the waves were high—both thanks to tropical moisture sweeping up from Hawaii.

I’d been out here for hours, though, and the chill was starting to creep in even with my thick neoprene wetsuit. Swimming back to my board, I floated for a few minutes and looked for Asher.

There he was, trying and failing to catch a wave. His turn would come soon.

Meanwhile, I was heading in.

It was hard to keep track of people out in the water, so Asher and I had long ago developed a system. Once I was back on the beach, I stood my board upright in the sand, the pretty floral design facing out. It wasn’t good for the board’s finish, but it needed re-waxing anyway.

Plopping down, I dug my chilled toes in the warm sand and gazed out to sea.

Asher and I had just headed out the door for school this morning when we’d gotten texts from the school’s automated alert system. Someone had called in a bomb threat and they would update us again with the time for the late start.

I had considered going in anyway, partially to show I was a good little citizen to Dad’s bosses, just in case it tipped the scales in our favor (See, I’m such a productive member of society I even showed up for school when I’m going to die in less than a year. Pick me!) Another, guiltier part of me wanted to see Shane again.

Asher suggested we go surfing instead, and…well. Nothing beat surfing.

Unzipping my wetsuit at the shoulder, I pulled out the double-zipped bag that held my cell phone. No new texts from school. I guess it was canceled for the whole day. Oh well. It was a great day to be out of school. The sun was breaking through the fog in patches, illuminating my little corner of the world.

In fact, the sun did its job so well that I was soon overheated. I unzipped my wetsuit all the way and rolled it down to my waist. I’d worn my favorite light blue bikini top under it. It went with the trim of my suit.

My eyes scanned the beach, lingering here and there on people that I knew on sight. Locals and other kids from my school. Not far away, a gaggle of little kids played in the shallow surf. There were a few older people with metal detectors walking side-by-side, scanning the sand. A couple of fishermen, too.

It was Shane’s red hair that caught my attention.

I glanced away, blushing, thinking that I had to be seeing things—how gone was I on this boy? I was seeing him everywhere.

Then I took a quick double take and realized it really was him.

He stood maybe twenty yards away in the rolling surf, looking good in board shorts and a netted water shirt. As I watched, eyes trailing over the lines of his body, he cast a fishing line out with a long pole. His movements were smooth, practiced.

“Shane!” I called out his name before I had time to think about what I was doing.

My voice should have been hard to hear over the sound of water pounding against rocks, seagulls, and the laughter of nearby people. Somehow he heard me. He stopped and turned his head my way as if he and I were two poles of a magnet.

His gaze met mine. Heart pounding, I lifted my hand in a wave. He lifted his own and turned briefly back to pull in his fishing line.

Rising, I walked over to him. His eyes traveled over me—the way the top of my wetsuit was pulled down to my waist, and back up again.

Not the first time I felt a guy’s eyes on me, but it was the first I felt flirty, not embarrassed by it. I guess my favorite bikini top just became my lucky bikini top.

“Hey,” I said, ducking my eyes and smiling up at him.

“Hey.” He sounded a little like he’d been hit upside the head. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Shane’s stormy eyes flicked up and down my body again before he caught himself and cleared his throat. “How’s the surf today?”

“Perfect. I caught some great waves.” I tilted my head. “Do you surf?”

“Honestly? No. I’ve never had the balance.” He laughed. “And I like fishing too much. Figured, with school out today I would make myself useful.”

“I’m surprised you’re able to catch anything here.”

“The wharf is full. People are trying to stock up as much as possible, I think.”

Oh. Right. Not everyone had a direct line to military supplies.

I glanced in his bucket, which was set deep enough into the sand as not to be knocked over by the waves. There were a couple of flat looking fish with big bulging eyes inside. “What kind are these?”

“Just surf perch. They’re decent eating.”

“I’ve never fished before,” I admitted.

To my surprise, he held out the long pole. “You want to try?”

Not really, but I did want to spend time with him. Besides, what could it hurt? Except for my heart.

I stepped closer and took the pole and reel. Wow, it was a lot heavier than it looked. The end dipped to the water before I could steady it.

“Here.” Shane stepped behind me, arms on either side as he helped me hold the pole up.

I couldn’t help it. I edged backward so my shoulders brushed against his chest. “Like this?” I tried waving the pole back and forth in the same way he did. My movements weren’t nearly as graceful.

He chuckled and I swear I felt the low rolling sound through his body. His hands came up to lightly cover my own. “Try to build up momentum. Think of the pole as the top point of an arc.”

I grinned. “Okay. What next?”

His breath tickled my ear. “Aim for the trough in the waves—know that place where the sand scoops in? That’s where the fish like to feed.”

I knew that point in the surf pretty well. The area where the water moved out faster than it moved in. If you weren’t watching your step, you could fall in that low point.

“Okay,” I said again and tried to concentrate so I wouldn’t make too much of a fool of myself.

He moved his arms and I moved mine, and the pole and fishing line transcribed a graceful arc in the air before I cast the line out.

With Shane lending his strength, I overshot the mark by a mile. Shane showed me how to reel it in. One of his hands rested on my waist, right above the line of my wetsuit. Super distracting, and sent a shiver up my spine. I was not complaining.

My second try fell short, but my third cast hit pretty close to target. Shane helped me reel the line in, and to my utter shock, I felt a tug.

I squealed, he jerked the pole up to set the hook, and I reeled in the fish.

It was another surf perch, not longer than the length of my palm, but I was absurdly proud of it.

Until I remembered this wasn’t fun, this was Shane’s dinner. Still… “We don’t have to keep this, do we?”

“It’s your fish. You can do with it what you want.” He grinned. “But no, that’s barely a bite.”

He stepped around to help. I held the fish in my cupped palms as he removed the fly and hook from its mouth. Then, bending, I dipped it back into the water and let it go. The fish wriggled free and disappeared within the cloudy water.

I straightened, and we stood like that for a moment, just gazing at each other. Then my eyes flicked over his shoulder and my heart sank.

Asher was sitting on the beach, his board up near mine, looking out to sea. The only reason he hadn’t spotted me yet was because I was standing in an area he didn’t expect.

Seeing him reminded me of Connor. Oh my god, I was doing it again. This wasn’t harmless flirting. It was coming close to a betrayal.

Reluctantly, I made myself step back. “I should go.”

Shane looked briefly disappointed, but then he glanced from me down to his bucket of fish. Here he was, trying to provide for his family for the evening, and I was distracting him. We both knew it.

He sighed took the pole back. It was much better in his hands. “See you at school tomorrow?”

The smart thing would be to say no, but… “Sure, if there’s class.”

“If there isn’t, I’ll be here.”

I knew an invitation when I heard one. I should decline. Stop giving these mixed signals.

What I said was, “Then I’ll be here, too.”

* * *

As a matter of fact, school did not resume the next day. Or the day after.

I’m not sure if it was because they never caught the weasel who called in the bomb threats, or too many teachers called out sick.

Connor texted me on Thursday to let me know that he was still stuck back east working with his dad on the SAFEsite. It was taking longer than he anticipated, and he wouldn’t be back until next week at the earliest.

Whatever. I was my father’s daughter. I was used to men making and breaking commitments.

Either way, Asher and I treated our sudden free time like an impromptu fall break. Each morning, we would suit up and head to the beach. I’d spend an hour or two distractedly trying to catch waves with my real attention back out on the sand. Then, when I’d spot Shane, I’d paddle back to shore to join him.

Most days he’d show me how to fish, both with using pre-prepared lures or the little sand crabs as bait. Once, he brought a net, though he didn’t catch anything but stray kelp.

I’d been living by the ocean all my life, but had never paid much attention to the wildlife other than to watch out for sharks and jellyfish.

Shane, though, knew how to find fresh mussels, catch enough fish to provide for his family, dig up huge rock crabs, and knew which types of seaweed was good to eat.

My favorite times were when we’d just sat and talked. It wasn’t world ending stuff—I never brought up plans for when Betty hit, and he didn’t either. We gossiped about people we both knew from school. His friends had ditched out as quickly as mine had, and his sister…well.

By afternoon even Asher needed a break from the water. I’d join him, and Shane would take off either to his home or his part-time job at the Monterey Aquarium.

I think Asher saw us hanging out because once or twice he looked at me like he wanted to ask…but he didn’t. I was glad. I didn’t want to talk about what I was doing.

Shane never pushed me, either. He never tried to kiss me again, or hold my hand, though he wasn’t shy about casual touches. He seemed to know I was holding back and didn’t want to push.

I liked that I didn’t have to explain myself for him to get me.

From the carefully worded answers he gave sometimes, his fishing and foraging wasn’t just for fun. His aunt didn’t have the access to supplies that my dad did, and money was becoming more useless by the day. The government was trying to start a national rationing program, but it was like herding rabid, incredibly selfish, and mostly stupid cats. From local farms to giant corporations, everyone was saving for the impact and Long Winter.

Then the day came—we were walking among the tidal pools and talking. Just talking, with him sharing stories about his sister, putting her in a more human light and me telling him how my dad was never around—and by the afternoon he had nothing in his bucket at all. I had succeeded in completely distracting him.

“It’s all right,” he said with a crooked smile. “We save portions from every meal and put it in the freezer.”

I shook my head. That was not “all right”. Everything they drew from the freezer was one less meal for when they would really need it.

My pantry at home was filled with freeze-dried food, but I was going into a SAFEsite. I didn’t need it.

I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and grabbed his hand. “Meet me tonight?”

Shane stopped short. He didn’t question me, only asked, “Where?”

“The cave where we met? Tide should be low. At eleven?”

His gaze never left my own. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

I never used to be the type of girl who would sneak out of her house at night.

Santa Cruz was not exactly a hotbed of crime, but there were still tweakers and people who used the end of the world as an excuse to act out their darkest impulses.

It wasn’t going to deter me. I just had to be careful.

Dad had stopped in that afternoon, mostly I think to make sure that Asher and I were still alive. Good thing we were old enough to take care of ourselves—if we were houseplants, we’d totally be dead from neglect.

Anyway, after a quick family meal he’d gone straight back to work. Surprise, surprise.

Asher retreated to in his bedroom in the garage to play video games. I waited for a few hours until all was silent from the garage before I snuck out using my window. It was a cliché, but it worked.

The moon was out that night, reflecting off the ocean. Some sort of tiny, bioluminescent creature was out spawning in the water. It gave off brilliant colors of blue, purple, and green as the waves crashed on the shore.

I would never see the aurora borealis, but I always thought this was a good second best.

No one bothered me on my way to the cliff. Soon, I was stepping around the jagged rocks and into the low cave. Shane was already waiting for me. He turned at my approach, smiling, with one hand extended.

I took it and he drew me in.

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

“All you had to do was ask.”

We smiled shyly at one another, and then he nodded to the plastic bag I carried. “What’s that? You bring dinner?”

“Sort of. It’s the reason I asked you to meet me here.” I reached in and pulled out a foil-wrapped package with government approved typing all over it. “They’re MREs. My dad gets them from work, and they last…well, not forever, but close. Here.”

I tried to hand them over, but he stepped away. “Astrid, I can’t take these.”

“Yes, you can. They’ll last longer than the fish.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not right.”

“There’s only five in there.”

His eyes were serious. “That’ll mean the world to you after Betty hits.”

No, it wouldn’t because one way or another I would be in a SAFEsite. But Shane…he and most of the world would be stuck starving as the world slowly froze around him.

My throat tightened at that thought. Stepping forward, I pushed the bag at his chest so that he had no choice but to hold it. His hands came up to cover my own, warm.

“I want you and your family to have this. Actually,” I added, “there will probably be more where that came from. Get used to it.”

“But—”

I looked at him. “My family won’t need it. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t come right out and tell him everything. Not about the SAFEsites, and especially not about Connor. But I could do this little bit for him.

His eyes widened and he looked down. “What you told me before, about living past Betty—”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I wasn’t sure if—”

“Shane,” I said. “I can’t talk about it. Just take the stupid MREs. Please.”

Still, he asked, “Are you sure?”

In answer, I leaned forward on tiptoes and brushed my lips against his cheek. “Yes. I’m sure.”

It was nice to see him flustered. He looked like he wanted to speak a few times, but then stopped, shook his head and glanced around as if to make sure we were totally alone. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “It’s just… if I was—” He stopped. “If I didn’t have to worry about after Betty hit,” he said carefully, “I would be a lot happier, but you look upset. All the time.”

“I do?”

“A little,” he admitted.

My heart jumped. “Well, I’m not,” I lied. “I’m stressed. There are conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“I really can’t talk about it. Seriously,” I said when he opened his mouth.

He nodded, but now he was the one who looked upset. “Whatever it is, I hope that it’s worth it.”

I did too.

* * *

I got in late that night and practically fell into my bed. So I wasn’t at my best when Asher pounded on my door the next morning.

“Hey Astrid, you dead in there?”

“What?” I raised my head from my pillow with the feeling like I was fighting my way out of a thick fog.

Then I became aware of a high-pitched ringing. I had forgotten to turn off my phone’s alarm—it was set for a default time in the morning because I liked to get up early to catch waves on the weekend before the tourists plugged up the beach—and I had slept through it.

The phone had actually vibrated itself off the nightstand and onto the floor. With the thin walls in our house, Asher had probably heard it all the way in his garage.

“Yeah,” I called back fuzzily. “Sorry.”

I grabbed for my phone. Through puffy, half-open eyes I saw that I had not only slept through the alarm, but a phone call as well.

Connor.

Oh man. There went any chance I had for falling back asleep. The jolt of adrenaline and guilt at seeing his name woke me the rest of the way.

When I hadn’t answered the phone, he had texted me.

:I’m back in town. Want to do something today?:

My finger hovered over the screen to text something back. Then I sighed and set the phone back on the table. I needed a cup of coffee, first.