Honor Road by Jason Ross (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

like science, math and biology—how to care for livestock and how to make useful chemicals. We’ll probably all be farmers for the next hundred years." She laughed again. Mature or not, only a child could laugh at the loss of so much.

Mat heard Jensen speaking through the girl and it unsettled him—like she worshipped the science teacher or maybe feared him, which was weird given the guy’s balding head, oily complexion, and funky little pot belly. Who would fear that guy? Most kids her age were pushing back against their parents, not praising their wisdom.

“Jim’s trying to preserve as many of the modern technologies as possible, and hand them down to us. That’s the role of education now: to hang on to what mankind knew.”

She must’ve listened to her stepfather give that post-apocalypse education speech many times, and she recited it faithfully. Jensen was more politician than Mat liked, but the words made sense. Science Guy might be a good ally after all, egghead or not.

Mat could get the townsfolk up to speed on security. He could teach them what he knew about defending a forward operating base, but he needed an exit plan—someone to take over when he headed west. Jensen might be good at herding the committees.

Mat was no civic leader. He was a tool. When you were done with a tool, you put it away, or in Mat's case you gave him a truck full of dried pork and waved as he drove away into the sunset.

The girl had stopped talking. Mat put his daydream about leaving on pause and replied, “I’ve met your dad. He’s right about the future. It’s going to take a long time to come back from what we’ve lost.”

Candice looked away and blushed. “Jim's my stepdad. We're not related by blood or anything.” The pink in her cheeks tipped into red

“What's your mom's name?” Mat changed the subject.

“Dina. She doesn't live with us anymore. She’s in Louisville.”

William shot Mat a knowing look.

Louisville: they’d passed through that hell hole. There was a good chance Candice's mother was dead or enslaved by gangs. The girls eyes, though, begged for hope. Mat wasn’t going to shit in the middle of her hope parade.

“It's a big city.” William said, comforting her. He picked up one of Candice's hands.

It’s to hand-holding, Mat noted. Things must move faster with kids at the end of the world. Or maybe Mat had been too busy to keep an eye on the boy’s love life.

Candice drenched William in a grateful smile and gave him both her hands. “You're sweet,” she said. William swelled.

The boy had turned twelve a few days after Caroline died—more than two months ago. At that time, neither of them had been in a mood to celebrate. Sheriff Morgan's wife, Beatrice, insisted on making him birthday pancakes. It took less fuel to heat a griddle than a whole oven.

From grief-sprinkled birthday pancakes to consoling a young lady suitor in just two months. Life and death came fast, and so, apparently, did love. William was smitten, and that might just be a bomb-proof emotional shelter from the catastrophe all around them. It made Mat glad. It gave him hope.

“Hey, Will.” Mat shifted to the slightly-more-adult version of the boy’s name. “Why don't you walk Candice home? It’ll be dark soon. I've got some people to see before night patrol, then I’ll be outside the wire with the new QRF. Please be back by dark. I'll see you in the morning. Maybe we can get something to eat together? Maybe talk about things?” Mat glanced at the girl, trying to send William a sideways message. “I want to hear all about your new girl,” the subtext read.

William nodded, barely paying attention.

Young William walked the tree-lined lane back toward home, reliving the last three, amazing minutes. It had been perfect. When they reached her door, she'd turned and taken both his hands in hers.

“Thanks for walking me home, Will,” Caroline had said. “I'm really glad you and Mat came to town.”

Then she’d leaned in, just like in the movies. William hesitated at first, but it was a clear signal: the lean in. He took the chance. He’d kissed her.

Candice had kissed him back. Her soft lips had held his upper lip for the sweetest, most exciting of moments. His first kiss, and it was perfect. He’d nailed it.

“Good night, Will,” Candice had said. She’d turned to the door, then looked back. “Umm… Don't tell Jim about that, okay?” He’d nodded. Then she’d disappeared inside, and the night had dimmed in her absence.

Twenty minutes later, William mounted the steps to his home. The house was dark. The whole town was dark.

He remembered they had candles. A few days earlier, Mr. Jensen held a candle-making class and Will brought home six of them. He rummaged through the kitchen drawer for matches, lit one of the candles and built a small fire in the hearth. Firewood was scarce—dangerous to haul in from the woods—but he wanted light and heat. Just tonight. He fell asleep tending the fire, contented, with her smell lingering on his sweater.

Candice walked into the house and eased the door closed behind her. She didn’t want Jim to know she was home. She needed a few minutes to collect herself. Jim couldn’t find out.

She soft-shoed down the hall and through the kitchen. At the door leading to the basement she paused and took a deep breath. She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. There was no service, of course, but she still carried the phone, a reminder of a past life. Her phone case had a mirror on the back. She checked her face and made sure she wasn’t flushed. She didn’t want her face to give it away; her scarlet cheeks that fairly cried I kissed a boy.

When she was ready, Candice headed down the stairs. Jensen was there in the basement, tinkling with glass beakers. For most people, having a laboratory in the basement,