Frozen

11

NAT HAD NO IDEA HOW WES HAD SURVIVED that hit. She was burning with adrenaline, fear, and excitement. His heroics were no joke, not like the show he’d conjured up at the casino. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel optimistic—maybe there was more to this cocky runner after all.

“Get someone to help you and choose wisely,” Manny had advised grudgingly. “Runners will swear up and down they can take you to where you want to go, but instead most of them end up dumping their passengers or selling them to slavers. Or they’re overtaken by slavers, which is almost the same thing. Or they give up when the food runs out. You want someone who can think on his feet, who’s fast, who’s brave.”

She had chosen Wes, and while she still wouldn’t put it past him to ditch her if a better opportunity came along—and she sure wasn’t ready to trust him with the treasure she carried: the stone she wore on a chain around her neck—she was on her way now, and he had gotten her this far.

But still a long way to go, the monster in her head reminded. Thankfully I am patient.

Her happiness faded a little at that—to know each step led her closer to fulfilling the darkness of her dreams. For a moment, she saw the face of her former commander again. You are not using the extent of your power, he had told her. You do not even try. She wondered how much harder he would have tried to break her, if he had known what her dreams bore, if he knew about the monster in her head.

“You okay?” she asked Wes.

He gave her quick nod, but his face grimaced in pain. “It’ll pass. It’s just the shock. You?”

She shrugged. “How far to the fence?”

“Couple of blocks, we should be clear,” he said, as the truck made its way far from the glittering lights of New Vegas and the snowy terrain became harder to navigate.

“Good.”

Even though there was no physical barrier that kept the city from the borderlands, the fence was as real as the invisible electric volts that killed anyone who breached it. Nat noticed the group in the LTV hold their breath as they crossed silently into the darkness. But Farouk had done his job, and they made it through without incident.

Beyond the fence was a mountain of junk. A century of trash tossed over the border, forgotten and left to rot in the endless cold. “No wonder they call it the Trash Pile,” Nat said, a little awed by all the strange electronic equipment, rusted, burned-out cars, and mountains of plastic, cardboard, and glass.

“My family was from Cali,” Wes said, peering out the window over her shoulder. “My dad said his dad’s dad used to talk about it—how pretty it was, how you could go from the mountains to the desert to the beach. They’d moved after the Flood, of course, and did the March down the Ten. Vegas was the only city left standing. Family legend had it they went straight to the casinos.” He leaned back and gave her a wry smile. She could see that he was still in pain, but trying to make light of it.

“What’s that?” Farouk interrupted suddenly, pointing at the twinkling lights far in the darkness and what looked like distant figures moving through the frozen garbage landscape.

“Don’t mind that,” Wes said curtly. “There’s nothing to see out there. Nothing we want to see, anyway.”

Nat kept silent, staring at the moving lights, wondering how much Wes had told his crew about what they would face out here.

“How’s that second fence coming along?” Wes asked.

The boy turned back to his device, working furiously. The LTV was barreling through the rocky roads and the next barrier was coming up soon. They had to disable it or they would fry.

“There’s some code on it I can’t figure out. It’s got to be one of the German ones—those are the hardest,” grumbled Farouk.

“They must’ve changed it since the last time we did a run,” Shakes said.

“German codes?” Nat asked with a frown.

“The army recycles codes from the old wars. No one can make up new ones. They were lucky to find these,” said Wes.

Nat knew it was the same story for everything. The generation that had come up with the heat suits and discovered cold fusion were long gone: survivors from Before, who remembered a different time, when the world was still green and blue, and who’d marshaled their resources and knowledge to figuring out how to survive the cold. But there were very few scientists these days, and the only books that remained were the physical ones that dated back to the early twenty-first century.

“Can I try?” she asked Farouk.

He handed her the device, a small black phone with a tiny keyboard. “It’s talking to an old Enigma machine, using radio signals. The fence is locked by a certain transmission, but I can’t figure it out. I need to send a message to the machine that’s holding the wall. But this is all it’s giving me,” he said, showing her the screen of numbers.

She stared at the sequence, at the pattern it made, and typed out an answer. “Try it now,” she told Farouk.

He studied her work, then hit the send key. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

But a few minutes later, Shakes called excitedly from the driver’s seat. “Fence is down!” he whooped, checking the electromagnetic sensor.

“How’d you do that?” Farouk asked.

“I just saw it.” She shrugged. Numbers came easily to her. Patterns. She’d been able to break the code, and read its simple request. TO OPEN GATE SAY HELLO. She’d simply typed the word “hello” in the code and the fence had opened for her.

“Good work,” Wes said. “You’re almost part of the team.” He smiled. “Hey!” he said, noticing that Daran and Zedric had opened the food packs. “You boys better share.”

Zedric threw him a foil-wrapped object and Wes caught it deftly. “Mmm. Curry pizza burroti.” Wes grinned. “Want a bite?” he offered. “Best McRoti in Vegas. And looks like the boys picked up some McRamen, too.”

“No, thanks.” Nat shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll leave you a piece if you change your mind,” he said. He offered her his chopsticks. “Pull for luck,” he said.

She took one side and the sticks broke off, leaving her with the bigger half.

“You win.” He grinned. He was such a Vegas boy, superstitious about everything, including the chopsticks-wishbone game. He began to unwrap his food, whistling a melody that sounded familiar.

“What is that?”

“Dunno. My mom used to sing it,” he explained, and his face pinched a little.

“Listen, I know you from somewhere—don’t I? I feel like we’ve met before,” she asked him suddenly. She was certain of it, she just couldn’t place him, but it would come to her soon enough. That tune he was whistling . . . if only she could remember, but her memory was gray like her lenses, cloudy; she could put together bits and pieces but not the whole thing, not her whole life.

“Nah, I don’t gamble.” He smiled, taking a big bite of his burroti.

“Only with his life,” Shakes said, from the front. “Hey! What about me?” he said, holding up his hand, and Farouk tossed him his own multi-cuisine mash-up.

“I swear I’ve met you before, and I don’t just mean from the casino the other day,” she said to Wes. It was suddenly important that she remember why his face was so familiar to her. “But I guess not.”

Wes regarded her thoughtfully as he ate. Nat became worried that maybe he would think she was flirting with him—even if she wasn’t. Besides, she thought with a secret smile, if she was flirting with him, he would know. She was about to say something else when Shakes released a yelp from the front seat that startled everyone, including Nat.

“What is it?” demanded Wes.

“Drones in the sky; they sent a seeker team out,” Shakes said, pulling out his scanner, which was beeping. He shook his head as he peered out the window at a small black plane circling the distant horizon.

“Where?” Wes asked, sticking his head out the window.

“Not sure. He’s off the radar now.”

“Fine, we’ll take the back roads,” Wes said. “Seekers stick to the main highway. We’ll have to loop around, take us close to MacArthur, but it’ll be okay. We should be able to shake them once we—” Wes never finished his sentence, as a blast of cold air hit and a cloud of silver flakes filled the cabin.

“What now!” Daran yelled, as the flakes flew up his nose. They were everywhere. A second gust of wind sent more snow pouring through the openings.

The boys yelped and Nat batted at the flakes, feeling them fall on her eyelids, her ears. “Burglar alarm,” Wes said tightly. He explained the silver cloud wasn’t smoke or snow. Crossing the fences had released nanos—machines no larger than a grain of dust that sensed and recorded human pheromones. Nanotechnology was old hardware, just like the fusion batteries; it was from the last global war before everything started breaking down. The military didn’t know how to upgrade the system, only how to maintain it.

“They’re like robo-bloodhounds,” Farouk said excitedly. “They catch your scent and then feed it into the defense network.”

Wes cuffed him in the shoulder. “What are you so hopped up about?”

“I’ve never seen one before, is all,” Farouk said. “A nano cloud, I mean.”

Wes gestured out across the garbage-strewn landscape. “The locals call ’em pop-cans. The bombs are usually hidden inside old soda cans, and the Pile is littered with them.”

“What do they do?” Farouk asked.

“They pop,” Shakes said, cutting in. “You get close enough for one of them to sniff you, to make a match for one of the pheromones that just got transmitted into the system, and they blow, taking out whatever part of you is closest to it.”

“We’ve never been in the system before,” Daran complained. “I didn’t sign up for this. I ain’t losing an arm or a leg to a soda can.”

Nat shuddered as Wes stared out at the snow-covered landscape. “Look, I wouldn’t think less of you if you wanted to turn back,” he said. “We snuck you out, we can sneak you back in. You can have your credits back, less a percentage for our trouble, of course.”

“I’m not turning back,” she said, annoyed. Was this his way of trying to scare her out of the trip? Get her to change her mind? Pop-cans didn’t scare her like her nightmares did.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked again, his voice gentle.

She realized then that he wasn’t trying to wriggle out of the job, he was simply being decent; she felt another rush of affection for this impulsive, good-looking boy.

Nat gripped his forearm and nodded. “I’m not scared. I’d rather take my chances with what’s out there than go back.”

“All right then.” Wes sighed. He put a hand on top of hers and held it tightly. “Nothing wrong with being scared, you know. I’ve seen a lot of things that have scared me on this side of the fence.”

She nodded. His hand was warm on hers, and it lingered there for a while before he took it away. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more embarrassed about that tender moment.

He cleared his throat and addressed his team. “I’ll drive. We take the back roads. It’ll be a five-day drive to the coast, but once we hit the Pacific we’ll pick up speed and we’re back by Christmas. Okay?” He waited for anyone to argue.

No one did, but then again, no one looked convinced either.

12

THEY DROVE STRAIGHT THROUGH THE night, moving deeper into the Pile, and as day came, the sky turned a lighter shade of gray. Underneath the snow and twisting through the garbage, Nat could see bursts of color—green vines, improbable tiny white flowers. She blinked and they were gone. She looked to the boys to see if anyone noticed, but half the team was asleep in the back and in front of her, Farouk was driving, while next to him Wes was studying his screen with a concerned look on his face.

He looked so serious that she felt a sudden impulse to reach over, sweep her fingers though his hair, and tell him everything was going to be okay. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned around and caught her eye. He smiled and she smiled back, and for a moment they were just an ordinary boy and girl in a car, neither runner and client, nor mercenary and thief, and Nat saw a glimpse of how normal things could be. The voice in her head was quiet, and for once in her life, she felt as if she were just like anyone else.

The truck hit a bump and the moment passed. Wes went back to what he was doing and Nat turned her attention out the window, unsure of what she was feeling. He’s handsome and brave, and any girl with a pulse would be attracted to him, she thought, but he’s nothing to me, a flirtation, maybe, someone to pass the time with, to make the trip more interesting. Remember what the commander said, she told herself. Remember what you are.

The trash was heaped on either side of the road, and it felt as if they were burrowing through a tunnel. The piles were skyscraper-high on either side, but it was a smoother ride, as if the road was newly plowed. “Wait a minute—if the snow’s plowed it means there are people are living out here,” Farouk said with a start.

“Of course there are,” Nat said impatiently. What kind of crew had she hired that he didn’t know that? Then she remembered that Farouk had mentioned he had never been past the fence before.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, ’Rouk,” Wes mocked from the passenger seat, grinning at her. No one was allowed in the wastelands. There was nothing out here but death and decay, or so they had been told. But they knew better. The government lied. They lied about everything.

The piles receded in size as they moved down the road, and they drove in tired silence for a few hours. “What’s that?” Farouk asked suddenly, pointing to a monumental cliff that loomed over the area. “I thought Hoover Dam was the other way.”

“And you thought right,” Wes said.

Nat felt the voice in her head rumble awake, aware of the danger; she had known there was a chance the journey would take her past this place, but was unprepared to see it again so soon. There was an edge to her voice. “That’s not Hoover Dam.”

“No, it sure isn’t,” Wes said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been out here before?” he asked lightly.

She frowned and didn’t answer, feeling goose bumps forming all over her body. Had she escaped only to be sent back here? She didn’t know who he was or what his intentions were. Most runners will sell you down the river as soon as you get out of New Vegas, toss their cargo, rob you of your credits. Maybe Wes was one of the good guys, but then again, maybe he wasn’t.

Farouk was right, it did look like the old photos she’d seen of the Hoover Dam, its massive concrete walls towering over the valley, holding back the immense pressure of the river beyond. As they moved closer to the sheer rock face, it became clear it wasn’t stone at all but concrete painted to look like stone, several feet thick, and it wasn’t a barrier, but a building, stretching to the sky, a row of windows at the very top, with one panel, Nat knew, that had recently been replaced. Tall fences topped by razor wire ringed the perimeter.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shakes said. “That place always gives me the creeps. It’s why I hate taking these back roads. Seekers can suck it.”

She exhaled slowly, relieved to find out it was just a coincidence. The truck gained speed when a trail of black smoke flashed across their windshield.

“What was that?” Farouk asked nervously.

“I’ll check it out,” Wes said, and popped through the moon roof, goggles on. “Something’s going down.”

There was another black flash, and puffs of smoke, a crackling sound that rippled across the snow banks, and from afar he saw three figures running. Wes fell back to his seat. “Breakout. Looks like a few convicts are trying to escape tonight.”

“Breakout? It’s a jail?” Farouk asked.

“No, loser, it’s a hospital,” Daran sniggered. “You never heard of MacArthur Med?”

“You mean one of the treatment centers? For the marked?”

“Bingo,” said Zedric with a cruel smile.

Wes stood back up through the open hatch and looked around. “Two patrols chasing, one on either side of us, running parallel. We’re pinned in here.”

Shakes called up to his friend, “Let’s just run between them.”

Wes nodded.

“What are you doing?” Nat asked, twisting her hands in her lap.

“Just pretending we’re one of them. At this distance, we look like another patrol. If they don’t get too close, we’ll be fine. Relax.”

Gunfire rang in the distance, along with the sounds of shouting and screaming. The Slaine boys took their places by the window, guns trained on the horizon.

Wes slid back down and tapped Shakes on the shoulder. “Drive slowly—let them inch away from us.”

The truck moved forward and the atmosphere inside was tense. Patrols still flanked them on both sides as they made their way past. Wes cursed suddenly and they all saw why.

In the distance, the fences along the perimeter narrowed on both sides toward a checkpoint; the path they were taking was leading them right to the guardhouse. “Double back, Shakes, double back,” Wes said.

“It’s a long way back,” said Nat. “Won’t it look suspicious?”

“It will, but we’ve got no choice.” He pointed the way to Shakes. “Take us back.”

Shakes turned the truck, which kicked up more snow, spinning its tires in a mush of icy, wet dirt. The sound of gunfire grew louder. They heard a scream and saw the sky turn black with smoke again—their only escape was taking them closer to the prisoners.

A hard thud shook the truck, followed by footsteps scrambling on the roof of their LTV. Through the windows Nat saw a trio of escapees headed for the cover of the nearest snowbank, all wearing the familiar gray pajamas. Then one of them fell, facedown, a bullet in his back.

“Don’t shoot!” Wes ordered his boys.

“Wasn’t us!” Zedric yelled.

“We’ve got to help them,” Nat whispered urgently, catching Wes’s eye. “Please.”

Wes snorted. “Help them? Unless you’ve got a pimp roll full of heat credits, you’re the only cargo I’m taking on.” He looked at her closely. “What do you care?”

Nat turned away, willing the tears in her eyes to stop; she had revealed too much. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. He didn’t know anything about her, and she swore to keep it that way from now on.

Do not despair. They will find their own way, the voice murmured, but Nat felt her stomach twist: Here she was, in the safety of the truck, while outside, her friends—her friends were dying. People like her, hunted and killed.

“Shakes—just plow through the fence—look, there’s a hole over there—we’ll just rip it through,” Wes ordered.

The truck barreled through the nearest fence, ripping through the metal with an ugly screech, but soon they were back on the road, and moving at a fast clip, taking them farther and farther away.

Nat didn’t look back.

13

THE BACK ROADS TURNED TO OUT TO BE more of a challenge than Wes had expected. The smooth snow-covered landscape concealed many obstacles. The ice hid tree stumps and posts, guard rails and ditches. There was no way to prepare; he only figured it out when the wheels hit them or when the hidden junk crashed against a side panel. He’d made the offer to take her back so that the boys could know he was looking out for them, but also because he wanted her to know the exact nature of the dangers they would be facing. The night had brought another blizzard and they were traveling in complete darkness again, with only the headlights of the LTV to guide their way.

He wondered about the girl next to him. It was obvious she knew about MacArthur, as well as the people living in the wastelands, which meant this wasn’t her first time at the rodeo. He guessed she’d probably tried to get out of the country before. She was a liar and a thief. Wes had pegged her correctly from the moment she had hired them and yet he couldn’t help but admire her anyway.

Nah, you just think she’s pretty, he chided himself. But, really, she’s nothing special. There are lots of pretty girls back in New Veg. Jules had been one, for sure, but his memory of Jules—of her thick, brown, almost russet-colored hair and smoke-gray eyes—had faded a little. All he could think about was Nat. The way they had smiled at each other earlier, the way she had placed her hand on his arm . . .

Which got him thinking—if she did like him or at least liked the looks of him—he might have an opening there; maybe he could use it to his advantage. That stone she wore around her neck was awfully pretty. It was all so messed up: He liked her, and he wanted her to like him, but only so he could use it against her later. Definitely messed up. But what choice did he have?

She had taken the chips without caring what happened to him. Could he do the same to her? He would have to at some point.

“Hey, come on, let me take a shift,” Nat offered. “You’re still healing from that shot.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, switching places with her. He massaged his shoulder. “Thanks, by the way,” he added, to be polite. He noted there was a distance between them again and was relieved at that.

Nat drove while Wes kept an eye out for drones in the sky or any sign of a seeker team. He was glad for the distraction; it kept him from thinking about her and he was already thinking about her too much. But as they drove, Wes found he wasn’t cut out for silence either. The Slaine boys weren’t talking to him, giving him the cold shoulder to make it clear they didn’t care for the mess back at MacArthur and his decision to travel off-road. Shakes was asleep, and Farouk was resting.

“Hard to believe this was all desert once,” he said, deciding a conversation would be harmless enough.

“Desert—what’s that?” Nat joked. “I grew up in Ashes.”

He grunted. The city was one of the coldest outposts in the country.

“Ever seen pictures of what it looked like Before? Rolling dunes, cacti?” she asked. “You know what it used to be called right?”

“Phoenix,” he replied. “But the Phoenix is gone, and all that’s left is Ashes.”

“Poetic,” she said.

“Told you, there’s more to me than meets the eye.” He smiled, flirting with her again, in spite of himself.

“Can’t be much,” she said slyly.

“Want to find out?” he said playfully.

“Maybe,” she said, and his stomach flipped.

“Ever seen photos from Before? It’s like another planet,” she said, changing the subject. “Can you imagine what it’s like to be that hot?”

“Nope, I surely can’t. Can’t imagine ever being warm outside,” he said. “Supposedly deserts still exist somewhere.” Seeing the look on her face, he quickly explained lest she think him a dolt. “Not here, obviously, but in the enclosures.”

“Desert enclosures?” Her tone sarcastic.

“Yeah. Messed up, right? Fusion hogs, most like. I heard they have beaches in them, too. Man-made ones, of course,” he said. “I’ve been to the beach once. When we were stationed in ’Tonio, there was a little bit of it left when we went over to Galveston. Couldn’t swim in the water, though. Not unless you want your kids to have three legs.”

“What was Texas like?” she asked.

“Freezing,” Wes said tersely, suddenly unwilling to say any more. He didn’t know why he’d mentioned it; he never wanted to talk about what happened in Texas. “Just like everywhere else.”

“You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, and sitting next to her in the truck, it felt as if they were alone, as if it were just the two of them left on earth.

This was his chance, he saw, to tell her about himself, to earn her trust. Maybe he didn’t have to flirt with her. Maybe he could just trick her into being friends. Maybe then she would tell him why she was on her way to New Crete, tell him what Old Joe had handed her right before he disappeared. Tell him what he needed to know so he could figure out a way to take it from her.

“I’ve seen enough,” he said. “When my parents died, I joined the service. They sent me everywhere. You name it, I’ve patrolled it.”

“What were your parents like?” she asked as the truck crunched over the ice-covered road.

“They were all right, you know, for parents,” he said. He didn’t say any more.

“Do you miss them?” Nat asked. “I’m sorry, it’s a stupid question. Of course you miss them.”

“It’s okay. Yeah, I miss them, I try not to since it’s too hard, but there you go. I had a sister, too,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“Younger? Older?”

After a while, he finally answered. “Younger.”

“What happened to her?”

He shrugged. Outside, the blizzard had stopped, and the air was clear again. Wes fiddled with the music player, switching through songs until he found one he liked. “I’m not sure. They took her away.” It was hard to talk about what happened to Eliza.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nat gaze out at the endless mounds of garbage buried underneath another layer of snow. “Took her away?” she asked. “Who took her away?”

“Military family, higher-ups,” he sighed. “They said it was better for her. My parents didn’t have the license to have a second kid. So they came to collect.” The memory of that horrible day was still seared in his memory. He wasn’t ready to tell her the truth about Eliza. Not yet. He turned up the music a little and the cabin filled with the sound of jangling guitars and a thin, reedy voice singing over a harmonica.

Nat hummed along for a while then said, “Well, at least she’s with a family; it’s more than many of us get or can hope for.”

“That what you were? Orphan?”

“You had me checked out,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

He shrugged. “Standard procedure.”

“Then you should know my story.”

“Not much of it.”

“What happened to ‘no questions asked,’” she said.

“I did say that, didn’t I? No big deal, just making conversation.” He didn’t push. One day at a time, he thought.

He would be patient.

The garbage-strewn border gave way to a graveyard of ships and trucks that had been washed inland by the floodwaters over a hundred years ago. Monstrous steel hulls, skeletons of cruise ships and navy carriers loomed over the snowy terrain; dark, thick vines sprouted from the dead machines, weaving through the carcasses. Winter branches, they were called, some sort of plant that thrived in the tundra. Wes stared at them. He could have sworn the branches were iridescent, almost glittering, sparkling. But he was just seeing things, wasn’t he? When he looked again, the branches were the same dull color, reaching toward the heavens, weaving a tangled web of rusted metal, along with trailer homes and tumbled-over cars on the snow-covered desert floor. The Black Flood had carried the junk almost as far as Vegas before receding. As they moved closer to the coast, they could see the failed levees and makeshift dams that the military and a few desperate civilians had erected in an attempt to stop the rising waters.

It was their second day on the road and Shakes was back on driving duty, with Zedric acting as navigator. Wes and Nat shared the middle seat, and each clung to the opposite corner, as far away from the other as possible. In the back, the boys were awake, jostling and teasing; an annoyed Daran had pushed Farouk’s cap down low over his eyes.

“They’d lock that door once they saw you coming—” Farouk was laughing and hiccupping. “A year’s share of marital-day passes in a week! That must have been a record!”

“Daran likes the ladies,” Wes explained to Nat, as Daran looked smug and made a rude gesture with his hands.

“No doubt the ladies like him,” she said with a smirk. Daran was pretty hot, with his sharp cheekbones and glossy dark hair.

Wes laughed, although for a moment his face twisted at her words. There were two kinds of marriages these days—day passes for temporary unions—so that you could rent a room at one of the love hotels—and real ones from chapel. Day passes kept the population clean of disease. No sexual activity without a license. There was a license for everything. In his experience, it took a lot of the romance out of the equation, standing in line at the bureau, checking the little boxes, waiting for the result of the blood test before you could do so much as kiss a girl.

“So you like Daran, eh?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” she huffed.

“You ever filled ’em out?” he asked, looking at her sideways.

“What—forms for a marital pass?” She looked offended.

“Sure, why not? What’s the problem, no offers?” he teased.

“Exactly the opposite, my friend,” she said archly. “Too many to mention.”

“That’s what worries me.” He grinned wickedly and she tossed a wadded paper napkin at his face.

“You should be so lucky,” she huffed.

“I should,” he said, still smiling as he batted it away.

“Don’t worry, I turned them all down,” she told him.

“All of them?”

“Shut up!” She laughed. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

She wasn’t the only one being teased about it. Farouk was giving Daran a hard time in the back.

“It’s a miracle you passed the STD monitors—not with those girls from Ho Ho City!” he said, while Zedric chimed in from the front, “Yeah, bro, you’re so twisted I swear the last one was a freaking drau!” Daran pummeled Farouk and threatened his brother, and finally Wes yelled at the three of them to shut up, they were giving him a headache.

“Hold up! Hold up! What’s that?” Farouk suddenly yelled, underneath Daran’s fists.

“What’s what?” Wes asked, studying the black metal forest, looking through the tangle of vines. Then he saw it. There were shapes moving through the devastated landscape, and even the vines seemed to be moving. The figures multiplied in the distance.

“Thrillers,” he cursed. “Let’s hope we don’t come closer to any.” He took the binoculars for a closer look. The creatures were dressed in ragged clothing, stumbling and staggering with jerky, strange movements, some of them as small as children, and a few tall, wraith-like apparitions with hair the color of straw. And he wasn’t losing his mind—the vines were moving, swaying of their own volition.

“Thrillers?” asked Farouk.

Shakes began to hum a tune. “You know, that old song . . . ‘Thriller, thriller night.’” He began shaking his head and waving his arms while he sang. The Slaine brothers watched and laughed.

“All right, knock it off,” Wes grumbled.

“The lights that glow at night—are they from them?” Farouk asked.

Wes didn’t answer for a long time. “No one knows. Maybe.”

“But what made them that way?” Farouk asked, as the team stared at the strange, frightening creatures in the distance.

After a long silence, Wes finally answered. “Military does a bunch of chemical testing out here, could be they’re victims of the fallout, but the government won’t say or confirm any of the theories. I know one thing, though, they scare the hell out of anyone unlucky enough to run into them. Word is that’s why the army sent out nanobots in the first place; the thrillers were freaking out too many men. That’s why there’re very few seekers out here.”

He explained that the official explanation for the retreat from Garbage Country was toxin-induced schizophrenia. The chemicals that remained from the toxic floods were said to have driven the men to insanity. But there was no official mention of the shambling, horrific creatures roaming in the garbage. A few years later, the army developed the bot-based defense system. Exploding bombs and robots didn’t get nightmares and didn’t scream at the sight of a thriller.

“Bad news, boss,” Shakes said, looking up from the dashboard. “Looks like we’ve got a gas leak. Bullet must have grazed the tank. We’re not going to make it to the coast with what we’ve got left in the cans.”

They had been lucky to even get this far with what they had, Wes knew. “How much we got left?”

“A few miles at most.”

Wes sighed. “All right, I wasn’t planning to, but we’ll have to make a detour to one of the tent cities for supplies. K-Town isn’t too far, we’ll go there.”

“Whoop, whoop! K-Town!” Zedric yelled, throwing up his gun and catching it.

“What’s in K-Town?” Nat asked.

Wes smiled. So there were some places she hadn’t been. “You’ll see. You think New Vegas is the bomb, wait till you see the fireworks in K-Town.”

14

TO GET TO K-TOWN THEY WOULD HAVE TO CUT through what was once Los Angeles. The formerly sun-drenched city had been one of the hardest hit by the Flood, the waters submerging it almost completely. The truck had to make its way through the hilly, snowy terrain above the waterline. Zedric cranked up the stereo hooked to Daran’s player, and a loud dub-reggae hybrid, the Bob Marley Death-Metal Experience, throbbed inside the truck.

The music was angry and violent, in contrast to the gentle lyrics. Could you be loved?

It was a good question, Nat thought. Could you? Could she? Her gaze landed on Wes and she looked away. For a moment she had seen the two of them filling out day-pass forms, giggling, teasing each other, anticipating a night alone together. She shook the image from her head, annoyed that her thoughts kept turning back to him. Besides, she felt nothing for him, and never could. She’d only been flirting with him because maybe if he liked her he would think twice before tossing her overboard.

As the truck sped through the tundra, Nat looked out the window, relieving her anxiety by marveling at the relentless nature of the frozen environment: snow and more snow for miles around. In one of her old books she’d read that the Eskimos had a hundred words for it. She thought it was a shame they weren’t around to see this: so many different kinds. The white virgin powder on the rooftops contrasted with the hard ice on the ground. The snow rolled over roofs and cars with no interruption, just a white expanse, a visible blankness. Once in a while, she saw footprints, animal trails maybe, although there were some too big, their patterns too deliberate, to be anything but human. She thought of the thrillers they’d left back in the snow-covered desert and shuddered. Wes was right to hope they wouldn’t run into any.

When she was still in school, she’d learned about a town in Ukraine called Chernobyl, where a nuclear reactor had exploded. The place was so radioactive that it wouldn’t be fit for humans for hundreds of years and it was still off-limits now. The whole area was declared an exclusion zone, an evacuated land where no one was allowed to live. In reality, though, the Chernobyl exclusion zone teemed with life. With the absence of humanity, wildlife flourished and the toxic landscape became a kind of animal preserve. Looking at the trails in the snow, she wondered whether Garbage Country was the same. She wondered what kind of life was flourishing here.

Nat didn’t have to wonder for long, as a polar bear materialized from the snow, its burly white body moving with lightning speed. She gasped in surprise—she had never seen an animal up close before.

“What is it?” Wes asked, just as the truck swerved to a stop.

Shakes muttered curses as he turned off the engine, and he and Wes hopped out to see what had happened. Nat followed, watching as Shakes kicked away a mound of snow from the left front wheel to reveal a thick fork of rebar wedged into the front tire.

“’Rouk! Zed! Dar!” Wes called. “C’mon, we need help out here.”

As the boys pulled shovels from the trunk and began working to free the trapped tire, Nat stepped away. Where was the bear?

She scanned the horizon, but saw nothing.

Behind her, she heard curses mixed with the whine of crushing metal. She looked back at the tire. The entire crew had gathered around the trapped wheel. Farouk, Daran, and Zedric were shoveling snow while Shakes worked to free the metal rod that had ground its way into the tire.

Nat took the binoculars to scan for the bear. There it was! She smiled in delight as the polar bear bounded over a mountain of snow. It paused, looked around—twitched nervously. From behind, she heard Wes warn, “Best to stay in the truck.” Nat ignored him.

“Just a moment, I’ve never seen one this close.” She walked closer to the bear.

Without warning, the mighty white animal turned and bounded forward. She stood stock-still, wide-eyed, staring at the creature until too late—she realized the bear was coming directly at her. Pushing a pile of snow ahead of it, the bear leapt forward, its mouth open, tongue out, and teeth bared. It roared. She stood transfixed, unable to move, staring death in the face.

“Nat!” Wes called, but it was too late. She heard a pop, like thunder, echo across the snow. The bear skidded toward her, it warm red nose colliding with her foot, a steady stream of red fluid pouring from its head, mottling its once pristine coat with thick clumps of blood.

Dead.

She was safe.

She turned to Wes, but saw that his gun was holstered; the rest of the crew were still working on the tire. None of them had fired the shot.

A pair of white hooded figures appeared in the far distance. They wore thick goggles—military grade, heat and low-light lenses. They were at least a quarter mile away. She saw one drop his rifle and wave his fist in the air. Was he cheering? What was going on?

She turned to Wes. “Seekers?”

“Nope, caravan hunters.” He knelt down to hide, and she did the same. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hit in the crossfire. We need to go; they’ll be coming for it.” He called out to Shakes, “Get that wheel free, now! We need to move.” The rebar had not moved from the tire.

She turned back to the hunters.

A second pop rang out in the distance. They’d shot a second bear, closer to them, nearly at their feet. The hunters ran eagerly to the fallen polar bear while a third began taking photos.

“Are they hunters or tourists?” she gaped.

“A little of both—a company runs garbage safaris here. It’s illegal, but you know how it is—some things are more illegal than others.”

He patted her shoulder. “I think you should get back in the truck now.”

The hunters finished dragging the second bear to their snow jeep. Nat went back to the LTV. She watched Shakes dig the shaft of a shovel beneath the rebar and heave. The rusted metal bent and sprang from the tire. The hunters turned toward the first fallen bear, the one that had nearly crashed into Nat. She saw those thick goggles trained on her.

She slid back into the truck, the boys followed. “Wes, they saw me—we should go.”

“What do you think we’re trying to do? Shakes, hit it!”

With the door still open, Shakes stepped on the gas as he flung himself into the driver’s seat. Wes had barely slammed his door when the LTV started moving. The big truck lurched forward, then ground to a stop.

Her head slammed into the back of the seat. Shakes swung sideways, nearly flew out of the truck, as the truck swung in a semicircle. “The tire’s still wedged.” Wes cursed. He was out of the truck before it stopped moving.

She looked for the hunters; the caravan hunters’ jeep was headed their way. What would they do? Would they report them to the seekers? Three shots rang through the air and she felt the truck lurch. Out front, Wes was firing down at the wheel. “It’s just some old wood; I’ll blast it out.” His voice was distant, barely audible through the truck’s armored exterior.

She heard two more pops and Wes was back in the truck. They lurched forward again. Shakes shook his head. “Still not free, boss.”

They wouldn’t be able to get away. The caravan had made its way to their first kill, and hunters were getting out of the jeeps and walking toward them.

Wes hung his head in frustration. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this,” he muttered. “Everyone out. Boys, try to look angry. Nat”—he turned to her—“don’t say a word, look annoyed.”

The caravan hunters were gathered around the bear; the tourists had pulled off their goggles and were posing alongside their fallen prey, taking more pictures. Wes walked up to the first and pushed him back hard. “What do you think you’re doing? That was her bear! We’ve been out here all day trying to get her a decent shot and you douche bags take it out right when she’s about to make her kill.” He looked back at Nat and smiled before turning back to the tourists. “I don’t get paid unless she gets a kill!”

The safari guide leapt out of the jeep, rifle in hand. Wes turned to face him. “This is the last bear in twenty clicks. What were you thinking? This one was ours! I’ve checked heat and satellite. There’s nothing else out here and you already shot one!”

She nearly laughed. Wes was so convincing, more of a con artist than she guessed. Would he pull it off? Would he convince the hunters they were just another safari out here looking for souvenirs? She watched as he poked his finger in the guide’s face. The guide was built like the truck, wide and stout, and there were several more, blank-faced, carrying nasty-looking guns, but Wes wouldn’t back down even if they were outnumbered.

“You’ve got your skin; take it, and get out of here! This one’s mine. She can hang the head on her wall and tell all her friends she popped a big white. You want this one, you’ve got to pay my fee, ’cause she sure won’t!” The guides studied Wes’s crew. The boys smiled broad grins. The tourists howled as their guides herded them back into the jeeps.

Wes turned. “You want the bear?”

She feigned a laugh, but the sight was too horrid. The creature had been truly beautiful. “You think they bought it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Who knows, I’ve run these cons so many times I’ve just quit worrying.” The boys shoveled snow over the fallen bear, a burial of sorts, then loaded back into the truck. Tire free and hunters gone, they started forward once more.

15

SHAKES HAD TO PARK THE TRUCK AGAIN to try to patch the hole in the gas tank. They weren’t far from what used to be called Korea-Town, a formerly jumbled neighborhood of barbecue restaurants and foreign embassies, but they might have to walk the rest of the way if he couldn’t coax out a few more miles. The team disbanded, and the boys wandered around snow-covered houses while Nat stayed close to the vehicle. It looked as if it would take awhile, so she took a book from her pack.

“You can read,” said Wes, noticing.

“Yes,” Nat replied with an embarrassed smile. “Mrs. A—the lady who raised me—taught me.” The book was one of the few possessions she had left, a poetry collection from the archives.

“Lucky duck,” he said.

“It passes the time,” she said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Literacy was the lowest it had ever been. Truly, there was hardly any reason to read anymore—information was relayed through the net in videos and images, and if written communication was necessary, most people used an amalgam of symbols and acronyms that had replaced formal language instruction in schools. Supposedly textlish—which had been compared to Egyptian hieroglyphics by bygone intellectuals and academics—had been invented by a couple of kids with their handhelds before the Big Freeze. The latest RBEs, or “Reading-Based Entertainment,” were all composed in textlish, but Nat couldn’t quite get excited by a story called XLNT <3 LULZ.

The RBEs on the top download lists were all imports from Xian anyway—dull “work” novels about how to move up in the world, capitalist tracts about jerking the corporate chain. All the books Nat preferred to read were written by people who had lived long ago. No new songs, either—the current crop of pop stars were all cover bands, rehashing music from another era. It was as if even imagination had died when the ice came.

Wes peered over her shoulder at the cover. “Who’s William Morris?”

“He was a poet.”

“Read me something,” he said. Nat didn’t think he was the poetry type, but she flipped through the pages and cleared her throat before deciding on a passage.

“It’s a story—about a dragon—and a hero,” she told him.

“What happens in it?” he asked.

“The usual.” She shrugged. “The hero slays the dragon.”

Wes smiled and left to help Shakes with the engine. All around the white snow, Nat swore she could see small white flowers popping up everywhere. It had to be some kind of illusion. Flowers couldn’t grow in the snow and the garbage. She walked closer to a snowbank, sure that the illusion would disperse, but it didn’t. She reached down to pick a few flowers.

“Look,” she said to Wes, who was standing nearby. She handed him one.

“How is that possible?” he said, marveling at the delicate bloom in his hand.

She shook her head and once again, they shared a quick, shy smile.

The sound of thunder booming across the valley caused them to drop the flowers they held and forget about it for the time being. In a flash, they were crouched behind the truck.

“What is it?” Nat asked. Had the patrols finally caught up to them somehow? She’d heard too many bombs in her lifetime and could immediately recognize the sound of an exploding shell when she heard one. “Think the seekers found us?”

“Let’s hope not,” he said as a second explosion rocked the truck. “Shakes would have picked up their signal on our scanner.”

They were parked on top of a winding road—MULHOLLAND DRIVE, an ancient street sign read. The houses were still intact here, except they were buried to the roofline in snow. At least they were away from the black vines now, and the air was fresher up here and a new coat of pristine white powder covered the ground.

A third thunderous blast rocked the hillside, loud as a cannon.

“Wait a minute,” said Wes. “That sounds like one of ours—”

“What are you doing?” Nat asked as Wes crept along the side of the truck, muttering Zedric’s name as another blast echoed across the hilltop.

She ducked as a shower of snow rained down from the trees.

“Put it down! What do you think you’re doing?” Wes yelled, walking out from behind the truck.

She stood from her place and saw where Wes was headed. Zedric was perched on top of an old black Bentley. Its tires were flat and all the windows were missing. Someone had pulled out the seats and the engine was gone. Zedric laughed as he tried to steady himself on the hood of the car that was slowly collapsing under his weight.

“Watch this!” Zedric yelled, as he aimed his RPG at a pair of thin steel-and-wood beams that supported a big house across the hill. The long glass façade must have been beautiful once, but its windows were all smashed now and its roofline as wavy as a noodle. The neighboring houses were similarly perched out over the hill on tiny thin posts.

A loud smack interrupted her thoughts.

Wes had knocked the rifle from Zedric’s hand, which hit the boy’s nose as the gun fell to the snow. “What the hell!” Wes demanded.

Zedric glared at him. “I was just having a little fun!”

For a moment, Nat thought he was going to hit Wes, but the smaller boy seemed to think better of it.

There was a pop—another explosion—but different this time, and all of them turned around to see the long white house slide down the hillside and crash into the trash pile below.

“You shot out the supports, didn’t you?” asked Wes.

“It was fun,” Zedric repeated, reaching for his gun as he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose.

“Thanks a lot. You just let the seeker team out there know exactly where we are. Where’s your brother? We need to get out of here before they come.”

Zedric shrugged, but they all knew where to look.

“Once a scavenger, always a scavenger,” Wes muttered and Nat understood the temptation had been too great for Daran. Zedric’s hyena laugh echoed through the canyon as a second house disappeared down the cliff side.

“I’m assuming you weren’t dumb enough to shoot at the house your brother’s in?” Wes demanded.

Zedric glared at Wes as blood streamed out of his nose. “What’s your problem, man?” he whined. “Ain’t hurting no one.”

“Just get him already.”

“Daran!” Zedric called.

“Daran!” Shakes took up the call and Farouk did, too. Nat did the same.

After a few minutes Daran lumbered out of the house, his arms filled with a collection of junk: toasters, an electric fan, what looked like part of a blender. He ran, breathless, back to the truck.

“Shakes—we good to go?” Wes asked.

“Ready when you are.”

Wes barked his orders. “Everyone in the truck! Now!”

“What’s the rush?” Farouk asked, as they watched Daran hustle toward them, wading through the snow.

“These houses are packed with pop-cans, every single one of them. It’s common knowledge. Daran should have known better, he does know better,” Wes said, frustrated. “C’MON!” he yelled.

“He’s stuck,” Nat said, as they watched Daran flail in the deep snow. But as she moved to help, Wes pulled her back.

There was another explosion. This one wasn’t from the big gun or the sound of a house skiing down the hillside. The two of them were blown backward to the ground as the air filled with a mix of white powder and black smoke.

“Pop-can,” Wes said, kicking away a rusted can that Nat had accidentally stepped on. “An old one; that’s why it didn’t immediately explode when you hit it.”

Nat just stared at him, too shaken up to speak.

“You can thank me later,” he said. “DARAN, COME ON, MAN! Zedric—go help your brother.”

Zedric stood his ground, staring at Wes, his eyes wide with fear.

“We’re not going to leave you boys—you hear me? Go get your dimwit brother out of that trench! Now!”

Zedric didn’t move.

“Pop-cans have a proximity detonation feature,” he explained to Nat. “When one of those things go off, it sends a signal to the rest. This whole valley could collapse. All this so Daran can buy a hit of oxy in K-Town.”

On cue, another explosion atomized the house behind them. Wes cursed—the explosion had sent Daran flying, and he was wedged facedown in the black snow. “Mask!” Wes yelled, and Shakes threw him a gas mask. “If you hear another pop, hit the gas—I’ll meet you in K-Town!” He put on the mask and waded through the snow and smoke toward the fallen soldier.

“C’mon,” Zedric said, pushing Nat into the LTV. “Every pop-can within a mile is going to explode in a few minutes!”

But Nat held her ground. “We can’t go without them. Shakes, we can’t leave him here!” she said wildly.

“Don’t worry, haven’t lost him yet,” Shakes promised.

A third explosion triggered a fourth. Nat knew they would have to go soon—otherwise they would all end up dead.

But after a few minutes Wes finally emerged from the smoke, Daran slung over his shoulder. She caught her breath and raced out of the truck to help him drag the unconscious kid through the snow. Shakes jumped out of the cabin and opened the back door. They slid Daran into the cargo area, then sped off down the hillside, the valley echoing with bombs.

16

THE CANYON WALLS COLLAPSED BEHIND them, and as the snow fell, crushing the blanket of flowers, the petals released their seeds, filling the air with a glittering cloud of specks. Even as they were making their escape, Wes thought it was one of the prettiest sights he had ever seen.

“Nanos!” Farouk yelled.

“No! They’re not nanos!” Wes said. “They’re something else.”

“Seeds—they’re seeds!” Nat said excitedly. “Look!” The team watched as the seeds were swept high by the wind and spread over the snowy landscape, twinkling and swirling, a cloud of life, instead of death.

Wes caught her eye and he knew she was thinking the same thing. So this was how the flowers came to cover the area. Somehow, some way, something was growing in the wastelands. Was the earth healing? Was there such a thing as hope for the future? A way beyond this frozen hellhole?

For now, the hillside had liquefied under the stress of the many explosions and was cascading down into a waterfall of wet snow and debris. Wes shook his head. It was all such a waste, and frightening how easily everything had been destroyed—as if the houses were made of straw—all it took was one puff and they were gone. It was a miracle they had survived this long.

When they were halfway down what was left of the 101, Daran woke up, annoyed at having dropped his loot. He had little left to show for his pains: a gold watch and a silver spoon stuffed into his pants pockets. Metal had some value in K-Town but not much. He would have been better off if he’d held on to the kerosene lantern he’d found in the garage. He was still complaining as they hit the streets of the phantom, snow-covered city, mumbling under his breath and cursing his trigger-happy little brother for his prank.

“Ah, shut up already,” Shakes said, uncharacteristically edgy.

Wes shook his head at Daran; he was too tired to be angry. He turned to Nat. “You’re bleeding,” he said, motioning to the side of her head.

Nat put a hand to her scalp, surprised to find her hair covered with blood. “Funny, I didn’t feel anything.”

“Shakes—stop the truck. Zedric—get your brother bandaged up, that cut might get infected, and bring me some of the antibio when you’re done,” Wes ordered.

They stopped at an abandoned parking lot of what used to be a shopping mall. Nat leaned against the hood while Wes cleaned her wounds with a sponge. “Pop-can must’ve got you after all,” he said. “Huh.” He stared at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought—I was ready to stitch you up, but it looks like it’s almost healed.”

“I told you, I didn’t feel anything,” she said. “I’m okay.”

Wes could have sworn he had seen a deep, ugly gash, but when he pushed her hair away, it was nothing—a surface wound—the blood had slowed to a trickle. He didn’t want to think about what that meant and decided to ignore it for now. Maybe she hadn’t been hit that badly. Yeah, right.

“Nice crew you got there,” she said, rolling her eyes toward the Slaine boys. Daran was yelling as Farouk and Shakes held him down while Zedric rolled a canvas cloth around his middle.

Wes shook his head, his jaw hardened. Now why did she have to go and say something like that? He didn’t like it when anyone insulted his boys. “They’re all right. Not my first choice, but it’s a dirty job, taking people through the Pile. Not many would want to do it,” he said, looking at her pointedly, as if to say, If they weren’t here, you wouldn’t be, either. “Dropouts are all I could get.”

“Right,” she said, chastened. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “You know how it goes.” He wasn’t sure if she did, but she had to have been in Vegas long enough to know that dropping out of the military was like dropping out of society. The army was the only game in town for the likes of them. Without an honorable discharge, there was a slim chance of being hired for any decent work.

“Leaving the military’s no joke,” he told her. “So when they end up with me, I try and teach them to be better soldiers. There’s no room for heroes or horseplay in this line of work. When it comes down to it, a soldier’s only goal is to stay alive, nothing more, nothing less.” He frowned and continued to clean her wound, trying and failing to ignore the spark between them as his fingers touched her forehead. “A guy goes off and starts shooting randomly, it’s my duty to take him down a notch, put him back in line. I did Zed a favor when I busted his nose. It might save his life one day, the next time he thinks of doing something that stupid.”

“So why’d you leave, then?” she asked. “Shakes said you won a Purple Heart and a Medal of Honor. He said you could have been a general one day, maybe.”

He sighed, placing a bandage on her head, pressing it down so it would stick. “I didn’t have it in me to be a career man, I guess, let’s leave it at that. How about you, where’d you serve?” he asked innocently.

“I didn’t,” she said.

“Oh, right, you got an upper school pass?”

“No . . .” But she didn’t elaborate. “I thought you said you had me checked out?” She smiled, but her tone was guarded.

He gave her a long look. “No questions.”

“Thanks for this,” she said, pointing to his work.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Boss, we gotta move,” Shakes said, coming up to them. “Farouk picked up a seeker signal on the radar. They’re two clicks north.”

Wes nodded, hiding the wave of nausea he felt from the news. “Let’s go, maybe we can lose them.”

They climbed back on board the LTV and Wes took the wheel again. He stuck to the back roads, plowing the truck through front yards and rough earth, forcing the truck to go as fast as it could. The team was quiet, tense, and even the Slaines were subdued. They knew Wes was angry with them for giving away their position.

“What happens if the seekers find us?” Nat wanted to know.

“Let’s hope they don’t,” Wes said.

“You keep saying that. Will they kill us?”

“There are worse things than being shot and dying quickly,” he said tightly. There was no use frightening everyone. Either they would be caught or they would be able to evade them. Life or death, but wasn’t it always? Military prisons were notorious for their brutal treatment of captives, and Wes sure hoped they wouldn’t end up in one. He’d been lucky so far; maybe his luck would hold.

“If it looks like they’ll be able to take us into custody, just shoot me, okay, boss?” Shakes whispered next to him. “Promise. I’d rather die at your hand than theirs.”

“It won’t come to that,” Wes said testily. “Cut that self-defeating chatter.”

“Go faster,” Nat whispered from behind him. Her breath was almost at his ear, and he felt his skin tingle.

“I’m giving it all she’s got,” Wes said.

“I think we lost them,” Farouk said, looking up from his scanner.

Nat exhaled, but it appeared the young soldier had spoken too soon. She looked up just as Wes hit the brakes and the truck screeched to a halt.

A pair of white-camouflaged Humvees were blocking the road.

The seekers had found their prey.

17

THERE ARE WORSE THINGS THAN GETTING shot and dying quickly, Wes had said just moments ago. Even he had to admire his own bravado. That was a good line. He willed his fear away. Maybe there was hope yet, since the Humvees hadn’t shot them on sight.

“It’s fine, leave it to me,” he told Nat as he turned off the engine.

Zedric’s fun with explosives in the hills had brought the seekers directly their way, just as Wes had warned, and running into the rebar and the caravan hunters hadn’t helped. They were trapped now. There was no use running; the trucks were too close to them and heavily armed. Even if he tried, there was a pair of drones circling above that would fire on command.

A soldier wearing officer stripes on his jumpsuit got out of the nearest Humvee, followed by a team of his men. They all had rifles slung over their shoulders, but no one made a move to attack.

Daran gripped the top hatch and drew his weapon.

Shakes moved to follow, but Wes stopped him. “Sit tight, boys, I’ve got this one.” He kicked open his door and jumped down onto the muddy, snow-covered road.

“What are you doing?” Shakes wanted to know. “Those aren’t some fool tour guides you can bullshit, those are RSA boys, you know.”

“Yeah, well, and so was I once,” Wes said. He got out of the truck, his heart beating in his chest, but his walk as smooth and languid as ever. He kept a lazy grin on his face as he approached.

The officer was leaning against one of the Humvees’ front grilles, its engine rumbling behind him, making clouds of steam rise from the truck’s warm hood.

“Morning, sir,” Wes said.

There was no reply. The soldier just stared up at the cloudy white sky and waited for Wes to come closer.

I hope I’m right about this. Wes kept his cool as he walked toward the seekers. He saw that both of the Humvees had their long guns trained at his head, the massive barrels rotating slowly to follow his progress. He noticed that the group of soldiers hanging back had a marked one with them, a boy his age, his red eyes gleaming with hatred, the mark on his forehead like a third eye. Wes had heard those who bore the third eye could read minds. The seeker team had probably used him to sense them. That program was supposed to have been shut down after Santonio, but knowing how things worked, Wes should not have been surprised to find it up and running.

He deliberately kept his thoughts blank.

“Explosions that size are pretty hard to miss around here,” the officer drawled, breaking his silence at last. “Next time just radio us your location. It’ll make all of our lives a little easier.”

“Sorry about that.” Wes smiled. “I hate to inconvenience you.”

“Don’t your guys know better than to play around in the hills?”

“They’re just kids,” he replied.

“All the more need to keep them safe.” The officer stared him down.

Here it comes, thought Wes.

“I hear you runners make a good living hauling illegals through the Trash Pile. What’s a trip fetching these days? Five, ten thousand watts?”

Wes stared at the red-eyed soldier. “Five.” It was a lie, but Wes made himself believe it was true.

The boy did not argue.

Wes was relieved; maybe it had worked somehow, since he’d kept his poker face on, his mind clear.

The officer smirked. “Well? Hand it over. I’m cold and my men want to get out of this godforsaken junkyard. Then you can be on your way.”

Wes just shook his head as he reluctantly gave the officer one of the platinum chips from his pocket. “You guys are making it hard out here for an honest smuggler.”

The officer grinned broadly as he took the chip from Wes. “Next time, just wait for us at the border and I might cut you a better deal. Rather not dig for gold if we can help it.”

Wes tried to laugh, but the whole thing stunk. He needed those credits and so did his guys. He thought about clocking the smug bastard on the chin, but then he remembered those t-guns. Both barrels were still trained on his head, and the marked boy never took his eyes off him. He didn’t put it past them to shoot them still, or drag them away to one of their prisons.

He turned and jogged back to his truck and slipped into the driver’s seat. “What did I tell you guys, we’re fine,” he said, revving up the engine.

“They’re just going to let us go? Just like that? What did they want, then?” Nat asked as the boys exhaled.

“Entrance fee at the toll booth,” Wes quipped. “Look, we’re finally in K-Town.”

18

THERE WAS NOTHING ACROSS THE LINE— that’s what the government said—what they wanted you to believe, anyway. As the LTV drove down battered Wilshire Boulevard, Nat saw signs of life everywhere—buildings dug out from the snow, with flashing signs in Korean and textlish, the symbols almost interchangeable. The streets were teeming with people of all kinds, a cacophony of noises and a variety of smells. This was more than a tent city; if there was such a thing as the capital of Garbage Country, this was it.

Wes put a hand on her arm as she stepped out of the truck. “Watch your step,” he said, and she nodded to let him know she understood; he meant not just her footing but to be mindful as she moved around the area. This was a lawless place, populated by all manner of criminals—scavengers, slavers, vets, refugees, and illegals.

The Slaine brothers and Farouk disappeared into a nearby building with a pharmacist’s symbol painted on its door. Oxygen addicts. The clean-air craze.

“Lunch?” Shakes suggested.

“Is food the only thing you think about?” Wes chided him.

“What else is there?” Shakes asked, and it was a good question.

Nat realized she was starving; she hadn’t eaten much since the night Wes knocked on her door. She wondered now when anyone would notice she was gone. What would happen to her apartment, to the books she’d shoved underneath her bed? She had thrown her lot in with Wes and his crew without looking back for a moment; there was only the way forward.

But what if Wes—and everyone else—was right? What if there was no such thing as the Blue? She waited to hear the voice in her head protest—but there was nothing. Maybe because it knew it was too late for her to turn back now. They weren’t very far from the coast, and with enough gas, they could probably get to the pier tonight. She fingered the stone around her neck, thinking it wouldn’t be long now.

Shakes led them into a dark building, down the stairs, into a bustling turo-turo restaurant in the basement. At a turo-turo (Nat knew it meant “point point” in a forgotten language), all a customer had to do was point at the food they wanted to eat since hardly anyone could read a menu. There was a big lunch counter with steam tables featuring an array of dishes of varying ethnic origins. But unlike the corporate mash-ups, the food was singular and unlike anything she had encountered before.

There was a vat of fish ball soup, a doughy concoction that didn’t look like fish at all, but tasted delicious; charred meat skewers—pork from the smugglers who worked in the heated enclosures—almost impossible to find and incredibly expensive in New Vegas, but available here; fragrant rice dishes stuffed with real vegetables; and slippery noodles filled with slivers of real garlic and ginger, steaming and tempting.

“Does it all come from the runners?” she asked, as they pointed to their choices and accepted heaping plates of rice, noodles, and meat.

“Most of it.” Wes nodded. “But some are military rations that the cronies unload here, trading food stock for weapons.”

“Military rations! But that would mean—”

“K-Town wouldn’t exist without the military’s permission,” Wes said. “They need to keep an eye out in Garbage Country and have a place where they can conduct business with slavers without anyone knowing.”

“So the food shortages aren’t real either,” she said. The lack of resources was the reason every citizen was given a Fo-Pro card. Unless you were rich and could eat from the tiny but luxurious private sector, every aspect of the food supply was rationed, given out piecemeal.

“Who knows, but there’s food here,” Wes said.

“While we starve on slop.” Shakes shook his head.

“Five centavos,” said the cashier behind the counter.

Nat was surprised to find the girl had bright burgundy eyes, and the girl stared back at her with a languid, almost bored expression.

Wes paid for their lunch with a real silver coin. “They don’t take watts here—only the old currency from Before.”

But Nat was still staring at the girl. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that the marked girl was moving about so freely, without anyone noticing or caring.

“A lot of marked refugees get stuck in K-Town,” said Wes, bumping her elbow to move her along. “They save enough watts to get past the border, but have nothing left to go anywhere else. So they work, hoping to earn enough to pay for transport out of here. But most of them never do.”

“And no one cares?” she said, looking at a few military personnel scattered around the place.

“Not here at least.”

They settled down to eat their meal. Nat marveled at the texture—she’d never had vegetables like this before, never had meat that hadn’t been processed or wasn’t just tofu made to taste like meat. It was a revelation. Still—just as in New Vegas—everyone drank Nutri. Clean water was rare, even in K-Town.

Wes took a swig from his cup and motioned to a bearded man seated at the next table. “Howie, you know if Rat still runs the table? Is that game still going on? Slob happen to be around? Or any other of Jolly’s boys?” he asked, wiping his lips with a napkin.

“Should be. Doesn’t change. You in?”

Nat pushed away her plate. She felt ill after eating such a huge meal. “There’s a casino?” she asked, feeling a gambler’s excitement at the prospect.

“Better yet—there’s a high-stakes poker match,” Wes replied.

She raised her eyebrows. Things were starting to get interesting. “What’ve you got in mind?” she asked.

“For one thing, I need to get my ship back.”

She stared at him. Did he just say what she thought he’d said? “What do you mean, get your ship back? You don’t have a ship? How are we going to get across the ocean?”

“Relax, relax—I have a ship—just not right now. But that can be rectified.” He shrugged.

She goggled at him and turned to Shakes. “Did you know he doesn’t have a ship? And you guys took this job anyway?”

To his credit, Shakes managed to look sheepish.

“I thought you didn’t gamble,” she accused Wes.

He shot her a Cheshire cat smile. “What can I say? Easy come, easy go.”

Shakes guffawed. “How? Once the Slob sees you, he’ll leave the table. He knows you’ll be after it. He’s not going to risk having to give it back after you won it from him in the first place.”

“I’m not going to win it,” Wes said, pointing at Nat. “She is.”

19

THE PLACE WASN’T A CASINO EXACTLY. It was just another crowded subterranean basement room with a few roulette tables, card tables, a craps table, and a bar. Nat found the noise and the smell of sweat and smoke overwhelming as she walked into the room, a little unsteady on her high heels. She was dressed as a tai tai, a rich Xian trophy wife, slumming in K-Town on her way to Macau.

With the help of a video blog and a few silver coins from Wes’s stash, she’d managed to find an appropriate costume. She was wearing a tight red cheongsam, her long dark hair was held back in a bun with two sparkling chopsticks, and the blue stone remained looped on a chain around her neck, masquerading as a decorative bauble. Farouk had outfitted the dress with a fake fusion battery, which blinked red at her collar. She’d protested she would freeze before she got inside the door, but Wes had been adamant. The tai tais did not wear bulky layers of any kind; they slithered around the city flashing their bare legs as a sign of wealth and ease.

“You look good,” Wes had allowed before she left the shelter. “You think you can do this?”

“Watch me,” she’d told him. Even if she was nervous, it was too late to back out now, and he knew it, too. Besides, of all the things she could do in the world, she could play poker.

The Slaine brothers, dressed in chauffeur uniforms, would act as her bodyguards. If anything happened, they would make sure to get her out of there alive. She didn’t know if she trusted Zedric and Daran with her life, but, once again, she didn’t have a choice. Without a ship, she might as well go home.

“VIP room?” she asked the bouncer guarding a door near the bar.

“Fingerprint,” he grunted, pointing to a reader. “And no muscle inside,” he said, shaking his head at her companions. He held up a flashlight to check her pupils.

Wes had warned her there was a chance she would have to run the play alone, but if she had entered the hall without any protection, no one would believe she was who she pretended to be.

Daran winked and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”

She dismissed them with a wave of her manicured fingers and smiled at the bouncer as she put her designer sunglasses back on her nose. She pressed her hand against the print reader. Farouk had entered her photo and fake background into the system. She was Lila Casey-Liu, the sixteen-year-old wife of a molecular phone magnate.

Nat would have to do much more than convince a bouncer; she’d have to deceive the Slob, one of the most feared slavers in the Pacific. His real name was Slavomir Hubik, but everyone called him Slav, or the Slav, or SLB, his handle in textlish, which had turned into Slob. The Slob was far from one. He was a trim nineteen-year-old pirate from somewhere in New Thrace, the most notorious of the outlaw territories. He was one of the top men in a fearsome scavenger armada that trolled the black waters, supplying garment slaves to Xian factories, drugs to New Vegas, and pleasure girls and boys to anyone who would pay the bride price. There were even rumors that the slavers weren’t just trading animal meat either; to desperate buyers, they were willing to sell the human cargo that wouldn’t sell otherwise.

The Slob had a scar above his right eyebrow, dyed white-blond hair “drau style” in a military fade, and tonight wore a vintage velour tracksuit—a real synthetic, not the cheap animal furs that the other slavers preferred. His face was all sharp angles, handsome but with an edge. He didn’t look up when Nat joined the table.

“Deal me in,” Nat said, taking a seat next to the dealer, traditionally the luckiest draw in the table. “One hundred large,” she said, with a brilliant smile as she slipped him a doctored heat-credit card. Farouk assured her it would pass the scanner in the room, but once it was out of range it would read zero.

“Feeling lucky tonight?” she asked her fellow gamblers. The Slob wasn’t the only slaver at the table; she could tell by the tattoos on their faces. There was a girl, about her age, similarly bejeweled and bedecked, who nodded when she approached. “Love your shoes,” the girl cooed.

Nat played conservatively at first, allowed herself to win a few hands, but not so much that she attracted attention. Wes had cautioned her to reel him in slowly. He’s a wise guy—he won’t expect you to be a hustler—the tai tais like to gamble for the thrill—the slavers let them in because they bring big money to the table. He’ll like a challenge. Beat him up a little.

It was time. Nat won the next hand and the next, by the third, she had quintupled her money.

“Big win for a little lady,” the slaver said in his clipped accent.

“Eh,” Nat said dismissively.

“Too boring for you?”

“Let’s make it exciting,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

He shrugged. “Sure. What do you want?”

“I hear you have a fast boat,” she said.

The slaver seemed amused. “You can’t have Alby. Out of the question.”

“Too scared you’ll lose, Slob?”

For a moment, Nat saw the rage in the slaver’s eyes. No one called him Slob to his face. But Nat knew she would get away with it. She had seen the way he looked at her legs. She giggled, letting him know she was flirting, playing her role.

The slaver gave her a thin smile. “Please, call me Avo.”

“Avo, then,” she said.

“If I put the bird in play, what will you give me?” he said, leaning over with a wolflike grin. “That gem around your neck?” he asked.

“This? A mere trifle,” she said, slipping the stone underneath her collar and wishing he hadn’t noticed it at all, irritated with herself that she had worn it. “This is the real treasure.” Nat placed a small velvet pouch on the table. She pulled the string and showed him what was inside: tiny crystals that sparkled in the light, bright as diamonds.

It was fleur de sel. Sea salt. Real salt, not the synthetic kind—which was at once too salty and not salty enough—but the real thing, from before the floods, when the world was still whole. The last in the world, harvested before the oceans were poisoned. It was one of the souvenirs she had taken from the treatment center, nicked from the commander’s kitchen, and she had been saving it for just the right moment. Wes didn’t ask her where she got it, only told her it wasn’t enough to buy a ship, but it might be enough to win one back if she was clever enough.

Avo Hubik eyed her. “Do you know how valuable that is?”

“Yes,” she said evenly.

“I doubt it; if you did, you would not wager it so easily,” he said, picking up his cards.

“In New Kong we bathe in it,” she said, and waved her cards like a fan. The rest of the table folded, watching the two circle each other—like a mating dance—one before a kill.

“Why do you want Alby so bad?” he asked.

“I have a hobby. I like taking what matters most to people. It keeps life interesting.” She yawned.

“You can’t have the boat.”

“We’ll see,” she said sweetly.

“Fine. Let me see the salt.”

He held it to his eye and then tossed it to the beautiful girl with bright orange hair and gold eyes who was standing behind his chair. A sylph, maybe? Nat couldn’t be sure. The mages’ mark on her cheek shaped like a serpent meant she was a healer, Nat knew. “Check this,” he said.

“It’s real,” the girl said, tasting a little of it with her finger. Her eyes shone greedily.

Nat flicked her eyes away, disturbed. “Show me your cards,” she said, laying down hers: a straight flush.

This time, the slaver smiled broadly. “Full house.” He took the velvet bag of salt off the table.

“My husband will kill me,” she mumbled.

“I’ll make it easy; you win this next one, you can have the bird,” he said with a smile now that he could afford to be generous. He threw the keys to the boat in the middle of the table. “I’m a gentleman.”

Nat nodded. She was prepared. Wes’s words rang in her ears. He’ll get arrogant, he’ll want to show off . . . and when he does . . .

Now was her chance. She had been watching the game closely, counting cards. The dealer put down the first cards. King of clubs. Queen of diamonds.

Avo Hubik smirked.

The next one: two of hearts.

The slaver studied his cards with a frown.

An image came to her unbidden: Avo taking another card and drawing a king, which would give him a high pair, which would win him the game, as she held nothing but garbage in her hand. The image faded. It was a premonition. A warning. She understood that she couldn’t let that happen, and she began to panic. She had to do something! But what? She couldn’t control her power, she couldn’t do anything . . . she was paralyzed, cold—

A sudden gust of wind blew the cards from the deck, which scattered across the table.

“What the . . . ?” the dealer cursed.

The gold-eyed girl stared at Nat, her eyes blazing.

Nat didn’t dare look up and scrunched her forehead, pretending to concentrate on her cards.

Was that her? How did that happen? It didn’t matter; what mattered was that the deck had been shuffled.

Avo didn’t seem to think anything of it. He tossed a card and picked up a new one.

She picked up the next card, and somehow, before she had even looked at it, she knew she held the winning hand. Two of clubs. With the two of hearts on the table, it made a pair.

The dealer threw down the river card. Nine of clubs.

Nat felt her skin tingle with anticipation.

The slaver showed his hand with a grin. Ace high.

Nat showed hers.

She had won with the lowest cards in the deck. A pair of twos.

The slaver’s face paled.

She took the keys off the table. “I believe this is mine.”

20

“THIS is what I won? This is your legendary ship? I say we give it back to the Slob!”

Wes ignored her and jumped onto his boat, which was moored to a rotting pier at the far end of the city. A skeleton of a roller coaster and a Ferris wheel stood not far from them, and a handful of boats bobbed in the water, all of them half-flooded derelicts, their hulls blasted full of holes, engines missing. The rest of the team followed him on board, but Nat remained on the pier, her arms crossed in front of her, an angry, frustrated look on her face.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to get in?” he said finally, as he helped Shakes pull off the tarp.

“I’m not getting in that . . . it looks like it’s about to sink!”

“Suit yourself,” he said, whistling as his crew found their places and hauled in the supplies for the journey. He unrolled the canvas, feeling a glow of pleasure from being back on board. Wes had missed his ship, and its loss had been a harder blow than he would care to admit. He wasn’t one of those sentimental fools, overly attached to their vehicles. A car was just a car, a truck was just a truck. But he did have a soft spot for this one, although he was more amused than annoyed by Nat’s insults. The boat was an old Coast Guard ship, a converted fishing trawler, more than a century old, and built to last, fifty feet long, with a battered hull, a deck pocked with holes and a Jolly Roger painted crudely on the starboard side, ALB-187 etched on the transom. The steel rails had rusted, and the paint was chipped, sure, giving the boat a saggy, dilapidated air, but there was more to Alby than looks alone. Nat might not know it, but he and Shakes had done major work on its engines, and the old girl practically had rocket boosters for propellers, that’s how fast it could go.

“Seriously, we traded one of the most valuable things left on this planet—salt—for this?” Nat was saying. “This isn’t funny!”

Wes looked up from his task, trying not to roll his eyes. He had to hand it to her—she was as tough as they came, she hadn’t blinked once. Without her, he’d never have gotten his ship back. But enough of the princess act already. “We’re not laughing,” he said. “I’m sorry Alby isn’t one of those sleek white whales the navy uses. If I’d known you were such a snob, I’d have turned you in as a border jumper.”

He went back to his task, but she remained on the pier.

“Are you getting in or what?” he snapped. Then he saw the look on her face.

“Behind you,” she whispered.

Wes sniffed the air and sighed. He knew the stench well, knew immediately what was standing behind him. With one graceful motion, he unholstered his sidearm and fired before he’d even turned around. The first bullet struck the deck of the boat and the second flew past the creature’s ear, tearing a chunk of flesh from the earlobe. The thriller, a rotting corpse of a boy that had most likely huddled in the shadow of the canvas, staggered backward, away from him. It was human in shape, but its skin reflected no light and his eyes were a blind, glassy white. Wes emptied the rest of the clip into the air, and the creature dove into the black water.

He exhaled in relief until he saw it wasn’t his only problem. “Nat! Get in the damn boat!” he yelled, firing his weapon once more.

Nat turned to look behind her and screamed. A rotten corpse was reaching for her. It was a girl once, but no more; the face hung from its ear, the flesh had decayed to a turgid, swollen mass, and it was grasping for her with its cold, dead hands. It slumped to the ground, as Wes shot out its knees. “COME ON!” He extended his hand and she finally took it.

They were everywhere—swarming the boardwalk, shambling out of the shadows, out of the rotting carnival booths and the broken carousel. There were so many of them, some of them fell through the rotted wood planks of the pier into the black water. The thrillers were far from mindless, moving with intent, their hands and feet grasping for holds.

“They’re not dead!” Nat said shakily, as he pulled her into the boat.

“Tell me something new,” he muttered. But he knew what she meant. Saw the horror on her face as she processed the information. The thrillers weren’t dead at all. They were very much alive—conscious—their distress and desperation unnerving in its intensity.

“SHAKES! CUT THE ROPE!” he ordered, sliding his key into the ignition and jamming the engine out of neutral. The boat was still moored to the pier, and as he pulled forward, the two aft ropes snapped, their long lines whipping through the air. A third line, wrapped over the bow, pressed against the front of the craft, slowly sawing at the hull. The sound was excruciating.

Nat pulled a knife from Wes’s belt and severed the rope. Her hands on his waist unnerved him for a moment, but he quickly recovered and nodded. “Good call.”

The gray cord went flying across the deck and slapped Daran hard in the back. “Watch it!” The soldier glared in their direction.

“Sorry!” she called.

When he saw it was she who had caused it, he grimaced and tried to smile. “It’s all right!”

But the boat was free, and they shot away from the pier, out of danger finally—when from belowdecks came the sound of a gunshot. He cursed the slaver and his lazy crew. Wes and his boys knew how to secure a ship from a thriller infestation, but obviously the slavers didn’t care to take the same precautions.

“Take the wheel,” Wes ordered, giving Shakes command of the ship.

“I’ll come with you,” Nat said.

He didn’t argue, and Daran followed them down the stairs as backup.

Down below, Zedric had a gun pointed at one of the creatures. The thriller had a gunshot wound in its shoulder where the soldier had shot it. Under the bright lights of the cabin, Nat could see the thriller’s face. It was a girl. Her skin was mottled and gray, and her purple eyes were lifeless as the rest. And she was wearing a familiar-looking pair of light-gray pajamas.

“Help me,” she whispered. “Please.” Her hair—Nat saw that underneath the mud and the dirt and the filth, the girl had hair the color of light, a bright, dazzling yellow. She was a sylph, or had been once, and Nat felt her blood run cold at the discovery. What was happening to them? Why were they like this?

Daran raised his gun to fire, but Wes grabbed the barrel. “Give it a rest, man, we’ll let this one swim,” he said, twisting the weapon from the soldier’s grip.

The creature saw her chance and dashed away, out onto the deck, and there was a splash as she fell into the ocean.

Zedric kicked the wall but Daran hustled him out of the cabin. “Come on! She didn’t touch you? You’re sure?” he said, yelling at his brother.

“Why’d you do that?” Nat asked Wes, staring at him. “Why’d you let her go?” He never shot to kill, she had noticed.

He put away his gun and led them back upstairs. “She’s not our first stowaway. They all want to come with us, hitch a ride out to the water.”

“The thrillers?”

“Yeah.”

Nat looked out at the pier, where hundreds of them had gathered, shuffling and groaning, their arms reaching out toward them, begging, asking for something. There were a few more bright-haired sylphs underneath the grime, and white-eyed ones with silver hair. Drau. They had to be, but these weren’t frightening at all, just incredibly sad. It was why Wes didn’t shoot them. Because the thrillers weren’t attacking them, they were asking for help.

She had never been close enough to see them before. When she had escaped, she had seen them from a distance, and had managed to keep away from them, but now she saw all too clearly the truth.

So there was one thing the government hadn’t lied about.

Those who were marked by magic were marked for death.

The thrillers weren’t the victims of chemical testing or nuclear mutation. They were people. Marked people. Magic people whose mages’ marks rotted them out from the inside, melting their flesh, their bodies decaying while their minds remained tragically alert. The military herded them into the safe zones and centers to keep them away from the rest of the population, kept the borders tight for that same reason.

It was why the military personnel in K-Town didn’t care to arrest the marked girl working as a cashier. As far as they were concerned, she was already where she belonged. She was already refuse, already part of the garbage. The thrillers were escapees from MacArthur, refugees who could not find passage, left to roam the Trash Pile, unable to die.

Looking for refuge, hoping for the Blue.

Just like her.

If she stayed, the magic inside her would kill her slowly, draining her of life, but keeping her alive. She would be trapped in a decaying physical shell, while her mind was alert to the full breadth of the horror happening to her.

She watched the marked masses flailing on the pier, their terror and their desperation at their inability to escape. Take us with you. Take us home.

Wes looked at her. “Ready to go?”

They were out of the shallows and in the open sea.

Nat gave him the same answer she’d given just a few days ago. “Ready.”

If she stayed, she would rot. But if she went . . .

She closed her eyes. There was a monster in her, a monster that was part of her, and the closer she drew to it, the closer the dark voice in her head sounded to her own.

There would be fire and smoke and devastation in her future. She would be the catalyst for something terrible. She could feel the power within her, the wild, savage, and uncontrollable force that had the ability to destroy entire worlds.

I am the monster, she thought. The voice is mine.