Wrecked by Heather Henson

Author:Heather Henson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books
Published: 2022-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

FEN

They probably need to get him home—it’s past dark, his dad will wonder why his truck’s there but he’s not—and yet neither of them are making a move.

Basically, they’ve been wrapped around each other—possibly for hours. Lying on a blanket on the ground beside a bubbling spring (great sound!). A place they’d come to cool off after Miri’d put away the MIG.

“Did you know that cicadas start chirping louder when it gets hotter?” Miri’s voice is hoarse from not talking for so long. “They get faster, too. More chirps per minute. One cicada can end up louder than a chain saw.”

“Cicada…” His brain is fuzzy, voice garbly like hers. “That’s a bug, right?”

“Okay, Mr. Sound Guy.” Laughing, rolling away—not too far, but still. The cold weasels in—especially the parts of him that are still damp from sun and sweat and where Miri’s body was pressed tight to his. “That’s what we’ve been listening to this whole time.”

Huh. Not what he’s been listening to; he’s been totally oblivious to anything but Miri.

“Seriously?” She shifts up onto one elbow to peer down at him in the dimming light. “That chain saw buzzing. All around? The constant droning? You haven’t noticed it?”

“Not with you here,” he admits—super corny, but true. She rolls her eyes, but she leans in to kiss him.

“Don’t they have cicadas in Detroit?” she asks after a moment, clearly curious.

“Not sure, honestly.” Pausing, listening for real this time. “I guess there’s so much other noise in the city, maybe they’re there, but you just don’t notice them so much?”

“Well, it’s hard not to notice them here. Especially late in the summer. It gets pretty intense sometimes. Like I said, cicadas get louder with heat.”

Fen reaches for his phone lying beside him on the blanket, barely glances as he hits record. Miri lies back, but stays close so that their arms are touching, shoulder to wrist, melded together. A flash to when she was welding earlier, joining silver bones together.

“Could you live off cicadas when the shit hits the fan?” he ponders out loud after he’s hit stop on his phone. “Do they taste like apples too?”

“Asparagus.” Said in all seriousness. “That’s what they taste like. And you can eat cicadas raw or roast them.” A pause. “Actually, they’re not bad in a salad. Crunchy, like croutons.”

“No thanks!” He’s shaking his head. “No way I’m putting bugs in my salad!”

“Clearly you’re not ready for TEOTWAWKI.”

“TEO…” Trying to repeat after Miri, but failing.

“The End of the World as We Know It.” Helping him out. “TEOTWAWKI.”

“Right.”

Miri gets up first and pulls him to standing, then they both lean down to fold the blanket, grab the basket of snacks they’d brought—not stink bugs or cicadas! Just more bread and some cheese and ham, a few strawberries from the garden.

It’s not just the fireflies—“lightning bugs,” as Miri calls them—lining the path back to the house, but a string of twinkly Christmas lights.

“Angel’s touch,” Miri explains, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s talking about an actual person.

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